Everyone needs a Bubba to watch movies with. My niece Bubba can’t hide her emotions. If she’s enjoying herself, you’ll know. On the flip side, if there’s an angry Bubba, you’ll know that also. Just pray you’re not the cause (ie waitress at the KOA Café at Devils Tower, my apologies). But when Bubba is having a good time, it can be infectious. Unless, of course, she’s having fun at your expense – but that’s a different story.
humor
Hair Today
I was supposed to be writing a fabulous, genius-piece short story. Instead, I stared at the cursor while it blinked at me. I had a great story about a princess in mind but the fire is gone and everything I’ve written is now erased. Which just makes me more frustrated because I have a project I want to complete. But…blink, blink, blink.
So, I decided to take a nice warm shower to relax and get the creative juices flowing. Still nothing. I washed my hair and ran my fingers through my hair. At least, tried to. My hair has always been the bane of my existence. You may think I’m prone to hyperbole but I’m not. I’ve had three good hair days my entire life and I’ve been alive for a few more than three days.
The first good hair day occurred when my sister-in-law, CC, gave me a makeover. I was fifteen and for the first time, felt like a looker. And, to be honest, I was.
The second good hair day happened when I got primped for senior pictures. I went to church the next day and one of my friends asked, “Did your sister-in-law help you with your hair?”
“No,” I said.
“Oh,” she replied, “you just look so…” she caught herself. “Your hair just looks like she did it.” Nice save.
The third good hair day happened just a couple years ago. I discovered I don’t have one good picture of me. Being single, I never got the fancy wedding pictures. So, I had glam pictures done. Don’t mock. Someday, I’m going to need a video of my life done and I wanted at least one good picture.
Perhaps you noticed the common denominator for all three days. Somebody else styled my hair. Long ago I realized I’m missing that crucial gene most girls have that help them do their hair. That’s one of the reasons I want to become stinkin’ rich. A stylist would be on my payroll. That and I’d like to get me an island. Let’s face it, I just want to upgrade my odd status to eccentric.
But I digress. Let’s recap, I was in the shower supposed to be coming up with a doozy of a short story. I ran my fingers through my hair and that’s when I realized: I have a mullet. I’m pretty sure that’s not what I asked for the last time I got my hair done. I made a mental note to find a picture as an example to take. Obviously, I have trouble communicating verbally what I want because this is not what I want.
photo courtesy the web
I have a small round face and my hair grows in thick. When it’s long, I resemble a Chia pet.
photo courtesy the web
When it’s short, I look like someone who needs help grooming (which I guess I just proved I do). A long time ago I noticed a discrepancy between what I see in the mirror (cute) and what I see in photos (oh dear). I hoped the mirror was the more accurate of the two. But then I noticed everyone else in a photo looks like themselves (dang me). Now, don’t get me wrong. I think I have a lot of potential. For example, I have a very cute nose of which I’m very grateful. I just have trouble assembling all my potential together into a cute package.
Here’s hoping I get my windfall soon. Because if I get my own island, it won’t matter what my hair looks like.
Huntin’ Season
In my neck of the world, it’s huntin’ season. I traveled 100 miles south today and saw herds of deer and antelope just a playing in the autumn sunlight. Actually, I saw more herds today than I have ever seen. Along the road, trucks were parked with the hunters scoping out areas. And my favorite, a white Blazer crammed with four big guys dressed in bright orange. They were going slow and had their guns at the ready. If that doesn’t sound comforting, it wasn’t. Let me stress the point, that vehicle was in Utah – not Wyoming.
I have a confession to make. Despite being born in Wyoming and spending most of my life here, I’ve never gone hunting. Not once. I do eat meat. I just prefer somebody else to do the killing. And definitely the cleaning (insert gagging noise here). One summer, I helped my brother clean Albertsons including the meat department. It took a while before I could even look at meat again. And the smell of raw meat still sends a warning to my stomach to be on alert. So, no I’m not a hunter.
The other night I was at a rest stop resting. It was a dark, cold night that made my teeth chatter. So, I stayed in the warm car while I waited. A car came down the access road and out the gate. As soon as it left the rest stop, a herd of deer came around the corner in the opposite direction. They headed for the gate and slinked in. They seemed to be communicating with each other. This is what I imagined they were saying. You know, in deer language.
“Hey, Joe,” said one from the group. “They gone?”
“Yeah,” said the small deer sneaking slowly a few feet in front of the group. “Looks like the coast is clear. I mean there’s a girl in the car there watching us, but she’s harmless. She couldn’t even tolerate the cold and got back in the car. Plus, she’s not wearing orange. She’s no hunter. Let’s go home.”
The rest of the group caught up with him while laughing. “I can’t believe how long those hunters were out there waiting for us,” said one.
“Yeah, we sure showed them,” another answered.
“Momma, I’m tired,” one of the fawns mumbled and yawned.
“Let’s go home, dear deer.” And the whole herd slipped past the gate and disappeared into the dark. Safe for the night.
I’m no deer linguistic expert, but I think I read the situation pretty accurately.
So, good luck all you hunters. I hope you get your meat for the season. Just don’t shoot anything on two legs.
How Hallmark Stays in the Black: The Blog I Intended to Write
My last blog took a turn last night. It started out to be a complaint on all the arbitrary holidays on the calendar. But it came out as something quite different. A cup of bitterness anyone? I’d like to say it was “taken out of context” but since I’m the sole writer, I guess I just have to own up to it. I don’t like to contribute any negative energy. I should clarify I get along pretty well with my officemate and my boss. My job offers benefits and a great vacation schedule so I shouldn’t complain. I’ve just been in a cranky mood lately. This is why writers shouldn’t write alone. At night.
The blog I intended to write was to be a diatribe of all the superficial holidays that litter the calendar. Is Boss’s Day really necessary? Administrative Professional’s Day? Really? Did you know October is American Pharmacist Month? I’m sure Hallmark makes a card for that. Were you aware it’s also Lupus Awareness Month? Or Eat Country Ham Month? I think that was started by a group of chickens.
October is a very fat month. We all know the obvious with Halloween but that’s just the beginning. It is National Pizza Month, National Vegetarian Month, National Seafood Month (ew), and National Popcorn Popping Month. Popcorn recognition actually does deserve a whole month.
It is also National Sarcastic Month. That’s all we need. A whole month devoted to sarcasm because there isn’t enough contention in the world. Don’t forget, it’s also Awareness Month. Yep, add your own cause to be aware of this month.
The 2nd week is Pet Peeve Week. That explains why I was so annoyed that whole week. And there’s at least one holiday each day of the month. For example, October 2nd was Name Your Car Day. Too late, mine has been christened Felix, the Ford Explorer for a while now. The 3rd was Virus Appreciation Day. I don’t know if appreciation is the right word to describe how I feel about viruses. I wish I would have known the 12th was Moment of Frustration Day. I really could have vented.
Yesterday was Wear Something Gaudy Day. Dang me! Always a day late. Today was No Beard Day. Hey, I celebrated that one and didn’t even know it. Tomorrow is Evaluate Your Life Day. Probably a good idea. I will start with what I accomplished today – Wrote a blog about all the holidays… This is pretty much where I pictured my life to be at the moment.
The 21st is Babbling Day. Judging by this blog, I think I can celebrate that one pretty easily. It is followed by National Nut Day. Again, another holiday I celebrate daily. We all know the 31st is Halloween but did you know it is also Increase Your Psychic Powers Day? I think I’ll celebrate that by trying to bend a spoon. With my mind.
This was just the tip of the iceberg. Check out all the goofy holidays at www.holidayinsights.com. There’s a holiday for everyone. But make sure you mark my most favorite holiday of all – Dance Like a Chicken Day which is May 14th. I’ll expect a card.
Why I Won’t Be Successful #1
I had an epiphany today. Not really, I just wanted to be dramatic. But the point that I will never be successful in this life was once again made perfectly manifest. When I helped my brother and sister-in-law move to Wyoming we passed six hitchhikers that were only wearing cowboy hats and boots. Just like then, I saw things today that, as Curly Sue said, made me want to lose my belly. I just can’t play the game and so, I will never be a success in this life.
Friday at work I noticed “National Boss Day” was Sunday. But the thought started and died right there. Once I left work, I didn’t I didn’t think of the office nor my boss all weekend. I know, I’m a horrible employee. When I got to work this morning, I noticed the calendar again.
“Dang me,” I thought. “I forgot to get a card.” Then I thought maybe I could make one and print it. It would be cute like a child’s homemade card to a parent.
Before I could ask my officemate if she wanted to help me our boss walked in. She thanked my officemate for the lovely card and gave her a shoulder hug. My officemate waved it off and then, oh yes, it gets better, she said, “You’re just so underappreciated here.” That’s when my breakfast almost revisited me. And so, I made a mature decision on the spot, to ignore both of them for the rest of the day and I put my earphones in.
I cannot play the game. I choose not to play the game. First of all, is it really necessary to have a day set aside for the people I spend 40 hours a week with? Who came up with this remembrance day, anyway? I think it was the CEO’s of Hallmark. Not only did they get another day people rush to get a card (genius) but they also get their own egos stroked (double genius).
But I digress. I should be taking notes of how to ingratiate myself as my officemate has done. Instead, I roll my eyes like a teenage girl after she’s given a curfew. I won’t play the game.
See What Happened Was
Yes, I know better. I’ve been careful to not mention any names in my blog. Not only to protect privacy but also to keep names out of the googlesphere. For example, one of my nieces could apply for a job and her prospective employer Googles her name. I don’t want something I view as a cute anecdote such as “Family Prayer” to be an embarrassing hindrance. Or a worst case scenario, at least, according to them, (gasp) a boyfriend could stumble on one of my blogs. It’s the 21st century way to embarrass the young’uns.
Someday…
I glanced at MSN.com to see the news of the day. Nothing really caught my eye until I noticed the popular pages section. Rolling Stones named the worst song of the 80’s. Now that’s newsworthy. I clicked the link and a picture of the group “Starship” pops up. “Uh oh,” I thought and I got a little worried. Starship happens to sing my future wedding-video song. I really don’t want my video to have the worst song of the 80’s on it so I clicked the link to find out which song it is. Whew! My wedding-video is safe. The consensus is “We Built This City,” and I nodded my head in approval.
Moving NJ
My sister, NJ, is getting ready to start a new adventure in another state. She is heading north and will be going back to school. Her furniture, however, is only going halfway and will be stored in a brand new – freshly painted shed in my parents’ backyard.
The Doctor
Happy Monday! Today I had the opportunity to go to the doctor. The doctor. I have heard many names for him: the Fun Doctor, the Woman Doctor, the Very Personal Doctor, That Doctor, the Doctor Who Oughta Buy Me Dinner. I think you get the idea. He is the only doctor I see on an annual basis because he controls the magic pills that make my life a lot easier.
I have to be a whole lot of sick before I go see my regular doctor because he knows I’m due for another colonoscopy. Darn computers! They make everyone so very, very efficient. Don’t get me wrong, I realize he is only trying to help. Thanks to my sister’s pre-cancer scare a few years ago, my siblings and I got to experience the joy of down under scope way before the age of 50. Technically, it only starts down under then heads due north but that really isn’t the point. The point is the doctor and his nurses now have me on their radar. Last year, I went in for a sprained wrist and received a lecture about scheduling my next colonoscopy.
It is on my list of to-do’s, it really is, I just have to forget a little bit more about the first go around before I can schedule the second. I still remember the video I had to watch describing the procedure and I about fainted when it described everything that was going on the little day trip. A camera. A probe. And my least favorite, the clippers. I thought of the movie “Inner Space” and shuddered. I didn’t want a little adventurer going exploring in my down under.
But today I went to see the Fun doctor. He doesn’t have me on his colonoscopy radar so I don’t have to make any excuses. I wanted to schedule the appointment for 4:30 but was informed the doctor didn’t see patients that late. So, I took an hour off of work for an appointment at 3:30 of which I had to be there by 3:15. I was called back at 4:00.
The nurse asked questions to fill in my chart since my last visit a year ago. I told her I got sick a few months ago hoping to get an official diagnosis. She asked how sick I had become and I refrained from telling her how I thought I was going to die because she might think me a bit melodramatic. Instead, I said, “It hurt real bad.” Maybe I should have gone with the drama because the doctor told me later that since it doesn’t hurt anymore, I’m probably okay. It’s not that I’m a hypochondriac I just want an official diagnosis to explain why I’m so tired. And lazy. And body parts are starting to hurt that didn’t used to hurt. But the doctor keeps giving me a clean bill of health. Which is good but that means everything is falling apart because I’m getting old. There’s no pill for that. And very little sympathy.
The doctor is very considerate and always asks if I’m okay. This is when I take a good look at myself and the predicament I’m in and answer, “Oh yeah.” At least this year he was by himself. For a couple of visits he was training new doctors. I’m all for letting the new guys gain some experience because that’s how they get to be good doctors. However, I think I’ve done my part. Someone else can be their guinea pig.
The whole visit lasted 70 minutes. During which time I saw the doctor for about seven minutes. But I’m done for another year and that is priceless.
It’s Pretty Much All In My Head
I left the Huntsman Cancer Institute after 10:00 last night. First, I had problems with the elevator. I kept pushing the button for the parking garage but it wasn’t staying lit. It took me to the lobby but I needed to descend one more floor. Several times I pushed the button. I even tried holding it to see if that would convince it to take me one more floor.
“You need to use a different elevator to get to the parking garage,” an omnipresent voice declared.
ck's days 