A couple of exciting things have happened this week already. First of all, I became a great-aunt the second time over. My niece, Nicola, gave birth to a healthy baby girl in the wee hours Monday morning.
Smiley’s
Cat Up a Pole with a Bag Over its Head. No Punchline Needed.
28...29...30...Ready or not, here I come! Uh, guys?! Hello?
This is not the post I intended to write today. My original post will have to wait until Wednesday now because this made me laugh.
All I have to say is this cat is an overachiever dork. It’s bad enough to get stuck on top of a pole OR to get one’s head stuck in a Doritos bag but to do both? That takes talent. It begs the question (one of many) which came first, the pole or the bag? And it creates a new adage: can’t see the pole with a Dorito bag stuck on your head.
Don’t worry; the cat was not injured. So, have fun with the picture and come up with the best caption.
Oh Feather, Where did you Come From?
I found this feather by my feet yesterday. It was under my desk at work. I worked 8.75 hours and saw it just as I was getting ready to leave. Two questions – how long had it been there, and most important, where did it come from?
My Little Pony’s Tat
photo courtesy the web
I was over at a friend’s house the other day when she busted out her My Little Pony set. No, not to play with. She’s going to try and sell them on E-Bay.I was a little too old for the whole pony craze and never paid much attention to them.
Is it just me, or is that the My Little Pony version of a Tramp Stamp on each of their hindquarters?
Yeah, my friend became very defensive about her ponies when I asked her that, too.
Say My Name, Say My Name
This is what happens when time meets hands. Friday night I was surfing the web and feeling a little bored. I could have used the time wisely and caught up on reading some blogs. I did not (sorry). Or I could have been productive and learned a new skill such as sewing. Didn’t do that either. I could have expanded my world and downloaded some e-books or for a real kick, picked up an old-fashioned book with actual pages. Nope, didn’t do that.
Instead, I googled my name. I know I’m not alone in doing this so don’t judge me. If I type my name in once, I get a few hits of other Corina’s. If I type it in twice, I get music videos.
In 1960, Ray Peterson first crooned, Corinna, Corinna. I forgive him for spelling my name wrong. Although I did not score my name directly from the song, there’s no telling if it played an indirect part. It’s kind of a sore subject and one I’ve already blogged about so I’ll let it go at that. Due to the song and the subsequent movie (fyi I do not look like Whoopi Goldberg. Though we do have similar hair styles some days) my name is often spoken double.
The original recording by Ray Peterson is whimsical fun. The video is a fun watch. At least it is for me since he is singing my name. Jealous much? At times, he looks like he almost forgot the words but he pulls it off. The end is reminiscent of a Brady Bunch fade but it’s all good.
It’s much better than the updated version done years later. The name is the same even though I was surprised it was Ray. It stinks getting old and having it recorded, saved and posted on Youtube for posterity and public. While the original recording is my favorite version of the song, this is my least favorite. I don’t appreciate the fact my name has become little more than a Vegas act. Ray looks bored singing it. Almost like he wishes he never met Corina.
Dean Martin also sang my song. This would probably mean more if I was in my mom’s generation. I first became acquainted with Dean while watching Cannonball Run. It really isn’t that big of thrill to have a drunk old man serenade me. Kind of creepy actually. All you Deano fans can insert my insults here.
There are other versions also. Blues, polka, even a backyard band in the Philippines is represented. I’ve watched so many videos I am now singing my song at work. That is embarrassing. I think whenever I am having a down day, I’m going to watch a different version as a pick me up. Just not the old Casino style rendition of Ray Peterson because that would just make me more annoyed.
The Hunger Games Meets…
My friend Steph posted this on her Facebook yesterday, “Hunger Games + The Muppet Movie = some very strange dreams last night.” Are you with me on the images yet? I told her I was going to steal it and use it as my inspiration for tonight’s blog. I haven’t received a response yet…but I can’t help it. I must share.
Please sir, can I have some more?
Budget: a plan specifying how resources, especially time or money, will be allocated or spent during a particular period (Encarta Dictionary).
I am not what you would call a good budgeter. It’s not that I’m a bad budgeter – unless by bad you mean entirely not budgeting then, yes, I am pretty horrible. The thing is I believe in budgets. I believe in living within my means. I believe in being resourceful and thrifty. In theory. When it comes to practice, well, let’s just leave it at that.
Naturally, I have an excuse. I didn’t say I have a reason – only an excuse. And here’s my justification that really is more of a rationalization but that is okay because someday I’m sure it will be my vindication: I hate math. I try to figure out a budget but when I look at numbers all I see is ^&*()*^%$##. And that makes no sense, right?
Since I know budgets are so important (and getting increasingly so) I have made certain rules. I don’t spend more than $3 per lunch at work. Why I decided $3 is my limit, I’m not sure. But I’m proud as punch when I find deals for $2.50. I feel just like an efficient budgeter.
I’m not going to lie. A $3.00 meal means making sacrifices. Like sometimes I forgo taste. Usually, however, I lose out on satiating my hunger. Those Lean Cuisines are always a bargain buy. But I have discovered the reason is because I can eat a whole cuisine in three bites. I have to refrain from licking the tray in an attempt to get just a little more.
I have found the two pizzas in a box fit inside my pseudo-budget quite nicely. One box can feed me for two lunches. Sort of. While I’m heating a pizza in the microwave my co-workers will comment how good it smells. Then the buzzer goes off and they look at my little round disc. That’s usually when I get asked, “Do you want some of my lunch?”
“No, thanks,” I say stoically. “This is just right.” But that’s a lie. Today I spent almost five minutes scraping off the melted cheese from the cardboard.
When I got home I was so hungry that I treated myself to 
McDonald’s. And no, I did not order off the dollar menu.
So much for my pseudo-budget.
Miniatures Make the World Better
I’ve always loved miniatures. A screwdriver is just a screwdriver unless it’s a tiny one. Then I must confiscate it. And I would. Mom used to have a little screwdriver, I guess for glasses or just really tiny screws. Whenever I’d see it I’d take it. There’s this motto that everyone in my life should get used to. The motto is, “If it’s a teeny-tiny (fill in the blank) it’s Corina’s,” because it is or it will be as soon as I make it so. I will take it. If the tiny screwdriver was missing, she would look for it in my room and find it. She’d put it away until I’d find it and again remove it to a better place (my room).
Just How Old Do You Think I Am?
I was born with a creamy substance all over my body. The nurse told my mom this indicated I’d have good complexion. If by good complexion she meant soft skin, few pimples (yay I didn’t get my first zit until age 20; boo I got my first round of acne at age 30), and young looking skin, then she was spot on.
Did You Know They Took the Word Gullible Out of the Dictionary?
My boss recently gave a co-worker two stickers for a job well done. It was in done in jest, of course. Two smiley-face stickers my co-worker stuck on the collars of her shirt. The co-worker pretended to be indifferent but there was a little swag in her step that day.
“No one ever pays me in stickers,” I whined as homage to the Trident Layers commercial. The joke fell flat. But the sentiment was heard.
The next day when I arrived to work, my computer monitor was wrapped with cellophane with every sticker in my boss’s arsenal stuck on it. That was pretty good.
The truth is I like pranks. I especially like pulling them. When another co-worker left for vacation, I turned everything at her work-station upside down. Memos on the bulletin board. Pictures in their frames. The calendar.
When another co-worker left on vacation, I switched the contents of her drawers around. That one was pushing it a bit because she is a supervisor. That was the last prank I pulled at the office.
But my brother and I have a pretty good give-and-take. When I returned home from my mission, I found flyers hanging in our small local airport with a picture of me. The picture was an unflattering pose of me in a dryer. The gist of the caption had me looking for a date.
Don’t worry. It took a few years but I returned the favor. I superimposed his teenage photos into several scenes from famous movies and television shows (he was in Peter Brady’s square for the Brady Bunch). That was posted on a web-site and I sent the address to all his friends in church. Good times. Good times.
It’s time for a good prank. As long as I don’t fall for one first. As much as I love teasing you’d think I’d be pretty discerning. Nope. I’m about as gullible as they come. Embarrassingly so.
So you see, I must pull a doozy of a prank. And I need a target. I’m open to suggestions.
ck's days 