The Last Straw That Broke the Camel-back Sofa

coveredcouch2

I had trouble getting my iPod to shut down after my workout tonight.  As a result, I ran screaming through the YMCA, smashed all the machines with a baseball bat and burned the place to the ground.

At first glance my reaction might seem a bit extreme, but it was entirely reasonable.  Let me explain.

I overslept this morning.   I had only a few minutes to apply mascara with one hand, brush my teeth with the other hand while simultaneously shrugging into an article of clothing suitable for covering nakedity in the workplace.

Realizing I was running late, our dog, Sally, helped me out by refusing to come in after her morning run.  After alternately cajoling and threatening her, she finally deigned to enter the house, bounding in to jump up on the sofa.  Whenever we cruelly abandon her (i.e. go to work) she cooperates by lying down on the sofa so we have to drag her to her crate.  Since it has been raining here, her dash to sanctuary left a perfect set of muddy Sally paw prints stretching from the door, across the pale, Berber carpet of the living room and onto the sofa.

Don’t worry about the couch, though.  We’ve had that ratty, old camel-back sofa for ages.  In fact, I’d been looking forward to finally replacing it.  Then we got a dog.  A dog that sits with my husband on the ratty, old camel-back sofa.  Which is why I will never be able to get a new one.   A new sofa, I mean.  A new husband, however…

Work was an unending litany of unhappy clients, uncooperative companies and unendurable sessions of being stuck on hold. I barely got out alive.

I went to the YMCA after work, hoping that exercise would release some of the frustration that had been building all day.  There wasn’t anything good on the little TV attached to my treadmill.  The news was depressing, Property Brothers was a rerun, and The Food Network had that show where the expert chef “helps” restaurant owners by cursing at them, loudly.  I plugged in my MP3 player instead.

I was walking fast on the treadmill, working up a good head of steam when the thing stopped dead in mid-stride.  I stepped forward against a backward movement that was no longer there and almost fell flat on my face.  Half of the machines in my row had stopped.  That happens there sometimes.  Modern athletic science cannot figure out why.

I got off and went to wipe the machine down, like a good little citizen of the gym, but the sanitizer dispenser was empty.

I took my ear-buds out and hit the center button on my MP3 player to turn it off.  It didn’t turn off.  With this model, if you press and hold the button for 1 nanosecond, it pauses the song.  If you press and hold for 3 nanoseconds, it starts it back up again.  You have to press it somewhere in the sweet spot, about 1.5 nanoseconds, to shut it off.   I couldn’t get it.  I pressed too short and it paused.  I pressed too long and it restarted.  Paused, then started.   Paused, then started.  It took 5 tries before I pressed the button JUST right so Goldilocks’ iPod would finally turn off.

That was it.  That was the last straw; the one that broke the camel’s back.

I stood in the middle of the Y, next to the dead treadmill and the empty dispenser, clutching my still-running iPod and felt a scream building up like molten lava inside of me.  If had had a Louisville Slugger in my hands, I wouldn’t have been responsible for the consequences.

You’ll be pleased to know I beat down the almost overwhelming impulse to have a screaming temper tantrum or go postal all over the joint.  But it was a near thing.  The ingrained habits of a lifetime came to my rescue.

I breathed deeply, calmed down, and tried to get a better sense of perspective on things.  After all, even if I’m stuck with that old sofa, that doesn’t mean I can’t get a snazzy new slipcover for it.  Anybody know where I can get a good deal on one?  It would need to be big enough for an 80″, camel-back sofa…with room enough to  cover its resident husband and dog.

 

Have you ever felt yourself teetering on the edge of an epic explosion?  Have you gone over that edge?  Would you like me to throw you a rope?

Posted in General Ramblings | Tagged , , , , , , , | 68 Comments

My Dad Has No Rhythm, Yet He Is Still Master Of The Dance

This post was my Father’s Day gift to my Dad two years ago.  It had the honor of being Freshly Pressed and remains one of my (and my readers’) favorites.

I love you, Dad!

Read this and you’ll love my dad, too!

Posted in General Ramblings | Tagged , , , , | 60 Comments

Freshly Pegged – Snoring Dog Studio

Have you ever sent a post out into the blogosphere, absolutely convinced it was going to be Freshly Pressed? And then it wasn’t?

You’re not alone.freshlypegged2

I’ve asked some fantastic bloggers to select the post that had them muttering,”THIS One Should Have Been Freshly Pressed.” A new blogger is featured each week to receive the coveted Freshly Pegged distinction. Participants will be awarded a genuine, simulated “Freshly Pegged” JPEG badge, suitable for posting in a place of honor on their blogs. Or not.

**UPDATE** I feel the need to clarify that Freshly Pegged and Freshly Pressed are not mutually exclusive awards for a blogger.  As a matter of fact, most people featured here HAVE been Freshly Pressed at one time or another.  If they haven’t been, they will be; they’re just that talented.  This award is about a specific post that hasn’t received the attention it so richly deserves.  My mission is to right that wrong.  I’m fighting injustice like…like… a superhero. Like Robin Hood.  Yeah.

Be sure to read all the great Freshly Pegged offerings to date. But before you do, let’s check out…
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Jean at Snoring Dog Studio.

Jean blogs about her Boston Terriers.  About getting used to life now that her mom has moved in with her.  About the environment, politics, work and life in general. And about aliens hanging out in volcanic bars.  (I know – who doesn’t blog about that?)  Sometimes she’s funny, sometimes she’s serious; always she’s worth the visit.

Because I like Jean so much, it really makes it tough to hate her.  But I do.  That’s because not only does she draw vivid pictures with words, she paints.  Yup.  She’s one of those people who can do it all.  She is an uber-talented, professional artist and her watercolors are to die for.   I’m insanely jealous.

Jean’s probably the only person living who could get me interested in tofu.  Read on, and soon you’ll be asking…

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Where’s The Tofu?  Hiding the Healthy Stuff Will Make Us Fat (Fatter)

Finding tofu in some grocery stores can be more difficult than learning to speak fluent Mandarin in a day.

I shopped for groceries somewhere other than my usual grocery store on Sunday because it was convenient to Home Depot. Choosing that venue helped me combine chores and keep the driving to a minimum.

My short list in hand, I figured I could be out of there in at least a half hour. And that would have held to be true had I not had to conduct a massive sweep of the entire store, including the hardware section, to find tofu. It wasn’t in the likely, or reasonable places.

Thinking semi-logically, I looked in the meat section. Tofu is a meat substitute for many of us trying to cut back or forgo entirely. But could I find tofu in the meat section? No. Almost sixteen square feet of space is given up to bacon, the candy of meats, but not a single shelf devoted to a meager 5 inch by 4 inch by 3 inch chunk of tofu.

Okay, so it’s a vegetable. Well, I checked the vegetable section and it wasn’t there, either. Mangos, ugli fruit, even leeks get real estate, but not tofu. I think the store could have at least provided a shelf for it next to the eggplant. Heck, no one likes eggplant but there it is, sitting in a nice, large, climate controlled, frequently sprinkled section all of its own.

My shopping was done. I wasn’t going to search a minute longer for the stuff. I wasn’t even going to talk about it until a staff person asked me if I found everything I’d looked for. SHE opened the door, mind you. Two other staff persons got involved. Both of them mentioned places where the tofu USED to be. One of them walked me over to the place where the won ton wrappers proudly sat, claiming legitimacy. I had already looked there.

And then the staff person in-the-know said, “It’s in the NUTRITION section.” Yes. I heard her correctly. She might as well have said, “IT’S IN BEIJING.”

The NUTRITION section. The place where food goes to die, the grocery museum. I’ve never had to swallow my pride and walk over to the Nutrition section to fetch my tofu and I wasn’t about to start now. Geez Louise! The nation is in the throes of an obesity epidemic, so grocers make it difficult to find nutritious, low calorie foods? Go ahead and put Brussels sprouts next to the feminine hygiene products, if you’re so fired up to turn us all into blubber bottoms. See if mommy’s little Reginald will be more inclined to eat the sprouts now.

I ranted about it to the staff person who was willing to escort me to the NUTRITION section. (You need an escort. Rarely do shoppers get out of that section alive, and if they do, they are changed forever. They become pasty shadows of their former selves and they whimper a lot.) I then ranted about it to the cashier who asked me if I had found everything I was looking for. She wasn’t the least bit moved. Yes, yes, perhaps it’s time to write an “I am appalled” letter to the manager of the grocery store. Later—I’m writing a blog post now.

Why would anyone need an escort to retrieve this cute thing?

Grocery stores are culpable in the plague of obesity facing our nation. Yes, yes, we CHOOSE to eat unhealthy foods. But enough of that. Ever since we crawled out of the caves and stopped wrestling our prey to the ground, we’ve naturally adapted to convenience. We’ve all gone the way of the path of least resistance—those of us who live with electricity and are surrounded by pavement.

So, we, average consumer, trying to do the right thing, walk into a grocery store, full of good intent, and there, before we even get to the spaghetti squash and whole grain bread, a display full of sodium-laden chips greets us with the enthusiasm of a cheerleader on the winning team. But we shoppers are the losers in that game. Displays of junk food we can find, we practically trip over them. Tofu—not so much.

The other day, my brother-in-law (we’ll call him, “Bud” because that’s his name), read a story from Consumer Reports to me. The photo showed a label from a Select Choice soup can, bellowing out “NEW! NEW and IMPROVED!” Turns out, the manufacturer had added back more sodium because during taste tests the OLD! OLD and ORIGINAL! version rated poorly. They added back sodium! One of the four things, besides trans fats, cigarettes, and television scientists know is very, very bad for us. Yet, as Bud said, there on the dining table sits a salt and pepper shaker, which he could use if he chose to. But we weren’t even allowed a choice, or, rather, the choice was taken from us. We’re perfectly capable of demanding and getting our right to free speech, but we’re prevented from having the choice to salt or not salt our foods. It’s all just nutty.

The availability and abundance of lousy food in a grocery store makes it almost impossible for parents to not indulge junior’s whims. I couldn’t find tofu in even one place in the store, yet candy claims at least 4 different residences if you don’t count the cousins hanging out at the check out counters. Moderation, you say? You’re tired, you’re stressed and you just want to get the shopping over. Someone throws you a lifeline made of ice cream bars, another person throws one made of oatmeal. Which one would you choose?

No, the tofu isn’t on these shelves.

I couldn’t find dried beans at this grocery store, either. Well, I fib. I found two – TWO – bags of beans looking as though they’d been pulled from the sarcophagus of King Tut. And they were in the “Hispanic” section. Dried beans might have been elsewhere in this store, but I guarantee you, if they were, the bags were huddled together on the lowest shelf where no one looks or were blocked by feet and small children’s bodies. And the children were likely busy grabbing boxes of Kraft Mac ‘n Cheese.

I guarantee you, no grocery store would go out of business if the shelves were arranged differently so that healthy foods were conveniently placed and the less-than-healthy ones were made a bit difficult to get to. For example, put a rope climb next to the ice cream case, turn the pastry section into a maze, and put all the to-be-fried foods at the end of a hurdle course.

Well, all right, maybe not. But arranged differently, more attractively, and made more accessible, healthier foods might just be a person’s first choice, or at least a larger part of their choices. Don’t make us hunt for healthy food.

Give Mrs. Obama props!

I won’t be shopping at that grocery store ever again. Thank goodness I’ve got a freezer backup of tofu.

More Food Thoughts

Foods Compared to Their Sugar Cube Content

Posted in Freshly Pegged | Tagged , | 64 Comments

Freshly Pegged – Unlikely Explanations

Have you ever sent a post out into the blogosphere, absolutely convinced it was going to be Freshly Pressed? And then it wasn’t?

You’re not alone.freshlypegged2

I’ve asked some fantastic bloggers to select the post that had them muttering,”THIS One Should Have Been Freshly Pressed.” A new blogger is featured each week to receive the coveted Freshly Pegged distinction. Participants will be awarded a genuine, simulated “Freshly Pegged” JPEG badge, suitable for posting in a place of honor on their blogs. Or not.

Be sure to read all the great Freshly Pegged offerings to date. But before you do, let’s check out…

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Laura at Unlikely Explanations.   When you visit Laura’s blog, the first thing you notice is the best header in the history of headers.   Her picture of ballerinas in Reese’s Peanut Butter Cup tutus takes the artistry of Degas to a whole, other level.  This was one of the greatest things to come out of last year’s attempt to take over WordPress, in a bloodless, peanut-butter-cup-based coup.

Laura has a quirky sense of humor so you never know what you’ll find at her place.  Contrary to popular opinion, she is NOT a cat, although she’ll sometimes toss in a gratuitous feline picture to mix things up. (Why do I have so many friends who are confused with animals?)  Her recent post on rejected NASA haikus made me spew coffee all over my monitor.

Laura left WordPress for a while and went to another site.  I don’t blame her.  It’s only natural that, when a blogger reaches a certain age, she searches for answers to fundamental questions like, “is this the one, true site?”  Although it was understandable, the tenets of WordPress meant that she was shunned by the community.  Her posts no longer showed up in the Reader and we were prohibited from even talking about her, except in hushed whispers when there were no WordPress elders around.

I’m delighted to report that she saw the light and returned to the WordPress fold this spring after her reality show, Breaking WordPress, was cancelled.  She was lost and then was found! Halleluia!  We killed the fatted blog post and everybody got drunk in celebration.

Check out Unlikely Explanations after you read…

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The Five Stages of Realizing You’ve Written a Poorly-Worded Blog Comment

Sometimes I read other people’s blogs. Sometimes I leave comments on
other people’s blogs. And sometimes that process goes terribly, terribly
wrong.


Self portrait (assuming that, in a previous life, I was Edvard
Munch and imagined this is what I’d look like today).

I don’t want to alarm anyone, but every time you write a comment, you
run the risk that someone will misinterpret it. While everyone is
different, most of us go through the same five stages when faced with
this kind of emotional trauma.

Stage 1: Denial

You notice that a blogger has replied to a comment you left on his blog
— but instead of engaging in friendly banter as you’d expected, he
seems to have interpreted your comment as a personal attack. Your
immediate reaction is to assume there was some glitch and that his angry
response was intended for someone else, but then you notice specific
details that could only have been directed at you. You decide he must be
hypersensitive. Or crazy. No sane person could possibly have thought you
meant that.

Stage 2: Apology

At the end of the denial stage, you read your comment once again and are
shocked to realize that it really could be interpreted to mean
that. Easily. By a sane person. You’re hit with an intense wave
of embarrassment, which you try to alleviate by shooting off a
combination apology and explanation of what you really meant. This
will fix everything
, you tell yourself. He’ll read the
explanation, understand what I really meant, and we’ll both laugh about
it.
You just need to check back later for the friendly response
you’re sure is forthcoming.

Stage 3: Stalking

You check back later. No response, but maybe he hasn’t seen it yet. You
reread your apology. You’re not sure it’s clear — after all, you wrote
it kind of hastily. You write another comment expanding on the
explanation. Then you wait a reasonable amount of time (say, 90 seconds
or so) and check back again.

Still no response. You look at your apology and your apology
clarification, and even though you meant them sincerely, you realize
they could look like the comments of someone who was initially wrong but
is now backpedaling. So you post another comment explaining that that’s
not what you’re doing. That just makes it worse, because denying it
makes you look even more guilty. You post a comment explaining that.

You decide all these comments are starting to make you look like a
stalker. You post a comment explaining that you’re not stalking him and
that you’ve never stalked anyone. Unfortunately, you can’t resist ending
that one with “but there’s a first time for everything”. You post
another comment explaining that the last bit was a joke.

You begin to regret leaving all these comments. You send the blogger a
tweet apologizing for the first one and asking him to ignore all the others.

You send another tweet explaining that you meant he should ignore all
your other comments, not anyone else’s.

You send another tweet explaining that you meant he should ignore all
your other comments on this post, not the two previous posts of
his you’ve commented on, and that you remain steadfast in your opinion
that his children and pets are adorable in their matching purple
sweaters and that his brownie recipe looks delicious but could probably
be improved by adding a cup or two of chocolate chips along with the
nuts. Technically, you have to break this into three tweets because of
Twitter’s character limit.

You send another tweet explaining you’re not a stalker, because you just
realized that if he follows your instructions and doesn’t read all the
comments you left on his blog, he’ll miss that very important bit of
information.

You send him a friend request on Facebook.

You add him to your “People I Am Definitely Not Stalking” circle on Google+.

You realize there’s probably nothing more you can say to him at this
point, so you start asking friends to act as character references. No
one seems particularly enthusiastic about the idea. You can’t imagine why.

Stage 4: Depression

All your tweets and friend requests and comments go unanswered. The
blogger clearly doesn’t believe you. You feel like you’ve lost all
credibility. You start to wonder how many other people you’ve offended
without realizing it — after all, lots of people just ignore comments
they think are offensive, so how would you know? You withdraw from the
Internet and resort to speaking to people in person. You realize you’ve
hit rock bottom when you find yourself buying the print version of a
newspaper.

Stage 5: Acceptance

You begin to put the situation into perspective and return to the
Internet. You’re filled with something that you try to convince yourself
is a sense of inner peace, but it’s really just numbness. And then a
thought comes to you, bringing with it a shining ray of hope: hey,
this might be a good topic for a blog post.

Posted in Freshly Pegged | Tagged , | 79 Comments

In The Merry Month Of June

It’s a brand new month!  When you think of June, what’s the first thing that comes to mind?

1)      Summer vacation starts
2)      Father’s Day
3)      Weddings
4)      Graduations
5)      Peg-o-Leg

Ha ha!  Trick question.  Of course it’s me, because Darla at She’s A Maineiac has chosen me as her Bloggah of the Month. But that other stuff is important, too.

I first met Darla (or Dorkla, as she prefers to be called) over at Good Greatsby’s caption contest.  She was bringing home the trophy every, single week and I couldn’t stand it anymore.  Words were exchanged.   Tensions escalated and bloggers divided into two camps.  We met in an alley and I don’t know who pulled a knife first, but what followed was a deadly ballet to the finish.  It ended with Darla cradling my dead, cold body in her lap and singing (hitting high notes that caused dogs to howl) about how someday we would all be friends.

And someday came, and we were best friends, and I wasn’t dead anymore.

You no doubt already enjoy Darliciousness’ comedy stylings, unless you live a joyless life of  soul-sucking misery.   She did My Life Is A Scream,  and What A Woman Really Wants.  She is world renowned for vlogs that run the gamut of fascinating subjects including, but not limited to, actual baton twirling. She was the winner of the coveted Jacket writing competition on this very blog.  She is also one of 32 blogs selected by WordPress as a Recommended Family Blog.  Top 32 out of the 20 bazillion people who hang their blogging shingle out on WordPress. Major, I know.

After the initial euphoria at the honor, I got around to reading the fine print on the contract.  This gig entails:

1)      no money
2)      writing a post for her while she sits around eating  Doritos
3)      said post to involve lots of work and soul-baring
4)      cleaning the monkey cage for Mr. Skittles every day
5)      no money

Despite this, I am truly honored to be featured on She’s a Maineiac.  Head on over to Miss Darlinkidinkidoo’s and read Firsts and Lasts, which is all about…me.  You’ve got all month to do so.

Posted in General Ramblings, Guest Post - Playing Musical Blogs | Tagged , , | 52 Comments

Get Your Knockers Up to Fight Breast Cancer

A family of love.

A family of love.

The athletes are trained.
The spectators have their cheers down pat.
There isn’t a pink t-shirt left to be had in the Windy City.
We’re ready…

for the Avon Walk for Breast Cancer: Chicago!

It happens this weekend, June 1-2.  Participants will start and end at Soldier Field.  In between, they’ll tour the great city of Chicago, walking many miles to raise funds for breast cancer research.

My cousin Moe will be there with bells on.  Well, I’m not sure about the bells, but there’s sure to be a catchy theme outfit involved.  I told you about her last year, when she and her daughter Megan walked.  They fund-raised their heads off so that this year, the entire family could participate; Moe, her husband Paul and their 3 daughters.

Moe’s a 9 year breast cancer survivor.  Unfortunately,the cancer returned soon after last year’s walk.  Although her body isn’t up to walking the whole route this time, her spirit will be running; flying through the course with her family like the champ she is.

A blogging friend, Susie at Susie Lindau’s Wild Ride, was recently diagnosed with breast cancer.  She announced it in typical Susie fashion; with honesty and humor.  Susie will undergo a double mastectomy today.  Please join with me in sending prayers and good wishes her way for a successful operation and a smooth recovery.

My sister Mary Kay is a survivor – it was stage 1 and she’s doing fine now, thank God.  (My sister Lib is holding her own against a brain tumor, but that’s a cancer for another day.)

I’m sure you know someone who has been affected by breast cancer. If you can afford to do so, go to the Avon website and donate.  Or participate in a walk near you – they’re being held all over the country.

For everyone who is fighting this scourge, join with me now and raise your voice in a battle cry:  CANCER, YOU CAN KISS MY ASS!

Posted in Cancer Schmancer | Tagged , , , , , | 35 Comments

What To Do When Mother Nature Crashes the Wedding: A Bride’s Guide

weddingnosepinCongratulations – you’re getting married!

One of the most crucial decisions you’ll make is where to have the wedding.   If you’re like many brides, you’ve tuned out advice from clueless old fogies (i.e. your parents) and listened to your Inner Disney Princess.  She says:

It’s MY special day; I’ll do exactly what I want.

That’s why you’ve decided on an outdoor wedding.

You can see it now: birds will soar lazily through a blue sky dotted with fluffy clouds, their chirping blending sweetly with your music.  A soft, gentle breeze will perfume the 75-degree air with the scent of freshly-mown grass and flowers.

Pfffft.

That’s what it was like LAST weekend.  Time to deal with the reality of today.

Mother Nature has a twisted sense of humor.   That’s why the clever bride makes sure she’s ready for anything, with a little help from Peg-Co.  Our Wedded (Ignorance Is) Bliss line of wedding favors combines sentiment and practicality so you can handle whatever Mother Nature throws at you.

We’ve got you covered for:

  • Stench: How ironic for a hipster like you to have her ceremony at a real farm!  But what’s a city girl to do when inconsiderate farmers have chosen today, of all days, to fertilize?   Nosepins to the rescue. You’ll end up smelling like a rose when you protect your guests’ scents sense with our customized clothespins
  • Noise: It turns out the Tri-state Harley Club’s “We Don’t Need No Stinkin’ Mufflers” competition is being held right across the street.  Guests won’t be able to hear a word of the ceremony, let alone the $100/hour harpist you booked.  Our Hear No Evil MP3 players with attached earphones save the day.  They’re just like the ones you rent for self-guided museum tours.  But instead of hearing the difference between Cubism and Pointillism, guests will enjoy a full wedding ceremony, pre-recorded with your names inserted in all the right places.  Please specify: Catholic, Protestant, Hindu, Jewish, or New Age services.
  • Cold: Toast The Bride gloves and scarf sets embroidered with your names will bring this special day to mind long after the feeling returns to your guests’ extremities.
  • Hot: Nothing puts a damper on a party like half the guests dropping from heat stroke.  When the mercury hits 98 degrees in May (for the first time in recorded history) you’ll be glad you ordered Ice, Ice, Baby terry cloth ice-pack covers.  Just fill with ice (not included) and have guests sling them across the back of their necks.  Your names custom embroidered on the cover reminds guests whom they can thank for having a hot time in the old town tonight.
  • Rain: Personalized Pair-a-sols umbrellas are big enough to protect two lovebirds even if it’s raining cats and dogs.
  • More Rain: It’s been raining for 10 days straight, but you’re not worried; you’ve booked the Wedding Ark!  Our rowboat is painted white and draped with tulle to provide a charming way to ferry guests, two-by-two, across the Lake of Love (formerly the parking lot) to your ceremony site. (Please specify if you also wish to hire Captain Moses to man the oars.)

dorothyshoesgaloshes

  • After the Rain:  It finally stopped raining, but you’re still bailing out from last week’s deluge.  When the lawn at your venue has turned to swamp, guests will be thankful for These Boots Were Made For Weddin’ galoshes.  See-through, plastic boots personalized with your names slip right over guests’ expensive Manolo Blahniks.  Not only does this protect their shoes, it makes sure their 6” stilettos don’t turn guests into human lawn Jarts. (Be sure to pick up some Leg Savers to keep folding chairs from being similarly planted in the saturated ground.)
  • Plague: The weather is clear and warm, the ground is firm and dry, the air is sweet smelling and blessedly quiet.  Congratulations – your wedding day looks just like you dreamed!

I said it LOOKS great.weddingoff

But after all the recent rain and heat, setting foot on the grass is sure to raise swarms of mosquitoes big enough to carry the bride off like the winged monkeys in the Wizard of Oz.  (Don’t) Bite Me personalized bottles of Deep Woods Off protect guests from Dengue Fever with the light scent of orange blossom.

Matchbook covers and personalized napkins are all very well for a “normal” wedding, but when you move it outside you need Peg-Co’s Wedded (Ignorance Is) Bliss line of products.

With Peg-Co on your side, when Mother Nature asks, “Can you take it?” you’ll respond, “Dish it out!” and flip her the bird.

*10% discount for combination orders.  After all, every one of these contingencies is equally likely to happen.  Please allow at least 6 months for personalization and to give your parents time to line up a second mortgage.  Peg-Co ( a division of Peg-O-Leg Industries) is not responsible for normal wedding hazards including, but not limited to, ruined shoes, malaria, or a drunken bride telling her new mother-in-law what she REALLY thinks of her.

Posted in General Ramblings, Peg-Co Catalog | Tagged , , , , | 65 Comments

Freshly Pegged – The Big Sheep Blog

Have you ever sent a post out into the blogosphere, absolutely convinced it was going to be Freshly Pressed? And then it wasn’t?

You’re not alone.freshlypegged2

I’ve asked some fantastic bloggers to select the post that had them muttering,”THIS One Should Have Been Freshly Pressed.” A new blogger is featured each week to receive the coveted Freshly Pegged distinction. Participants will be awarded a genuine, simulated “Freshly Pegged” JPEG badge, suitable for posting in a place of honor on their blogs. Or not.

Be sure to read all the great Freshly Pegged offerings to date. But before you do, let’s check out…

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The Big Sheep Blog  First of all, let me make clear that Lisa is not really a sheep.   There seems to be a lot of confusion on that issue.

The first time I came to the WordPress playground, I sat on the swing-set all by myself, scuffing the dirt with my toe and feeling lonely and scared.  Lisa came over and asked if I wanted to play Barbies with her and the other girls.  She was my first, bloggy friend.

She is an actual writer who gets paid to write.  I know.  Once you get over your overwhelming jealousy, you’ll forgive her because you’ll be so happy to read her stuff.  She writes  about the absurdities of life in general as well as her life in particular.  She lives in Mayberry (really) and is the mother of teen/college age kids.  Although Lisa is on WordPress’ list of Recommended Humor Bloggers, it’s not all about the funny, especially when she writes about her work with children.

You’ll want to check out what’s going on at The Big Sheep Blog, right after you read…

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Rx

Bullshitia is a prescription medication for the treatment of symptoms of Hypochondragullability. Hypochondragullability is a serious medical condition. Symptoms include the strong belief that you have one or more health problems created and propagated by the marketing executives of Pharmaceutico and the willingness to take absolutely any medication your doctor may randomly prescribe for you.

Bullshitia is not for everyone. Patients who are pregnant, nursing, may become pregnant or who are the product of a pregnancy, should not use Bullshitia. Do not take Bullshitia if you have experienced an allergic reaction to Bullshitia in the past or if you are averse to adverse side effects. Call your doctor to find out if Bullshitia is right for you.

Bullshitia is safe and effective when taken as directed. Side effects have been reported and may include upset stomach, dizziness, flatulence, drowsiness, insomnia, rashes, unwanted hair, weight gain, sexual dysfunction, sensitivity to sunlight and total darkness, confusion, nervous tics, numbness of the extremities, heavy sweating, and hallucinations especially hallucinations involving a green butterfly fluttering around you as you sleep. These side effects are mild to moderate and may or may not decrease over time. If you experience any of these side effects, tough it out, you sissy. Do not stop taking Bullshitia unless directed to by your doctor because stopping Bullshitia may cause a precipitous drop in Pharmaceutico’s profit margins.

Serious side effects are rare because Bullshitia is safe and because when serious side effects are reported to Pharmaceutico, we take them seriously but pretend they were caused by something else. Rarely, if ever, do we report such side effects to the FDA, which rarely, if ever, takes any action even if we do. Stop taking Bullshitia immediately and call your doctor if you experience a sudden loss of consciousness or the cessation of all vital signs.

If you cannot afford Bullshitia, Pharmaceutico may be able to help. This generosity is made possible by the kindness of Pharmaceutico’s cold, soulless, corporate heart, and by charging obscenely inflated prices for Bullshitia to everyone else who takes it. We do this because we believe nobody, and we mean nobody, should have to go without Bullshitia.

Bullshitia should be taken with food and as many other Pharmaceutico medications as we can convince your doctor to prescribe for you. Do not operate a motor vehicle or heavy machinery or perform surgery until you know how Bullshitia affects you. Bullshitia is not known to be addictive, but severe withdrawal symptoms are likely if you dare to ever stop taking Bullshitia.

If you experience a worsening of the symptoms of Hypochondragullability while taking Bullshitia, contact your doctor as you may need a stronger dose of Bullshitia or may require additional Pharmaceutico medications.

Posted in Freshly Pegged | Tagged , | 68 Comments

Playing Musical Blogs – Movies Teach Us

It wasn't me.

It wasn’t me.

Thoughtsy from Thoughts Appear is traveling this week on businesswoman’s business, so she asked me to stop by her place and check on things while she was away.  I let myself in with the key I found under the “Wipe your %#@$%!% feet!” doormat, then I fed the cat, cleaned the litter box and brought the mail in.

I thought I’d better make sure everything was OK with her computer while I was there.  It only took about ½ hour of casually tearing the desk apart to find her passwords and fire it up.  After I checked her browsing history (you would be SHOCKED – that’s all I’m going to say about that), and sent a few prank emails to the FBI (all in good fun, of course), I hacked into her WordPress account.

Thoughtsy has a great, ongoing series of posts called Movies Teach Us.  She does all the work of movie-going for her readers by picking the perfect film (not counting the crappy horror movies she likes), watching intently while eating popcorn and Jujubes.  She then distills the essential lessons of the film down to a few, pithy take-away points.

I wrote a Movies Teach Us piece while I was over there and took the liberty of posting it on her blog to help her out.  It’s up at her place today.  Go ahead  – go on over there and read it.

p.s. I forgot to water her plants and the dieffenbachia died so I threw it out.  I’m hoping Thoughtsy won’t notice.  Shhh – mum’s the word.

Posted in Guest Post - Playing Musical Blogs | Tagged , , , | 29 Comments

Freshly Pegged – K8edid

Have you ever sent a post out into the blogosphere, absolutely convinced it was going to be Freshly Pressed? And then it wasn’t?

You’re not alone.freshlypegged2

I’ve asked some fantastic bloggers to select the post that had them muttering,”THIS One Should Have Been Freshly Pressed.” A new blogger is featured each week to receive the coveted Freshly Pegged distinction. Participants will be awarded a genuine, simulated “Freshly Pegged” JPEG badge, suitable for posting in a place of honor on their blogs. Or not.

Be sure to read all the great Freshly Pegged offerings to date. But before you do, let’s check out…

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Katy at K8edid is a nurse, a teacher, a writer, a grandmother – she wears a lot of hats.  She’s a master of the clever comment and is probably best known for her brilliant 7 Deadly Sins writing competition.  I haven’t actually won any of them, but I’m not bitter.  Nope.  Not at all.

katyandme

All this blogger goodness in one place???

She has the distinction of being the only blogging buddy I’ve met in the flesh.  Last summer we discovered we would both be traveling to the great state of Michigan to visit relatives at the same time.  We met in a magical place called Wendys.  My family dropped me off for a little visit and went to grab a bite elsewhere; at least that’s what I told Katy.  They were actually hiding nearby with long-range rifles trained on her through the restaurant window.  Although I already loved Katy like a sister, I thought it best to be prepared in case she and her hubby, Sweet Cheeks, were deranged, psycho kidnappers.  As it turned out, they were not.

Katy has been greatly missed around the blogosphere lately as she has been struggling with a serious medical situation.  It looks like she may be out of the woods now, or at least able to see some daylight ahead.  I’m thankful she’s on the mend and delighted to welcome her back.

Her Freshly Pegged offering really speaks to me – Holler! – and I’m sure you’ll also love…

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Stuck in the Middle (Age) With You

I seem to be mired in a deep rut these days. The sides are slippery and I feel like even if I could climb out of it, there is a deep sink hole waiting to swallow me up just outside this rut. So maybe I’ll stay right here. This is that crazy time “Middle Age”*** – can’t quite pull off young and not yet ready for the retirement home. Somewhere between having to worry about birth control and funeral arrangements. Here are ten truths I’ve discovered about middle age:
1. I had it good back in the day.
But I didn’t know it. I thought I was fat. Now I am all set for the next famine. I had boundless energy. Now I can barely lift the remote. I could play poker all night, work all day, and sling meals effortlessly. Now I can barely make reservations. I managed a household on top of a full time job and 2 robust and active boys. Now I manage to get from the bed to work to the couch and call it a good day.

Someone is bound to notice this hairdo.

2. Beauty is a full time job.
In my younger days, I could still turn a few heads (especially if those heads had been drinking). Getting dolled up meant enhancing my natural assets with a touch of mascara and lip gloss. Now I fill wrinkles with spackle and cover age spots with a thick layer of “age defying” shellac. Even industrial strength hair coloring cannot cover what is growing out of my head, and my chin hairs are alarming in both their length and strength. My moustache is envied by Justin Bieber. I’d give myself a pedicure if I could reach (or even see) my toes. But I don’t know why I bother because…
3. You become invisible.
Somewhere around 43 or 44 you will become invisible – no matter how beautiful (or loud, or funny) you are. Children are cute, youngsters are hip and savvy. Oldsters are entitled to respect and senior discounts. You are just there – sort of – if anyone even notices. All those things you thought you’d do if you were invisible – not happening.

20120310 Amazon motorized scooter

I traded my roller blades for this (Photo credit: kbrookes)

4. Half the distance takes you twice as long.
I can no longer open jars by myself, my eyesight is failing faster than my vision insurance covers new lenses, and my teeth are wearing down. I have fillings older than many billionaire CEO whippersnappers and they are working loose at an alarming rate (the fillings – not the CEOs). My joints are achy and any rapid movements could land me in traction. While I don’t yet need a hover-round, I am not exactly zipping about on foot, either. I’ve traded sexy shoes for comfortable ones. I spend 2 hours a day on exercise – an hour dreading it, half an hour trying to talk myself into it (by promising myself a bowl of ice cream afterward), and 30 minutes letting the dog drag me down the sidewalk.
5. Your brain will let you down.
I can’t remember things. Except at 3:00 a.m. Then I remember the name I couldn’t recall when I saw that old acquaintance today. I remember what I meant to get at the grocery store but couldn’t remember where I left my list. I remember birthdays on the day of – too late to send a card, but if I’m lucky, not too late to call or Skype, if I could remember where my cell phone is or remember my Skype password. I remember to feed the dog when she begins gnawing on my leg. Then I remember I meant to get dog food.
6. Your life is filled with wonder.
You wonder why bad things happen to good people. You wonder how many times a heart can break. You wonder how a One Minute Manager can make 8 hours seem like a year. You wonder why liars, abusers, thieves, perverts, killers and other rat-bastards get to breathe the same air as the most innocent child. You wonder if you’ve done enough with your life. You wonder what you did to deserve the bounty you’ve been given. You wonder why monogamy seems so hard for so many. You wonder if you’ll be remembered for your wit or your chocolate chip cookies, or for walking around with your skirt tucked up in your pantyhose. You wonder why it takes 10 minutes to consume a pan of brownies but 7 hours on the treadmill to get rid of them. You wonder where in the hell you left your car keys.
7. You have enemies.
Time, insomnia, karma, and gravity.
8. You start hanging out with well-educated rich people.
Pharmacists, orthopedists, ophthalmologists and MDs.
9. Your roles change.
Your children are grown, even if they still live in the basement. You’ve imparted all the lessons you’re gonna give ‘em – they still know more than you (for a few more years, at least). Your parents are off enjoying their retirements and spending your inheritance. They’ve imparted all the lessons they’re gonna give you and they still know more than you (for a few more years, at least). You get to worry about both and can control neither.
10. This is the time of your life.
You’ve done a lot of hard work. You watch your children work to find their way in this world, and you remember the journey. You know who you are and what you are. You’ve seen enough to know what is coming down the road…if you live long enough you’ll lose family members, friends, acquaintances and co-workers to disease or accidents. You enjoy the health you have left, even as you feel it slipping away. You will never again be as young as you are today. Youth and beauty may be leaving you in the dust, but you know that experience, wisdom and treachery trump all that, anyway.
***I am middle-aged if my life expectancy is 114.

Posted in Freshly Pegged, General Ramblings | Tagged , | 79 Comments