An Editor’s Prayer for this FB “Commas Gone Wild!” kind of day. Let us pray. Dear Almighty Heavenly Father, I beg you to help me remain calm when I see commas — commas that you created, Father, by implication if not by direct hand — misused in such profoundly incorrect of a fashion as I am seeing on this here man-made site called Facebook. And Lord, you would think such a site with ‘book’ in its name would have an algorithm that would correct such egregious comma usage just like it identifies fake news so well, but no, dear Father. It. Does. Not. Father, I am doing all in my power to remain as ladylike as possible in my commentary, but when one sees sentences such as these (pictured to your left), then you know, my dear Daddy, that I am calling upon my higher power to help me refrain Continue reading An Editor’s Prayer for a “Commas Gone Wild” kind of day→
Remember these: I remember them. They’ve haunted me since I first saw them in the late 70s. At the time this commercial came out, the Women’s Liberation Movement was still real and fresh and new. Halter tops were all the rage, though I didn’t understand why. I was naive about certain things, yes, and when I bought one and wore it in public in a small North Georgia town we lived in, the county went nuts and my mother screamed and next thing I know it disappeared out of my dresser drawers. The Enjoli commercial version was a modification of the classic Blues Pattern song “I’m a Woman” written by Jerry Leiber and Mike Stoller, first recorded by Christine Kittrell and then Peggy Lee in 1962, later covered by others. Raquel Welch and Miss Piggy covered it on The Muppet Show. (Scroll to end of post to see that video.) The original song Continue reading A Madison Avenue Haunting: Enjoli→
1) I can’t WAIT for Obamacare to go away. 2) She wants a red Beamer. I told her she’s got to wait 13 years. 3) Oooooooh, GUUUUUURRRRRRL! You look good. You lost weight? 4) He is…he is…evil. Evil incarnate. 5) This is so much goot breakfast. They have GOOT breakfast in A-MARE-eeca.
In the interests of greater and clearer opportunities for letting one’s feelings be known, Facebook launched a new emoji pack. To the previous Like-only option, they added Love, Laugh, Wow, Sad, and Angry. This has done nothing to help this reporter better understand reactions to her writings. Case in point: This post of mine. Please note the emoji choices my friends made. Understand, I know all these people in real life. I like them. They like me. We have no issues. None are stalking me or wishing me dead, and vice versa. In other words, it’s all good. On this post I see Like, Sad, and Angry. Like is clear. But Sad? Angry? As a good reporter will, I clicked on the emoji bar to see who was Sad and who was Angry. Here’s where the conundrum begins. My friend T— R— was Sad. S— S— was Angry. But was T— sad that Continue reading The Emoji Conundrum→
Or, how to become a citizen journalist and live to tell. You may give a big shout out of thanks to Awesome Cousin Number One (ACNO), who said, “I know you will write about this” when she handed me an advertisement for camo his and hers wedding rings. Being the intrepid and ever-curious yet humorously serious citizen journalist it seems I’ve become, ACNO was absolutely correct in her statement and here I am writing about the subject. Of course, the first thing any intrepid and ever-curious yet humorously serious citizen journalist does when they begin to investigate is go to Google and type in a search phrase to confirm that what a source supplied can be independently verified. I will tell you that ACNO intel was true (see photographic proof below) — and then some. The then some comes from the fact that this intrepid and ever-curious yet humorously serious citizen journalist asked one of the important Continue reading It’s a Camo, Camo, Camo, Camo World!→
Diversity. Inclusion. Acceptance. Equality. I find the majority of people who want these things from me, don’t actually want to reciprocate. They should add to their list: Reciprocity. Still, what does all that mean anyway? Being open to diversity, as well as including and accepting others, does not mean one cannot reject or exclude. For instance, there are people who are quite diverse in their inclusion and acceptance of sucking toes. Why, they are equal about it, too: They’ll suck anybody’s toes. But me? I reject that diversity. I don’t want to be included. I do not accept any offer of service to my toes that involves tongue. And I will equally reject all those offers no matter which religion, nationality, race, gender, species, or age. Look, you stay away from my toes and I’ll stay away from yours, mmmmkay? Does this make me a bad person? Maybe toe suckers think so, Continue reading I mean it: Stay away from my toes→
Boston, Mass., April 21, 2016 — Andrea Andreeson, 64, has written a tell-all book confessing to cheating her employer for 25 years by playing a game instead of working. How Spider Solitaire Saved My Sanity is available on Amazon.com, both Kindle and print versions. The old spinster says she took the job because she thought she could meet highly eligible husband material in the workplace. As she says in her book, “I never intended to be at this job for long. I was pretty, and of an age to still be viable. I knew C-Tap Corporation attracted smart men who needed wives to help them advance their careers by throwing parties for clients and bosses. I was that woman.” Though she also confesses to — and gives some darn good details about — several affairs of the heart, alas, none ever lasted for too long, much less led to the marriage her heart Continue reading Retired Woman Confesses How She Cheated Her Employer for 25 Years→
The Onion does it again: Skewering the relationship ennui that has taken over the First World like a slow-motion tsunami. Weary boredom has replaced romantic zing. But, why? Simple. Movies, books, commercials, and more all show happy-happy when couples are together. Further, they infer, it will always be like this. Even the troubles they experience can be overcome with some dramatic scene or a special piece of jewelry on a day mandated for gift giving. So, high expectations drilled into us makes the reality even more of a slap in the face when we get near it. And more and more are running from the drama. These days the only public relationship drama you’re gonna find is in an awesome country song video like this one in this link. We’re just happy to watch the video, then sigh and say, “Whew, glad I’m avoiding that silly drama, but did you notice the lighting? Continue reading High Expectations and Relationship Ennui→
Everybody needs their very own Mr. Romance. Click below to start your own adventures.
Same kids as in #1; that is, the number one post right before this one entitled Oh! The Things Kids Say: #1. Six months later. Same (now ex) husband. Summer. We are working in the garden at the back of the house. The kids come over and stare at the husband as they stand beside me. Me and the boys are chatting. Seems they forgave me for the snow angel faux pas from the previous snow storm that winter. We’re having a good old visit. But they keep staring at the husband and then looking up at me. Finally, one of them said to me, as the husband bent down to pull a weed or something, “Is that your daddy?” Husband almost fell into the dirt. They didn’t believe me when I told them who he was. They looked at me like What were you thinking?
There was a heavy snow. My (now ex) husband and I got out the truck and put that baby in four-wheel drive. As we passed our neighbor’s house we noticed their three boys laying in the snow and, what looked like to us, busy making snow angels. We stopped. I rolled down the window and hollered, “Hey, boys. You sure are making some pretty snow angels there.” You would have thought I had slapped them up side the head and insulted their mama because they sat up in the snow and gave me the most disgusted look you ever saw. One of the boys, the second oldest and around eight, elected himself spokesperson for the three. Or maybe he was simply the first to get back his ability to speak from the shock of my comment. He said, “We ain’t making no snow angels. Yuck.” Whazzah mattah you was implied. Continue reading Oh! The Things Kids Say: #1→
I have a small balcony at my condo. I love sitting out on it with my laptop. It’s covered, has a large awning that juts out even further so the rain and sun miss me even more. Trees are everywhere, as are birds. At night, the noises of tree frogs and crickets and owls join in with the rustling of the leaves and swaying of the trees. Mizz Liz, my neighbor downstairs, brings out her precious Mizz Darla several times a day for a walk and a wee. Of course, we must say hello to Mizz Darla and have a nice little chinwag and a scratch behind the ears. On days when I feel the need to bake a batch of brownies, I take four warm squares down the stairs and knock on Mizz Liz’s door. Oooowee, share the love of warm chocolate, yes indeed. This morning it’s rainy and Continue reading Chats, Chocolate, and Chinwags→
So everybody is listing things other people don’t know about them. I’ve been reading these lists. Made me think about what it is people probably don’t know about me. Here are a few. As a couple of friends said, “Explains a lot, Angela.” 1. I was interviewed for a full half-hour by G. Gordon Liddy, in-studio, on his radio show exactly one year before 9/11. 2. When I was six, I believed I could breathe under water. The belief was short lived. 3. When I was twenty, I was held hostage by an armed gunman for 45 minutes, and a month later robbed at gunpoint by a drunk man. 4. When I was two, a four-year-old boy didn’t want to let my mother have me back, so he knocked me off a high porch onto the ground and broke my arm while screaming “You can’t have her, she’s mine.” The Continue reading What You Don’t Know About Me→
Okay. So last night I went out. Had a bowl of chicken soup with avocado. Great soup, by the way at this particular Mexican restaurant. So I decided to have some fun with my new app, it scrolls LED messages like on a marquee. It was loud in there. He was busy. I wasn’t rude. Simply held up the phone and waited until he saw it. I was even smiling. The scrolled message said, “Check, please.” He was not amused. Oh, poor thing. And he’d been working SO hard for that tip, winking at me since I sat at his bar, making sexy goo-goo eyes at me, puckering up those cute little lips. Yes, he was working hard for the money. Then he saw the message. “Check, please.” And the sexy, winking, puckering face went sour. So young to be so…so…unflexible and serious. Isn’t this simply another way to communicate? I thought Continue reading Fun for one?→