Laughing!

Some trivia...

Years ago, my daughter competed for several years in Irish step dancing. I have part-Irish ancestry, love watching traditional Irish dance, and am a confessed Riverdance and Lord of the Dance junkie, even to today. This is just the backstory for the following --

As you know, we have no TV, and pick up most of our news via radio and internet. I saw the footage of Susan Boyle and her performance/song that's being talked so much about and smiled with the rest of the world to hear her remarkable voice. In perusing her recent Britain's Got Talent youtube videos, I also ran across those of other contestants such as Hollie Steel and Shaheen Jafargholi. Amazing voices.

And then on the sidebar I saw this father-son act...and I haven't laughed so hard in such a long time. Flashbacks to Riverdance, with a twist!

Here it is...the Greek rendition of Michael Flatley

I hope you have time to follow the link for a smile...I'm still laughing!!

The Mom Song

This was forwarded to me today in email. Thank you, T, for the laugh...this is sooooo funny!! :) Ring a bell for anyone out here?



;-)

Craigslist Therapy, LOL

We are laughing our heads off!!

A Pomello is a type of delicious citrus fruit, if you're not aware (I wasn't till a year ago...)

This is a direct cut and paste from the Craigslist ad we just read.

I can't stop laughing... (I've changed nothing but the location) Here it is...


Re: POMELLO TREE
WHO ever you are YOU stole all the fruit off my tree in (location deleted)
i hope you enjoy them as much i i was hoping too.
if you are starving ,stop by and i will give you most of the food in my kitchen .
i have two children and can go to church as they will give us free food.
just think if some red neck seen you stealing on his property you might have gone home with a rear end full a buck shot .
you could have recycled the lead for fishing sinkers.
unless you plan on stealing the fish also <--I'm seriously laughing...
have a good THANKSGIVING
500 dollar reward if they are covvicted for stealing,
200 dollar just to let me know who they are
i can handle it from there <----lololol

Algebra and the Art of Test Failure

I excelled in nearly every other subject, some because they came naturally and some because I applied some study skills.

But it's possible I have either an atrophied mathematics area of my gray matter, or I simply DON'T HAVE that lobe of my brain...I simply cannot do algebra (and you can imagine how much fun that makes geometry and chemistry, etc...)

What this has to do with homesteading, I don't know, except maybe I'm so very, very glad it doesn't take algebra to can vegetables, weed a garden, sell things at the farmers market, etc. (not that I'm even doing those things yet, but I at least feel confident I COULD if the opportunity arose...)

Today, my sister emailed me one of those Forwards that seem to make the rounds. My email box is where those Forwards usually go to die...I seldom if ever read them, much less respond to them. But today's was titled "How to Fail a Test With Dignity." I took the bait...

I've tried to cut and paste these from the email, but it didn't work. I did, however, find the same pics here and there on the web from others who've passed it around. These are mathematics-related questions, the sort that took me right back to those loooooooonnnnngggg classes where an otherwise bright student felt buried under a leaden weight of hopelessness, watched the mouth of the professor move, the pointer point, the dry erase marker mark the swirly lines and the cryptic letters and numbers on the transparent sheet on an overhead projector and then erase them with his/her thumb, have pop quizzes that may have as well been in Sanskrit or Swahili, and then asked the age-old classtime-wrapper-upper question only second before the dismissal bell rang "Now...any questions??"

Here is evidence I was not alone. (I have no idea where this email forward originated, so I give credit to whomever claims it) Yes, there are other hopelessly-algebraic-and-mathematically-crippled students out there, flailing around for answers to those ever-present tests the torturers/interragators math teachers dole out.

I'm having flashbacks...

Here's what kept me laughing this afternoon...

Oh, how this could have been me, trying to wrestle for an answer, any answer...

I sense an artistic soul anguished that the teacher can't existentially understand a simple English word here...

Shaken, or stirred?

I probably would have written "because he takes his bi-polar meds regularly"... (sorry)

Actually, which scenario here is more true to life?? lol


And my hands-down personal favorite... (not good for anyone to look at if you suffer from stress incontinence...)

I applaud all the algebraic zeros of the world, and your struggle to survive. I love your genius...I feel your pain.

;-)

Startling New Debt Reduction Strategies

My Husband Takes His Colds Very, Very Seriously

We seldom argue. I really love this man. Not to say that we seldom disagree, but usually we can manage basic adult communication skills, and we appreciate each other's viewpoint.

Which is severely put to the test when he is convulsed and in the throes of dire afflictions requiring all his attentions...and pleas...each of which is preceded with the word "Robbyn." (Yes, that IS my name)

But that's not how he SAYS the word.

It comes out, during these times of testing, as "ROOOBBBBBBBYYYYYYYNNNNN!!!"

Many, many, many times in a row. The suffering can be heard. Neighbors weep out of compassion. The stars realign. Flocks of migrating birds are knocked out of formation. The earth shifts in her orbit.

I've endured, in my lifetime.
Pregnancy was no picnic, and natural childbirth is a memory I've chosen to keep repressing. Surviving junior high -- same category. Surviving my daughter's junior high, ditto. But you get the idea.

They, of course, are all eclipsed by the male common cold. I have the same cold, but as most know, it's not THE SAME.

Take your medicine, honey?
Grrrooooooaaaaannnnnnnn

Can I get you some hot tea?
Put it over there. No, there. NO, THERE. It's too hot. It's too cold.

More Kleenex, sweetheart?
(Sounds of blowwwwinnggggggg, blowwwwinggggg, snuffle, snort, more bloooowwwwinggggg...) I can't reach the Remote.

In all seriousness, he looks pretty ragged and feels terrible. And so does Everybody Else...NOW...hahaha ;-) Ah, well, just a bit of teasing. I'm about to give him a good Vicks rubdown and roll him up tight in clean blankets like a tamale, and tuck him into bed.

And now guess who else is feeling so darned rotten??

My throat is swollen and I can barely swallow. My ears are infected. My head feels like it weighs 40 lbs. Not that I've ever really weighed my head before. (Now I'm wondering what my head usually weighs...a sure sign I'm addled and need to go directly to bed, do not pass hot tea, do not collect 200 dollars...)

Anyhow, this clip from YouTube made me chuckle. You may have seen it before, but I hadn't. Since I can't understand some of the words they're saying (seeing as they're not in American English - yes an oxymoron, ha!), yea, I do verily print this disclaimer if it's got offensive words.

I'm laughing all the way to the Nyquil... g'nite! I hope to write more relevent posts in the near future. Such as making patchouli bath salts from scratch. For someone else. Who likes patchouli.

For now, later... :)

Overheard While Eating At Mexican Restaurant

...by a 40 year old man, to his parents, loudly, in the booth behind us:

Man: Wow, look how many people are here, and it's only 4 PM. This must be where the locals go.

Mother (looking at menu): It says the enchiladas are on special. What's an enchilada?

Man: I'm not sure, but I think it's wrapped up in something and comes with sauce.

Waitress, coming to table and asking if she can get them something to drink and take their orders: Can I help you?

Mother: I'd like to start with a bowl of cornflakes, and a mango soda.

(This is the point at which I ceased all conversation with my husband and was frozen in one of those long pauses...lol)

Waitress: OK, a mango soda, and you want some tortillas?

Mother, consulting with son: What's a tortilla?

Man: I think it's chips. The ones made out of corn. I think.

Mother, to waitress: Oh THAT's what they're called. Well, then yes. And can you tell me what is an enchilada?

Waitress explains what an enchilada is.

Mother: Yes, well I'd like one of those enchiladas, but no sauce with it.

Waitress: The sauce is usually cooked with the enchilada. Are you sure you want it without the sauce?

Mother: Hmmm, well, I think so, yes.

Son: Mother, Mole' sauce is chocolate sauce.

Waitress, silent.

Father, silent all the while.

Mother: Oh yes, well then no sauce, if it has chocolate in it.

Son, to Waitress, in louder voice as if she is deaf: ARE YOU MEH - HEE - CAH - NO ??
Waitress: Um...I'm from the U.S.

Son, still loudly: YES, BUT WHERE DID YOU LIVE BEFORE?

Waitress, still being polite: I'm from Chicago, originally.

Son: OHHHHHH, Chi-CA-go, really??

Waitress smiles and leaves to place orders. Or escape.

Me, to J, silently, making him read my lips: CORNFLAKES??

J, knowing me, gives me cautionary look to stifle any overt outbursts of mirth: Shhhh!

Me, barest whisper: Do enchiladas even have mole' sauce? They think it's fudge sauce, I think...

J: Shhhh, they'll hear you!


Rest of Behind Us People's Loud Table Conversation turns to expertise on types of beer, etc... we ignore and have pleasant conversation ourselves at lower decibel level till our order arrives.

Son, later, returning to his booth from men's room, and passing by our table after our single order of shared fajitas was just placed before us: (in loud stage whisper): You should SEE how much food they just brought those people! It's hot and is a whole lot of meat and vegetables all in the same dish! I think they actually eat it with their HANDS...

J and I: Staring at each other...

J, knowing I may very well begin shooting Diet soda through my nose if he doesnt help me retain control: Shhhhhhhhhhhhhh....hhhhhhh...hhhhhhh

Waitress, returned to their table: How was everything? Can I get you any refills?

Mother: More cornflakes, please...

Road Trip, Part Two (Or the stuff you don't tell the grandkids years later when you pull out the slide show)

Now For The Togetherness Report
(originally entitled "And Then She Took A Benadryl" )
We had a great time on the trip. Perhaps parts of it did not go as planned, however. (Cough, cough)

See prior post for the description of the property itself...it was so refreshing (once we GOT there, ha!) to be out, be together (husband and myself) and to have great weather to boot. All that is proof that rough starts CAN be overcome.

I'm going to give a pretty realistic, if not somewhat tongue-in-cheek account of the beginning of the whole endeavor. Keep in mind that my husband and I are generally mild mannered and very loving people, who value each other as friends and life loves (a gift to each other from God in the most real sense), and are usually on the same ball team in our efforts and attitudes.

There is, however, the occasional glitch. Glitches can be overcome, and mended. And learned from ;-)


In short this is the REAL scenario that played out this morning. Hopefully we have both learned from it. And are wiser and more schooled in working through our "moments"....we hope...yeah, yeah, read on...

It went something like this. We'll try not to recreate this circumstance again: (laughing!)



1. My husband drove.

2. My husband cannot safely drive and read a 10 year old Road Atlas at the same time.

(Know that before the end of the trip, we'd nearly been creamed or creamed another vehicle multiple times. It's not entirely his fault, as you'll soon see. I was in no condition to be my usual Navigator self, deciphering the more cryptic road map anomolies while making good travel time. Alas, I was a lump. Usually I'm an accomplished backseat driver..ha! We make a great team.)

3. My husband and I had previously stayed up the entire (ENTIRE) night before discussing properties, etc. Having worked the prior night before, he had slept all yesterday. Myself, NOT being on an all-night work schedule, had NOT slept all yesterday. And yet I stayed up with him to discuss the trip...all night last night. I am not 20 and can no longer do all nighters without dire consequences.

4. I had previously anticipated the glorious Togetherness said road trip would provide my husband and me, touring yet undiscovered paths of discovery, stopping to photograph the nature, architecture, local flavor, etc. I had brought The New Camera, hoping this trip would be its maiden voyage of extraordinary photo glutting. It is new, digital, and can handle my amateurish ways and still crank out some basically great pics. I packed The Camera. We would bond.
My husband, however, was anticipating covering the ground from Point A to Final Destination in as little time possible despite the many temptations along the way.

5. EARLY yesterday morning, we prepared to get on the road. I showered. J threw a few things in the truck. I began having sneezing fits that wouldnt stop.
Would.
Not.
Stop.
So I took a Benadryl. (Herein is the first cruel plot twist.)

6. J wanted to fuel our day by grazing at Cracker Barrel. He ate. He was fueled. I ate. My world became drowsier, fuzzier, and carb-infused.

7. We got in the car to head out.

8. I immediately became comatose.

9. I awoke twice. Only long enough to reposition my head from a right angle to vertical again, and with the remotest cognizance of a prolonged guttural roaring noise at close range. I'm not sure how many counties I snored through.

10. Some time later, I realized the truck had stopped. My otherwise amiable spouse was muttering and making jerky motions with the map book. He tried to rouse me, as he got out to pump some gas at a gas station. "Come on," he urged..."If you need a rest stop, you need to go here."

11. I'm two hours into my Benadryl-and-Sleep-Deprivation-Induced Slow Motion Reality. I struggle toward the light. I get the door open and sit there staring at my feet, willing myself to be fully awake before walking into the busy gas station, full of morning commuters. I do not want to appear as I feel...utterly drunk and quite bed-headed.

12. I make it out of the vehicle. My time frame was not my husband's. Always the master of the situation, I see him standing well across the place near the front door to the store, motioning widely with his hands and saying for all to hear, "The bathroom is THERE, honey....THERE" (pointing vigorously)

13. Even in my altered state this produced an awareness in me of great annoyance. Rhett Butler would not have announced to Scarlett that THE BATHROOM IS THERE in front of all Atlanta. I scowled, embarrassed, and attempted to walk. By now, husband is pumping gasoline on the other side of the vehicle.

14. I meet him as he's finishing up. "Can you PLEASE not ANNOUNCE it like I'm 2 years old?" I say, frowning.

15. His brow is furrowed. People are watching. He is doing everything with annoyed jerky motions, in a hurry. He hears a splashing sound. The gasoline is overflowing and spilling on the ground and near his shoes. My world still a slow motion blur, as I'm registering the gas overflowing, he is taking the spout out of the tank. And that is when it pours right across my bare feet and sandals.

16. You may be enjoying this now. The other customers certainly were. I'm glad I can't recall the EXACT words I used. I went into the bathroom to clean up.

17. There was only one bathroom...a unisex one. As in a single Unisex Public Gas Station Bathroom... That grossed me out, and I tried to not touch anything. I refused to glance at the floor.

There was only a toilet and a sink, and paper towels and soap. And a line waiting outside. I gingerly balanced the toe of my sandal on the tip of the toilet seat (I would shuffle through the grass HARD outside to remove further creepiness from the bottoms of my sandals later), wetted some paper towels with soap and water, and washed the gasoline off my ankles and feet as best I could. It took a lot of rinsing. OK, I was done. I had to get OUT of the grossness of the unisex bathroom.

18. As I was about to exit, I saw that my foot-rinsing had left small puddles of water all around the base of the toilet. OH NO. The people waiting to get IN would think I was grossly incontinent. I will skip some of the details.
But yes.
I DID clean the floor around the base of the public unisex toilet.
That did not help my state of mind. Enough said.

(Except to add that a partial recreation of that teeth's edge sensation might be experienced by brushing your teeth with toothpaste and then drinking some unsweetened cranberry juice.
Brrrrrrrr......)

19. Long story shorter, J was now in a Take Charge mode, which often kicks in when things aren't going exactly as planned, and he told me we might be lost. Wherever we stopped, I tried to take out my camera and get a good shot of this or that out the window. This drove him crazy. He became adamant that I not advertise that I was a tourist by doing that ANY MORE RIGHT NOW. Overcome by Benadryl and gas fumes, I was not taking that "request" very graciously. Words were exchanged. Loving Designated Driver Husband reverted into Map Adversary Rambo Driver Person....destination Get There.

I declare that till I could form complete sentences again and help decipher the rural routes and state road whatevers, we were our own worst life forms.

20. It did get better.
Slowly.

It got so much better that we ended up happy again, very much enjoying having FINALLY arrived (survived?) and then laughing about a lot of it. (See prior post for land pics and that part of the story)

I won't further belabor this account beyond a brief mention of the later occurence of needing a CLEAN bathroom on the return trip (when you've been out in the middle of nowhere and have just drunk a Big Gulp sized iced tea) and my husband's insistence that YES it IS ok to walk into THAT (nearest) tiny (devoid-of-customers) small town coffee shop boutique-store place right off the street just before closing time JUST to use their FACILITIES WITHOUT stopping to buy a drink thus putting me in the unenviable position of being met with a contemptuous, disgusted, and offended glare from the proprietor both before and after, while simutaneously in the retelling having advanced my writing skills to the wholly redeeming position of having just penned the most atrocious of run-on sentences in the blogosphere, hooray!

(Better stop while I'm ahead? ha!)

(whew! and now to get some sleep:))

Hilarious!

Just saw this on Green, Blue, Brown and had to include it! (Thanks, E4!)



May the Farm be with you...hee hee

A Man and Woman Thing

A bit of a departure, but I had to post this...

I just got an email from a lifelong friend. She said she laughed so hard when she saw this picture, and she emailed it to her husband.

When he opened it and saw it, his reply was "I don't get it."

I opened it, and I'm STILL laughing...!!! Here's the pic...

The Cheaper Route to Paris

This, from my friend Teri...

in case you need a giggle



--Go to Google.com


--Click on Maps.


--Click on get Directions.


--From New York, New York


--To Paris, France.


--And read line # 23.

A Different Breed of Squirrel

Oh, this is too funny!

I just got an email from a former co-worker who told me that on her drive in to work, she spied an unfortunate lump on the side of the road, which as she approached, she assumed was roadkill.

She heaved a sad sigh as her car neared the limp furry form of what appeared to be the final remains of a jaywalking squirrel. Only, at closer glance, it was not a squirrel.

It was a furry squirrel-like man's hairpiece. (Oh gosh, I'm laughing so hard it hurts!)

Ya gotta watch out when you drive with the top down in rush hour traffic.