My iPod takes a morning nap during my commute—I’d like to be napping then, too, but that seems altogether unfavorable.
Fortunately, our local “hit music” station’s morning show does a fine job of keeping me awake. The deejays are funny without trying too hard, they mix in a fair amount of music and I’ve won advance-screening passes from them on several occasions. I guess you can buy my loyalty.
Once or twice a day, they open up the phone lines to get responses on random topics. Though the callers are usually morons, they stumble across call-in gold every so often. My favorite was last week when they asked about little white lies that parents have told their kids.
Generally speaking, I’m not a huge fan of hearing about people’s kids. I totally understand why they’re a popular topic but…well, it gets old. Nevertheless, I can totally appreciate the kid-talk when it makes me laugh.
“When my kids see the ice cream truck and get excited, I tell them that if the music’s playing it means they’re all out of ice cream.”
“The first time the ice cream truck drove by, I told my son that it was the music man. He just drives around playing music and the pictures on the side are because ice cream makes people happy.”
“My little girl noticed Chuck E. Cheese when we drove by, and I told her it was broken so we couldn’t go. Chuck E. Cheese was ‘broken’ for about two years.”
“I tell my kids that their tongue will fall off if they say bad words.”
What are some funny fibs that you’ve told your kids?
After nearly 9.5 years of marriage, my husband is still finding little ways to surprise me.
Did you just read that in a lovey-dovey, sweet way? If so, back up and start over. You’re reading the wrong blog for that.
Before bedtime last night, I asked Severus* to fetch me a different pair underpants from the laundry basket. Disclaimer: ‘laundry basket’ is strictly a figure of speech, as our freshly washed clothes are gathered in an insurmountable pile on the spare bed.
“What kind?” he asked.
“Something comfy-ish,” I replied.
“Oh, you mean the granny panties.”
If you are a man who is in a relationship with a woman (or one who hopes to one day be in a relationship with a woman), I feel it is my duty to advise you to never utter those two words.
Lest ye find yourself sleeping on the sofa or picking up body parts after falling prey to the “You. Said. What?!” laser-stare of death from your estrogen-driven better half.
I’m 30 years old. I’ve been married almost a decade. I’ve learned a thing or two about the virtues of comfort. Maybe I don’t want the entirety of my cheeks hanging out all the time anymore. Maybe I don’t enjoy feeling violated by my undergarments. And maybe, just maybe, lace can be irritating.
The presence of nice soft cotton or smooth nylon/spandex blend with a little coverage does not mean I’ve fallen hiney-first into the land of the postmenopausal…does it?
I still have my pride, dang it!
Pride that I’m questioning at this very moment. Publicly discussing my underwear is personal and embarrassing—my dad reads this stuff!
But being accused of wearing “granny panties” is pretty darn embarrassing, too. Especially when the undies in question are most definitely not “granny panties,” and the aforementioned husband should know better.
Let this mutual shaming be a lesson to us all.
*y’all do know his name isn’t really Severus, right? I gave him the option of being called Sirius or Severus and he chose the latter. He’s a special guy, and I love him dearly in spite of it.
Whether due to allergies or misguided pathogens, my otherwise superior genes have failed to protect me from illness.
Pop culture tells me that zombification begins with a raging fever; with body temperature holding steady, my fate as a society-friendly human being seems secure. That little bit of reassurance does not, however, make me feel any less like a zombie. And maybe that’s not such a bad thing.
For all intents and purposes, being a zombie could be pretty cool. Think about it: they wander around mindlessly with no fear of ramming their thigh into the corner of the footboard after getting out of bed at night to tinkle. By all accounts they don’t even need to go to bed, let alone get up in the middle of the night to answer nature’s call. Their number is unlisted.
Zombies do little more than shamble about making phlegmy, gaspy sounds. My mom once joked that The Walking Dead soundtrack must be a real treat, what with all of the gurgling, moaning, slurping and labored breathing. Frankly, I’m doing a darn good job with the shambling and phlegmy-ness today. I’d fit right in!
Oh, and zombies eat…lots! I’m pretty keen on eating, so that seems like a definite highlight. I guess the necessary hunting process could be less than ideal, though, considering the prey tends not to surrender without a fight. Maybe it’s best to approach feeding as recreation, a full-contact sport. It’s all fun and games until somebody gets a bowie-knife into the gray matter.
And I wouldn’t be opposed to losing all self-awareness. When was the last time you saw a zombie worried about how she looked or what others thought about her? Okay, so Warm Bodies hints that maybe vanity is part of an ongoing internal dialogue, but I choose to believe that is purely the result of creative liberty. I opt for the brainless-freedom approach, existing in perfect contentment whilst looking all dirty and disheveled.
All things being equal, I make a pretty decent candidate for zombification. Given my sore throat, vertigo and assortment of general head-cold symptoms that are impervious to drugstore fare, it might be the best option.
In the meantime, I’ll be nursing a bottle of orange juice and hoping for the best.
Sleep is awesome. It rejuvenates the body and exposes the mind to a vast world altogether hidden
in the waking realm. Some of the most creative outpourings spring forth from the land of sleep.
Paul McCartney famously penned “Yesterday” from a dream. Mary Shelley and Stephen King both credit dreams for some of their greatest works. And Stephenie Meyer claims a dreamy origin for the wildly popular story of a certain sparkly vampire who fell in love with an utterly human girl—love it or hate it, there’s no denying the success.
A couple of years ago, I had my own fiercely imaginative dream. I considered it wholly absurd at the time, nothing more than silliness. Then last year, I began seeing advertisements for reality TV shows Splash and Stars in Danger: The High Dive. Absurdity is a barrier no more. Imagine if you will…
As audiences have come to expect from programs like American Idol and Dancing With the Stars,
a panel of judges sits facing the stage. What sets this apart from the others is the stage floor—or rather, what lies beneath it. Unlike the typical black particleboard flooring, this is clear plexiglass that reveals a daunting body of water below.
In this episode, the stage curtain rises to reveal a massive set designed to resemble the treed ewok village of Endor. A team of dancers and acrobats dressed in ewok costumes performs an interpretive dance to the music of Star Wars (specifically, a medley of the melodic theme “Luke and Leia” and “Parade of the Ewoks”).
A sort of Cirque du Soleil meets Star Wars, one might say.
As the performers embark on their number,
the floor splits in the middle and opens.
Judges can choose to dunk the entire company or individual performers (who are connected to fly cables) should they fail to impress…mid-performance.
See, there’s a chance that somebody can plummet into the water at any given moment, from any height. It’s entertaining and exciting. And a little masochistic.
Each dance team (minus any individuals who swam) that manages to stay dry moves on to the semifinals until one group emerges as the ultimate victor.
You heard it here first, kids. Dance! Don’t Swim. It’s Must-Sea TV. har har
My good friend S (the non-World half of Writer vs the World) is concurrently searching for a new home and considering puppy adoption. Recently she found an apartment complex of interest and shared the link so I could weigh in.
Yeah, that’s right, people value my opinion…or maybe she was just showing me because it was a slow day at work…we’ll claim the former.
As I nosed around the site, I discovered that the pet policy requires a “pet interview.”
My snarky-sense began to tingle as I wondered what kinds of questions they intended to pose to the pet. Soon, our conversation evolved into a doggone good script of prompts suitable for use with canine candidates.
As a public service, we’ve decided to share our contrivances so that you (yes, YOU!) can better prepare your dog for interviews with prospective landlords. You’re welcome.
- Tell me about a time when you thought you could make it outside but misjudged, inadvertently soiling in the house. Was there punishment? If so, how did you handle it?
- Do you find yourself chewing on things when you get bored? What kinds of things?
- Let me create a scenario for you, there’s a thunderstorm and it’s late at night. You hear a large crash of thunder. How do you react?
- What is your response when greeting a visitor? Are you more apt to stay calm, pee out of excitement or become aggressive?
- If you had your choice between a squeaky bone and a real bone, which would you pick and why?
- Tell me about a time when you were reprimanded for doing something that you thought was a good idea at the time.
- What is your stance (philosophical, not physical) on leg-humping?
- You may be asked to collaborate with cats from time to time. How would you handle that?
- When presented with another member of your species, how do you respond?
- Are you willing to delay cleaning personal areas until guests have left the premises?
- There’s an enticing bit of leftover food in the garbage can—tell me how you would resist the temptation.
- About how much of your day is spent chasing squirrels? Would you consider yourself an expert or just a recreational enthusiast?
- Would you say you’re easily distracted? <throws ball as candidate responds>
- When taking walks, do you assume an active leadership position or look to a more dominant leader? Why?
- What is your preferred mode of transportation? Would you be opposed to being carried in a handbag or pushed in a stroller?
- When presented with piddle pads or diapers, how do you respond?
- What does the word leash mean to you? What feelings does it evoke?
- How do you feel about bathing? For or against?
- If you could be a human, who would you be and why?
To see Writer’s take on this topic (and the more rapid-fire version of our banter), check out her post here.