Sesame Street Gone Wild!

Finally!

A couple of Sesame Street skits that I can actually appreciate.

I'm sure you will too.



*updated to include link* Cookie Monster video click here.

And this next video gives new meaning to Tickle Me Elmo!



*updated to include link in case video is giving you problems* Elmo video click here.

I'll never dis Sesame Street again!

This is pee in your pants funny.

Now excuse me, I need to go change mine!

For VE and Free The Unicorns

Gah.

These two fellow humor bloggers - VE and Free The Unicorns - called me out on my slightly misleading blog post title the other day.

Picky, picky, picky!

The post was titled: They're Grrrreat!

Okay, I admit the title does bring to mind Tony the Tiger and his delicious Frosted Flakes cereal. So I get comments from them --VE and Free the Unicorns, (whine)   "...but I thought it was gonna be a quirky cereal tale."

Wah wah, boo hoo hoo.

So the post wasn't about cereal, it was about my son.

I guess that is a bit of a stretch.

Anyhoo, because I am a conscientious Quirky I decided to share with them and all of you (grin) my breakfast cereal journal for the week.

I am somewhat reluctant to do so and you will read why.

First of all, you must promise not to laugh.

I eat Post Alphabits Cereal.

They are so delicious and fun to eat. It's like playing Scrabble in your mind while eating. You can make up words in the bowl and in your spoonful. Fun, fun, fun! But last week my cereal Scrabble game took a turn to the extremely strange and eerie.

While eating my bowl of Alphabits, instead of me trying to make up words with the letters, the words came to me. All on their own. It was as if a voice were calling to me from the cereal bowl! I know this is unbelievable, I wouldn't believe it either if I hadn't seen it with my own four eyes. (Yes, I wear glasses.)

Check it out yourself.

On Monday, I sat slurping and eating my Alphabits while they swam around and morphed into this word: Cheese. What? That's the only word that kept reappearing in the bowl. Freaked me out! Not to mention I craved cheese for the rest of that day. I found out, this is not wise or good for the bowels body.

Then on Tuesday, once again with my bowl and Alphabits sloshing around, I kid you not, another word appeared: milks. And it wasn't in one spot, it was in several areas of the bowl. Very strange. Milk? Well of course, I had plenty of milk in the bowl with the cereal. This is more than strange. Should I be scared?

I'm sure you can guess what happened on Wednesday. Same bowl, the same sloshing, the same watching of a word formation, the same box of Alphabits, only a different word kept appearing: leap. I was worried that toads or frogs would be leaping after me the whole day. I had no idea why this word kept showing itself to me. Thank goodness no toads or frogs appeared. But still this whole cereal dealio gets curiouser and curiouser!

Now don't be tired of this story yet, because on Thursday it happened again. This time I brought my notebook with me to the table. I had decided that I would record what words were appearing. I mean maybe it was a message from the mother ship or something equally as important. This was no random act of nature. It was intentional. And I had to understand why. Which brings me to Thursday's word: towards. Again, I have no clue.

Don't worry this quirky cereal tale is almost over. On Friday, I was ready to call the newspapers and let someone, anybody know about this strange phenomenon going on with my cereal. This time, the word was forming before I even had one spoonful! The word: immortality. I was beside myself. I had had enough.

Stranger, than strange.

So I looked at the words written down my cereal notebook. It gave me pause as I read:

“Cheese… milk's leap toward immortality."*

Dun, dun, dun.

Criminy! This is stuff that The Twilight Zone or Outer Limits is made of! There was a message, not in a bottle, but in a breakfast bowl of cereal.

I'm not sure I can ever buy another box of Alphabits cereal again. This experience left me out of sorts and very irritable for the rest of day.

And thank goodness, my husband usually fixes breakfasts on the weekends and it's usually eggs or pancakes. No cereal.

Luckily, that box of Alphabits is no more. I have thrown it away.

*shudders*

This serial cereal experience was too strange and quirky.

Even for me.



*Quote came from Funny Short Sayings by, Clifton Fadiman.

Hark! A Quombie!

Let the trumpets sound!

I have a special announcement.

I feel the need to release another Quombie into the blogosphere.

Wondering what the heck is a Quombie?

Behold!



Yes, it is the one and only original award made by yours truly. Note that I am very stingy with this award and it is ONLY mine to give, hence it carries with it much prestige and honor.

Before I announce the most amazingly lucky recipient, I have a very important question to ask.

Do you know how to tell the difference between a Geek and a Nerd?

A Geek is "any smart person with an obsessive interest." Aha! I found this important information from the book, "What's The Difference: How To Tell Things Apart" by Marc Tyler Nobleman.

He goes on to explain that geeks are not necessarily smart in math, sciences, and computers. You can be "geeky" about anything. There are tons of Geeks in the world. You probably don't even realize that YOU might be a Geek.

For example there are baseball geeks, i.e., any Yankees fan. There are Oprah geeks (oops, sorry that one is taken by Gayle King, no room for anyone else). You could be a motorcycle geek, an ant geek, a guitar geek, a toilet paper geek, a zombie geek (Who? Me?); and the list goes on.

In other words if you're fairly smart, knowledgeable, and addicted to a "hobby?" Then you too can wear the title Geek with pride (and joy).

Now according to Mr. Nobleman, "a nerd is also a very smart person with an obsessive interest." What? Ah, but here is the difference, "but also lacks social grace."

Dun, dun, dun!

He also mentions that "Geekdom is a lifestyle choice. Nerdom is quite possibly genetic."

Well, that definitely explains a lot.

Not going to mention any names. No need to get testy.

Moving forward, now that you have been informed of the difference, I would like to present the official Quirkyloon Quombie Award.

The envelope please.

(drum roll please)

I, Quirkyloon, do bequeath upon my esteemed fellow blogger, The Reffie at The Confessions of a Reforming Geek, the one, the only Quombie!

And after having learned what a geek really is? I can testify that she is indeed, a Geek. She's obsessed with... running. She runs all the time. It's a sickness. Albeit a good one. And now I hear she's hoping to grow some gills. She wants to participate in some unholy marathon that includes swimming. Isn't swimming basically running in water? Yes, soon our Reffie Geek will be the master at running on dry land and wet land too.

She runs, runs, runs as fast as she can. You can't catch her she's the Gingerbread Geek! And when she is not running, she is blogging.

She is definitely a super cool and fun, fun blogger.

So let's hope she never reforms, because being a Geek? It is definitely a good thing (in her case).

I would be remiss if my BBFF did not have MY special award that only a coveted few will EVER receive.

And now my BBFF, Reffie... it is yours.

My blog-life is complete.

Thank goodness I don't know any nerds. Because NONE of YOU are Nerds right? What's that? I can't hear you. Must be a bad connection.

Surely you all know that this is a Nerd Free Zone. No Nerds Allowed. How do I keep the nerds out? I use a special "blessed" pocket protector (think silver crosses/vampires).

I whip it out and threaten any approaching Nerds.

"I have a pocket protector."

"And I will rip it to shreds!"

At which point they run away screaming.

Problem solved.

HBDC Music Day!

Hang onto yer seats, it's Karaoke Day at the First Annual Humor Bloggers Summer Camp!

But I know not everyone is as gifted and as talented with the tunes as I am, so as always, I am here for song guidance. Especially if you don't ask for it.

With my sound musical judgment I have selected a song for each of you to sing. Now, now, don't be whining that you wanted that song or this song.

Trust me, these are the songs for each and everyone of you.

Now absolutely NO FUSSING and WORK WITH ME!

Come on ThinkinFyou. Just cuz you are the fearless camp director, doesn't mean you can't sing. Come on girl, it's easy. Remember John Waite's, "Missing You?" This tune's for you girl.

Every time I'm ThinkinFyou,
I always catch my breath...
I ain't ThinkinFyou at all (ThinkinFyou)
No matter what they say.

Like a Chica who sarcasms us several times weekly, she is always willing to dish it out, like Madonna, but in a different way. Chicklet you are singing along to, "Like A Virgin." Oy. A one, a two, a one, two, three, four. Now!

Like a Chica, touched for the very first time!
Like a Chee-ee-ee-e-ka,
With your blog beat next to mine!

Kathcom, get over here. I've got a special one for you. You get to sing to Steppenwolfs', "Magic Carpet Ride." Hold onto your cowboy hat KathCom!

Well you don't blog what we can find
Why don't you dine with me bloggers,
On a Magick Sandwich ride!

Chelle, I don't care if you are beebopping around the Tetons. Get your fanny here and start singing, now! I was inspired by your lack of presence for you special song. Foreigner, "I Want To Know What Love Is." *smile*

I wanna know where Chelle is
I want you to show me
I wanna be offended
Like her blog does always.

Nooter I got the perfect song for you! Baha Men, "Who Let The Dogs Out." Nooter, where are you...stop sniffing butts and get out here and sing!

When the party was, the party was jumpin'
(Hey, Yippie, Yi, Yo)
Cuz, who let the Nooter out!
(woof, woof, woof, woof)
Who let the Nooter out!
(woof, woof, woof, woof)

Whacky never looked hotter than with our Dani. Yet she's keeping it cool with Brian Hyland's, "She Wore An Itsy Bitsy" Dani-girl, sing it!

She was the itty bitty titty committee
Yellow polka dot bikini
That she wore for the first time today.

We have our own Hussy. Not too many humor sites can claim that. Hence a special song and dance for our not so sweet and ever sexy The Hussy Housewife. Van McCoy's "Do The Hustle." Look at her go! You go girl!

Ooooo, oooo, ooo, ooo, oooooo!
Do the Hussy!
Ooooo, oooo, ooo, ooo, oooooo!
Do the Hussy!
Do it!

We're going to slow it down with Bette Midler's, "The Rose." No song could be more fitting than for the sweet and sassy Ettarose.

Just remember in the winter
Far beneath her sanity goes
Lies the seed
That' with a blog's love
In the spring
Becames Ettarose!

What song suits Spaz and his "spaztic" colon? Why "When Doves Cry" by Prince. I've heard they caw and cry after flying by his bathroom window.

Touch if you will my tummy
Fell how it trembles inside
I've got my colon all spazzed and tied up now
Don't make me chase you
Even toilets have pride!

Although he lives in Canada, that doesn't stop Nonamedufus from appreciating a little bit of America's, "A Horse With No Name."

You see I've been through the blog-sphere
on a horse with NoName
It felt good to get a laugh for the day,
Cuz with NoName you can't remember no pain,
Cuz there ain't no one for to blog you away.
La, la, la, la, la...

We've got it, we've got it, we've got it! And we're publishing it too. Jenn, this songs for you: Tommy Tutones, "867-5309".

Jenny Jenny, I got your number
I need you to blog all the time.
Jenn Thorson your blog is so funny.
867-5309
867-5309
867-5309
867-5309.

Reffie, we still love you even though I'm not sure if you have reformed yet. So this song is for you. It is inspired by Katy Perry's "I Kissed A Girl."

I kissed a geek and I liked it!
Her homemade fudge is so righteous.
I kissed a geek just to try it.
Her husband doesn't mind, so go and try it!

Debbie needs to take a break from the drivel, but I've got some special drivel just for you. Toni Basil's, "Oh Mickey." Sing, sing, sing!

Oh Debbie, you're so fine
You do the drivel all the time
Hey Debbie,
Hey Debbie!

Red's the man who keeps us in order around here. This song's for you Red. "The Lady In Red," by Chris DeBurgh. Come on now, I know there's a softy in there...somewhere!

The Raider in Red
Is blogging for me, cheek to cheek
There's nobody here, it's just Red and me,
It's where I wanna be,
But I hardly know this blog by my side
I'll never forget, the way Red blogged tonight.

This place wouldn't be the same without our Dear Old Man or as he pens it Da Old Man (DOM). Only Tina Turner's, "What's Love Got To Do With It?" could do DOM justice. DOM you are an excellent tenor! Niiiice.

"What's DOM got to do, got to do with it?
What's DOM but a crotchety rant and raver.
What's DOM got to do, got to do with it?
We need DOM to keep yelling at cars.

Ryan Garns is the king of coding, and the song I found for you is from Queen. "I Want It All." Ryan keeps HBDC rolling in codes. And we thank him. Stop being shy Dude. One, two, three, and a four...start!

I'm Ryan Garns.
I know it all
I know PC Code
And I know it now!

Oh JohnnyB, Oh Johnny B! Get yer bee-hind here and start showering us with your vocals. You're singing to the tune of Men At Work's "Be Good Johnny."

Blog good Blog good
And make sure you are good
Be good and blog real good (Jooooohnny).

Our dear MizzDrake aka Julia doesn't love most crafts, but do they love her? Bobby Sherman is going to help you sing it girl!

Julia, Julia, Julia, do ya blog me?
Julia, Julia, Julia, do ya care?
Julia, Julia, are ya bloggin' of me?
Julia, Julia, will ya still be there?

Nipsy, how do you handle being so nipplelicious? You're singing (lucky girl) Joan Jett's "Do You Want To Touch Me There?"

Do you wanna touch (Yeah)
Do you wanna touch (Yeah)
Do you wanna touch me there, where
Do you wanna blog (Yeah)
Do you wanna blog (Yeah)
Do you wanna blog it there, where
There, yeah
Yeah, oh yeah, oh yeah!

And while we are doing Joan Jett songs, Frank Lee MeiDere since you are so good at hating, your song is "I Hate Myself for Loving You."

I hate myself for loving you
Can't break free from the the blogs that you do
I wanna blog but I blog back to you thats why
I hate myself for loving you.

And Phillipia? You'll like your song. It is so fitting with your avatar. Who else but "Nun" Phillipia could sing Madonna's "Like A Prayer."

When you blog my name, it's like a little Prayer.
I'm down on my blogs, I wanna take you there.
In the midnight hour, I can feel your Power.
Just like a prayer, you know I'll blog you there.

Now these bloggers tried to sneak in, but they forgot to sign up. You know if you snooze you lose. So...they twisted my arm and I came up with a little something for them too.

Gah, I'm such a sucker!

Chris keep your day job as a school Principal, okay? Jimmy Buffet has your number in his song, "Margaritaville."

Wastin' away again in Maugaritaville
Searching for some students to boss.
Some people claim that there's a teacher to blame
But I know it's only my fault.

Renal's no failure with the humor. And he has so much "help" at his blog. Enjoy your special number by Lou Bega, "Mambo Number 5."

A little bit of Avonia the Wiccan Pimp
A little bit of Mercury Shadow
A little bit of Ninja Vicki
A little bit Bernie the Half Cyborg Cat
A little bit of Tina the Lesbian
A little bit of good ole' Tag Larkin
A little bit of Anonymous Doug
Makes me your Renal Blog

VE is fantastically nonsensical which is just a nice way of saying that he's crazy. So VE? I'm thinking a Prince song would do well by you. How about "Let's Go Crazy?" Yep, that's the ticket.

Let's go crazy
Write a blog
Let's look for the purple banana
'Til they put me in the blog, let's go!

And last, but not least, we have our work in progress Unfinished Rambler. He rambles, but we still like him. This one is all yours Dude. Allman Brothers, "Ramblin' Man."

When it's time for blogging,
I hope you understand
That I was born an Unfinished Rambling man!

Music soothes the savage blogging beasts within us all!

My music work is done for this camp day!

I feel so tuned!

Now go off and keep singing!

Poof!

And they all disappeared.

Now there's just a blank spot where their shining faces used to be.

Where are my lovely blog followers' avatars? And where are yours, and yours, and yours? I don't see any of them, anywhere.

It's a conspiracy!

Blogger must be in cahoots with Plankton!

He's holding the Followers widget hostage until he gets the recipe for Krabby Patties!

Plankton is more desperate than ever and has been obsessed with obtaining the recipe for Krabby Patties for ten years now!


Has he really stooped low enough to commit this heinous deed?

I wouldn't put it past him.

Really, though, is it just me and my PC? I also don't see the followers at Reffie's, Cameron's, Dizzie's, Skye's and many others that I'm too lazy to type their names out.

Where are the shiny, happy, blog follower faces?

The avatars are no more. Just blank space.

To steal a line from the now defunct Eve Cleveland from That's Funny Because (RIP from Blogging).

"I thought it was like the Rapture and I got left behind."

Did I get left behind from the Blogging Rapture?

Did I?

I see dead space.

Spooky.

Excuse me while I go get a mirror.

I want to make sure I don't have the mark of the beast.

(Quirky cranes her neck and stretches her arm to aim the mirror at her backside.)

Eeeeek!

Now that is spooky.

Mirrors are evile.

Or they lie.

Don't they?

Please?

They're Grrrreat!

But sometimes?

Not so much.

I'm talking about kids.

Especially one certain eleven-year-old almost twelve-year-old boy who was born with too much estrogen.

Sigh.

And a Gah.

My boy is all boy and a bag of chips, but boy howdy does he throw me for some loops.

I'm dizzy from all the looping.

Last night, we went and played cards with some friends of ours. The dealio was that we could bring the boys and they could play their Wii. We don't have a Wii, so this is an extra special treat for them.

All good, right? A win-win situation?

Nope.

When my older son (QS) gets into one of his emotional moods, there is absolutely no pleasing him. And during the moods, it always gets real ugly with his younger five-year-old brother, little Quirky Son (LQS). QS will emotionally torment LQS to no end when he's doing the moody.

It drives me batty.

Back to the card playing evening. Within minutes, the boys were spitting and spatting at each other while we tried to play cards. Quirky Husband (QH) went in there to straighten things out. There was peace for all of 30 seconds. Then the spitting and spatting started up again. So I went in there to REALLY straighten things out.

Q: What is the problem?

QS: Mom! He keeps hitting me with the controller.

Q: LQS are you doing that?

LQS: (sad eyes, nods yes)

Q: Well stop it right now or you're going to lose all television and video game privileges for the whole day tomorrow.

LQS: (bottom lip jutted out) Okay.

Q: (turns to QS) Okay?

QS: Mom, he's gonna keep on doing it.

Q: (more than a little exasperated) Well go ahead and play and see what happens.

QS: Mom, I just KNOW he's gonna do it again.

Q: Why don't you try it and see.

QS: Fine. But I know he's going to do it. Can't we just leave?

Q: What? Look if you're so desperate to leave, walk home. You have your keys. Let yourself in and lock the door behind you.

QS: (dark look, looking down) It's too hot to walk home.

Q: Well then why don't you make a different choice and try to work this out with your brother. We are not going home yet. You deal with this.

QS: (dark look)Fine.

I go back to the card game.

It just so happens that where I am seated I can look directly into the doorway of the family room where the boys were playing. My husband could see in as well, but none of the other adults could.

We continued playing cards and enjoying ourselves. But every once in awhile, I could feel somebody watching me. There half-way hidden I could see one dark eye watching me.

Ooooh, if looks could kill.

That one eye was throwing fiery daggers.

I ignored it.

A few minutes later. I felt the darkness accosting me again. I looked and there he was again. This time he was in full view. Double daggers were flying at me.

I ignored him.

About fifteen minutes later. Again.

He is persistent, isn't he?

Well so am I, because once again, I ignored him. But I whispered to my husband, "QS is giving me dirty looks."

QH: Yeah, he's doing the same to me too.

Ha!

I hadn't realized QS was doing double duty. He was shootin' those daggers at both of us, just not at the same time.

A few minutes later, sounds of joy were coming from the family room.

I looked at the doorway and there was QS with a smile on his face. He came out and told me (somewhat privately): "I decided to be nice to LQS and be helpful."

Q: Good. Thanks for making a better choice.

I tell you, if he weren't the fruit of my loins?

I would have disemboweled myself by now! Bad loins! Bad loins!

Sometimes QS just acts horribly immature, but then he can do a "180" in zero to sixty seconds and then he is wonderful. Just great.

Yeah, he can be great.

Grate on the nerves!

I Spy An Award?

Do you see an award?
Is it here or there?
Is it anywhere?

Well looky there!
I think I see it.
Do you see it too?

Look a little closer
And you will see
Quirky's latest award
From The Old Silly!

Yes, Marvin aka The Old Silly has awarded yours truly an award and a token badge.

The award is for "alleged" Excellence in Entertainment blog.



*bats eyelashes*

Well, if you insist on insisting that my blog is "excellent" entertainment, than who I am to disagree with you?

So I won't.

*giggle*

AND...once, I admitted to being a Marvaholic and now I'm told that the first step in the recovery program is to admit the "problem." So here is my badge declaring my admission.

"Hello, my name is Quirky and I'm a Marvaholic."

"Hi Quirky."

"I want to tell you about the first time I met Marvin. He suddenly appeared commenting on my blog. He said he had followed me from The Daily Blonde's blog and that he liked my silly sense of humor."

And that was the beginning of a beautiful blog friendship.

Truly, this man has been the paragon of support and encouragement and I really do appreciate it.

He lets me be me...Quirky.

So Marvin, you Old Silly?

I humbly thank-you, Sir!

(clears throat)

And now?

We sing.

--------------------
A special song parody inspired by SpongeBob SquarePants and Plankton, The F.U.N. song.

	SPONGEBOB SQUAREPANTS - F.U.N. SONG spongebob and plan
	Found at bee mp3 search engine

Marvin: It's not about winning, it's about fun!
Quirky: What's that?
Marvin: Fun is when you...fun is...it' like...it's kinda...sorta like a...
What is fun?? HERE...Let me spell it for you!

Marvin:
F is for Friends who read and write some blogs.
U is for Unread posts.
N is for Anywhere and anytime at all.

Reffie, MamaFace, and VE:
Down here in the wide blogosphere!

Quirky:
F is for Fire that destroys all other blogs.
U is for Viruses... and WORM BOMBS!
N is for No blog-survivors when you're-

Marvin:
Quirky! Those things aren't what fun is all about!
Now, do it like this,
F is for Friends who read and write so-

Quirky:
Never! That's completely idiotic!

Marvin:
Here, Let me help you...
F is for friends who read and write some blogs.
U is for unread posts, TRY IT!

Quirky:
N is for Anywhere and anytime at all.

Reffie, MamaFace, and VE:
Down here in the wide blogosphere!

Quirky:
Wait...I don't understand this ...I feel all tingly inside...
Should I stop?

Marvin:
No! That's how you're supposed to feel!

Quirky:
Well I like it! Lets blog it again!

Marvin:
Okay!

Marvin & Quirky:
F is for Frolic through all the followers.
U is for Unread posts.
N is for Nose picking, Stumble Upon, and award giving.
Here with my best blog-buddy.

(Laughing part)

--------------------
What can I say?

I'm Quirky!


Oh, and a huge thanks to my other blogging buddies for adding their special singing voices:
Reffie at Confessions of a Reforming Geek
MamaFace at Blog Ignoramus
and VE at VE's Fantastical Nonsense.

I bet you all didn't know you could sing, huh?

All Hail Quirky!

I have received a personal revelation.

A little angel appeared to me in a dream last night. At first I was frightened, but he exhorted me to inhale in, exhale out. I felt calm within seconds.

He gave me a very important message. I have always felt like I was on the cusp of something HUGE happening to me.

This was it.

Then I heard it.

It was faint at first. It became louder and louder.

Fah who for-aze!
Dah who dor-aze!
Welcome Zombie,
Come this way!
Fah who for-aze!
Dah who dor-aze!
Welcome Zombie,
On Queen's Day.

Then I saw who was bringing me this cheer.

Brought a tear to my eye.

Then the mood changed!

It became festive and wild.

Z-z-z-z    O-o-o-o    M-m-m-m     B-b-b-b     I-i-i-i     E-e-e-e
Zombie, dance!

We can dance if we want to
We can leave your limbs behind
'Cause your limbs don't dance and if they don't dance
Well they're no limbs of mine
I say, we can go where we want to
Find the Queen, they will never find
And we can act like we come from out of this world
Leave the Zombie Queen far behind
And we can dance...

And look! Look at how they danced!

They seemed to be dancing for...me?

Yes, they were. They were singing and dancing for me.

Stranger than strange.

And then I heard the announcement. I couldn't believe my ears or my eyes. There before me was huge banner with MY picture on it!

I was proclaimed The Queen of the Zombies!

I can't tell how bowled over I was over this prestigious and honorable title and the serious duty that accompanied it.

But, I accepted!

I would do my best to perform my Zombie Queen duties to the best of my ability.

All Hail Quirky!
Queen of the Zombies!
All Hail Quirky!
Queen of the Zombies!

I was happy and estactic at my new found purpose and role in undead life! I could do this, I would do this. And I would do it well.

I smiled.

Then, doggone it, I woke up.

And saw this.
Eeek!

Thank GOODNESS, that was a dream.

Just a dream.

*shudders*

I'll keep dreaming for something much better to come along.

Until then I can dream.

Dream of being The Zombie Queen!

Physically or Emotionally?

Definitely emotionally.

Ah, I hope you can read my screen shot of a recent g-spam I received. (You can click on it for a better view.)



It asks, "Have you been hurt physically or emotionally? Contact the Injury Help Center."

Why, yes I have been hurt.

I'm an emotionally wounded Quirky.

*sigh*

This is just a sampling of my emotional pain.

• I want to know why movie makers have to ruin a movie ending by keeping us guessing. It doesn't always have to be a happy ending, but I want some sort of an ending! This causes me a lot of stress and anxiety.
  
  
• I'm shocked that I cannot stomach the taste of olives.
  
  
• I'm so angry that Paula Abdul might not be returning to American Idol. She brought the magic, she touched me, she's the total package.
  
  
• I feel deep shame that I thought it would be funny if at the end of Michael Jackson's memorial, the Thriller song started playing, and his casket creaked slowly open and Jacko came out undead, but twitching and dancing.
  
  
• I feel sad that The Dyer Boys are shutting down their blog. They were the captioning kings of the blogosphere and they were dang funny too!
  
  
• I'm so confused about almost everything Confucius has to say. For example: "House without toilet, uncanny." I don't get it.
  
  
• I'm suffering from very high anxiety of my fear of the ecoli bacteria.
  
  
• I feel myself withdrawing from others especially when my Internet connection is down. I hate when that happens!
  
  
• I'm trembling at the thought that the Zombies may not come after all. Please don't let me down.
  
  
• I'm sweating. I'm ALWAYS sweating. It's such a drag.

So Injury Help Center, can you help me?

Or am I beyond help?

I feel so emotional, baby.

So emotional.

So emo.

A Quirky Confession

I confess that I tend to have an addictive personality.

When I find something I like? I can't get enough of it.

Let me introduce you to my latest vice.

MTV's Sixteen and Pregnant show.

I know, I know. How old am I again? The first time I saw this show, I was clicking through the channels and I saw a snippet of the show and my curiosity go the better of me.

And since MTV stopped showing music videos and moved to a reality tv format, I haven't been its greatest fan.

Now? I force my almost twelve-year-old to watch Sixteen and Pregnant with me.

I figure if I can make the message sink in NOW, maybe we won't go down this most difficult path in a few short years. Or beyond that.

I will say this for the show. It in no way glamorizes teen pregnancy and teen parents. It shows how extremely hard the consequences are and that's what I like about the show. It feels real. I figure it can't hurt for my son to absorb this message now on the brink of puberty.

Perhaps if this message is already embedded deep in his psyche, then maybe when he is blinded by hormones, it won't be completely forgotten.

Well, at least a Mom can hope!

I shouldn't make light of such a serious topic, but I do find the funny with my son's reactions after he has seen several episodes.

First of all, he has already told me under no uncertain terms, he will NEVER have any children, ever. He "sees" how hard it is (on him) with his younger brother.

Nice.

Second of all, he has told me that he has no future plan to EVER get married.

Real nice.

Third, at the birthing moment of the show, he always has a heart-attack and yells at me, "I can't believe you're making me watch this show!" They don't show anything, but you do see the girl in labor and pushing, you don't see the baby until it is completely out. And I say to him, "You'd better believe I'm making you watch this! I don't want this happening to you (or me)!"

Fourth, he makes fun of the "cone head" look on many of the newborns. How do I tell him that he too was once a cone head? And Daddy and I laughed...a lot.

Ahem.

Perhaps that's another confession.

For another day.

Walks Like A Gangsta...

Must be a gangsta!

Nature versus nurture.

This question arose when my husband and I noticed our eleven-year-old walking. Actually, he doesn't walk, he...swaggers.

Like a gangsta!

Now my husband and I are not gangstas (not that there's anything wrong with that), and I think we walk somewhat normal. Our gaits are rather...boring. Pretty nondescript.

But ever since Quirky Son (QS) was a toddler, he has swaggered.

Last week, I was in an exceptionally irritated mood and I had to go to the grocery store to pick up some milk. I made my son go into the store to make the purchase while I waited (and wasted gas) in my air-conditioned car.

Don't even start with me about how much larger my carbon foot-print has grown.

It was 113 degrees Fahrenheit.

'Nuff said.

Anyhoo, so I was waiting and watching, so I could pick him up right outside the front door.

I see a boy walk out with a skull t-shirt, very much like one my son owns. He had on baggy jeans, very much like a pair my son owns. (Not so baggy that it hangs down to his knees. No undies or buttcrack showing allowed in Casa de Quirky.) And his hair was the same color and cut as my son's. He even had on a pair of skater shoes, just like my son owns.

But most of all he was swaggering like my son.

I was ready to accelerate, then I realized something.

It was NOT my son.

As he neared me, I realized this and I became uncomfortably aware of something else. This kid (not mine) definitely had a gangsta air about him.

I just stared.

Thirty seconds later my son appeared and I couldn't believe how sweet and innocent he looked. Just a tween in jeans. He started swaggering to me and the car.

Nuh-uh.

My son ain't no gangsta.

So what if walks like one.

He's still my baby.

Word to me, his mother.

Word.

Green Legs and Gams*

Skye and Quirky
Are playing today,
They are both
Rhyming and keeping it gay!
They've each taken a turn
At a popular child's book,
They've changed it up a bit,
Now go to Skye's blog and take a look!

But please don't forget
To read my version
I promise you will not
Develop a raging aversion.
And if you find that you do,
I will come find you
With my hatchet and screws!

Because I aim to make you
Smile or laugh, you see,
So please do not make me hurt you
Or you will regret it awfully!

hee hee
hee hee
-----------------------------------------------

Green Legs and Gams
By Dr. Quirkyloon

I am Zombie.
I am Zombie.
Zombie I am.

That Zombie-I-am!
Than Zombie-I-am!
I do not like
that Zombie-I-am!

Do you like
green legs and gams?

I do not like them,
Zombie-I-am.
I do not like
green legs and gams.

Would you like them
hairy or bare?
I would not like them
hairy or bare.
I would not like them
At the fair.
I do not like
green legs and gams.
I do not like them,
Zombie-I-am.

Do you like them
with some louse?
Do you like them
with a mouse?

I do not like them
With some louse.
I do not like them
with a mouse.
I do not like them
hairy or bare.
I do not like them
anywhere.
I do not like green legs and gams.
I do not like them, Zombie-I-am.

Would you eat them
in the rain?
Would you eat them
Already drained?

Not in the rain.
Not already drained.
Not with some louse.
Not with a mouse.
I would not eat them hairy or bare.
I would not eat them at the fair.
I would not eat green legs and gams.
I do not like them, Zombie-I-am.

Would you? Could you?
In a coffin?
Eat them! Eat them!
Do so often.

I would not,
could not,
in a coffin.

You may like them.
Oh, you will moan.
You may like them
With pleasure you'll groan.

I would not, could not moan in glee.
Not in a coffin! You let me be.

I do not like them in the rain.
I do not like them already drained.
I do not like them with some louse.
I do not like them with a mouse.
I do not like them hairy or bare.
I do not like them anywhere.
I do not like green legs and gams.
I do not like them, Zombie-I-am.

A brainz! A brainz!
A brainz! A brainz!
Could you, would you,
eat a brainz?

Not in a coffin! Not with a creep!
Not in a tomb! Zombie! Let me be!

Say!
In the dark?
Here in the dark!
Would you, could you, in the dark?

Well, I just might Zombie,
Yes, you darn, rotten, little *bleep*.
I just might devour them a whole lot
Let's see them!
Let's see them!
All these green legs you claim you got.

Bring them, bring them.
Bring them to me.
I will taste them,
So you will finally let me be!

Say!
I like green legs and gams!
I do! I like them, Zombie-I-am!
And I would eat them in the rain.
And I would eat them already drained.

And I will eat them with some louse.
And in the dark. And with a mouse.
And in a coffin. They are so crunchy.
They are so good, an excellent munchie!

I do so like
green legs and gams!
Thank you!
Thank you,
Zombie-I-am!



*Story inspired by Green Eggs and Ham by Dr. Seuss.

How Can I Mend My Broken Heart?

I'm so grateful to be living in a wikiHow universe.

I've turned to it once again for some sound, sage advice.

How to Fall Out of Love

The object of my affection that must exorcised from my life?

*sob*

Diet Dr. Pepper.

This is by far one of the most difficult things I will EVER have to do in my life.

But I am determined to do it.


It's time for chin-up and wikiHow to get me through the impending feelings of devastation and loss.

The wikiHow to Fall Out of Love process begins:

1. Make a list of all the reasons it wasn't meant to be.

• Soda is man made product.
• It is not of Mother Nature.
• The bubbles sometimes go up my nostrils.
• Carbonated water increases belching.

2. Remove as many traces of their presence in your life as you can. Okay, I have cleared the fridge. I have cleared table. My closet. The hall closet. The boys' closets. Under my bed. Under the boys' beds. In my car trunk. The only twelve-pack box left is the one my monitor sits on for better eye-level.

3. Distance yourself. This might difficult. I have to go shopping occasionally and on my way to milk refrigerator is the soda aisle. More often than not, Coke products are on sale and Diet Dr. Pepper is the son of Coke. And when I pick up my medications at Walgreens, don't I have to pass by the refrigerated drinks? Yes. It's as if the humming of the refrigeration unit is calling to me: "Sandie... come to me! Diet Dr. Pepper. Cool. Refreshing. Cold. Pleasure." This is gonna be wicked hard.

3. Do all the things you've ever wanted to do. With what energy? I won't be able to move for several days, possibly weeks or even months. I'll be like a beached whale, physically UNable to move. On the other hand, I've always thought it would be thrilling to be picked up by a crane, soooo...maybe this will be a positive thing after all.

4. Mingle. How can I ever even THINK of drinking another diet drink. Oh yes, sometimes I've rebelled or had to stoop low enough to settle for a Diet Pepsi. But those were desperate moments, not happy moments.

5. Understand that the feelings may never fade completely. I knew it! I will always want my Diet Dr. Pepper, I will always crave it. It will haunt me in my dreams. I will always have an empty spot in my heart that will never be filled again.

Unless....

I forget all this.

Forget what?

Did I forget something?

*wink, wink*

Oh, excuse me, I need a refill.

*fizzle*

Sometimes if ain't broke, don't fix it.

Rawk of Language

Gawly, I've learned a new lingo: rawk-o.

It's amazing the things I learn by eavesdropping in on my son's guitar lessons. His teacher holds the lessons in her home, so I get to hear everything. And Ma-Likey. That means Mama likes it that way.

Once a month, she holds band practice. She has two or three student guitarists, a student drummer, and she plays the bass and they jam.

It sounds terrific.

I love the loud rock music.

I'm so not a typical old gal.

Anyhoo, I get to hear the students yapping during the jam sessions in between songs. They are practicing a few songs for their upcoming Mini-Rock Concert, which is the equivalent of a recital. Pianos, clarinets, flutes they "recite." Electric guitars, bass guitars, and drums they rock. (Yeah, baby!)

So it's taken me awhile of careful eavesdropping to finally understand some of what is being said during the jam sessions. Everything starts and ends with Dude. Which is totally cool by me. I call all of my sons' friends Dude.

Why?

Because I rock.

Yes, I get strange looks.

So what?

I started taking notes so I could share with you some of the great rawk-o lingo I have learned. It blo-mos! (Blows my mind!)

Look-o.

Chock-ot. (Check it out.)

Mo-Riff-o- More riff on that guitar.

Mo-Dir-Toe - More dirty; change the amp to the dirty channel.

Mo-Rock-Fo - More rock; rawk it hard.

NoMoJacko - Michael Jackson, RIP

One-Mo-Fo-Ro One more for the road.

U-Ro-Fo-Sho You rock it for sure.

Ro-Ha-Bab! Rock it hard, Baby.

Ni-Du-O Nice Dude.

Why use full length words when they can be abbreviated rock style.

Yo-Kno?

Pool Fight!

I'm thinking that perhaps the government has released a secret chemical into the water table here in Mesa, AZ.

I'm feeling feisty these days.

I took the boys and some friends to the pool the other day. A must do in 112 degree Fahrenheit temperatures.

At one point, we left our bags and towels on the lawn chairs and meandered to the vending machine area. According to the kids, this was a must buy pop/chip moment. We sat our butts down at a table there to enjoy our refreshing and sugar-polluting drinks and I immediately looked back at our chairs with our "stuff" draped over them.

Ah!

Looky there!

Two tween punks were reaching down to pick up something from one of "our" chairs. I decided to sit there and watch.

I could totally tell they were stealing. The shorter punk (SP) passed off the stolen good to the taller punk (TP). I waited a few minutes, then waddled my big fat butt over there.

The looks on their faces easily betrayed them.

"Um, excuse me. Did you just take those (Goggles! I see them now) from our chair?"

Tall Punk (TP) with a mile high look of guilt: "Um. No. You mean, me?"

Short Punk (SP) smirking: *silence*

Punk.

Q: "Uh yes you did take it, I've been sitting over there and I watched the whole thing go down."

TP looks panicked. SP is still smirking. Makes me want to slap the little booger. But wait. I live in Sheriff Joe's county and he will lock me up and put me in that awful, hot Tent City.

Not a good thing.

So forget about the slapping thing.

Anyhoo, verbal abuse can be much more effective.

Q: "Look, I saw you take something."

TP: "Me? I didn't."

Q: "Fine, I'm going to the office and get somebody who's in charge."

SP is still smirking. Oooooh, I feel my fingers clench into a fist. I. Am. Itching.

TP hands over the contraband.

Q: "Oh so you did take the goggles."

TP: "No, some kid gave them to me."

Q: "Uh-huh. Well (sarcastically) thanks for giving them back."

Finally SP speaks up: "Is that your son?" (Pointing to my five-year-old.)

Q: "Yeah, that's one of them. (Almost twelve-year-old walks up.) And that's my older son."

SP doesn't respond.

A few minutes later my almost twelve-year-old (QS) comes up to me and asks me what happened, cuz SP is staring at him like he's ready to rumble.

Q: "What? Where is he. I want to take care of this right now!"

(Yes, Q can be a Mama-bear at times.)

QS: "No, Mom. I'll deal with this."

Q: "Oh no, (looking around) where is that punk kid?"

QS: "Mom, really, I'll take care of it."

I start punching my fist into my hand.

I am on high-alert.

My son returns after a few high-dives and immediately I ask him, "Is SP still staring at you?"

QS: "Yeah, but I told him to stop it."

Q: "And that worked?"

QS: "Yeah, he's leaving us alone."

I'm disappointed. My son took the mature approach, but I wanted this to come to a head. I was anticipating having a certified and justified red-neck Mommy moment so I could get in this kid's face and report him and watch him be humiliated and get kicked out of the pool. I was looking forward to it. I wanted this to happen.

What is the matter with me?

Yes, I'm a "hot" mama these days. Hot under the bathing suit strap.

Maybe it's because they didn't sell Diet Dr. Pepper at the vending machines. I had to "settle" for a Diet Pepsi. And we all know DDP soothes the savage beast.

Excuse me while I take a drink.

Ah, I'm better now.

Diet Dr. Pepper.

It solves problems.

Water?

Stay away from that stuff.

It's dangerous.

Screamer Videos

Awful, aren't' they?

You know the drill. You are instructed to look at some serene scene and after ten seconds of watching, some abomination suddenly appears screaming at you. And you, of course, respond likewise.

Then if you are older (like me) ofttimes a change of underwear is involved.

A few weeks ago, my eleven-year-old "accidentally" saw a screamer video on YouTube. I know you won't believe me, but it was MY husband, who accidentally exposed him. I know it sounds like a "convenient" excuse, but honest it was not me...this time.

Wouldn't you know it, the not so little booger (he'll be twelve in two weeks!) liked it?!

Makes me proud worried.

Today my son had a friend over. They were bored. So my son took out our old faithful video camcorder. And in the same likeness as his dear, sweet Mother; my son, thought of a terrific video to make.

A screamer video.

Of course, I had to help.

It was fun.

I contributed some screaming and offered some directing tips and video-taping services as well.

I'm nothing, if not, an INVOLVED mother.

Ahem.

I'm thinking after the last two posts and this one, you all should be able to clearly see why I can NOT consider myself a typical Mommy Blogger.

Oh, the horror of MY questionable mothering ways.

Imagine the gasps of disgust. Oh, I'm dreaming. They don't even give me the time of day. And that's okay.

Really.

Did you read that Dooce? Huh? Huh? So what if you have 19,000 followers. I can still hold my own.

(Quirky holds a mirror in her hands.)

Cuz, I'm good enough.
I'm quirky enough.
And doggone it, some of you like me.

And from the bottom of my screaming heart, I thank-you.

And if anybody is in need of some screamer scripts, screamer video-taping suggestions, or some plain good old screaming, just ask me, I would be more than happy to help.

	Aviro Sound Library - Scream,Horror,Female,Loud - small group of teenagers.
	Found at bee mp3 search engine

You did click play?

Didn't you?

Oh, wait until tomorrow's post when I tell you how I almost beat up a kid at the pool the other day.

It's gonna be good.

(I think there's something strange in the water around here these days. I feel...violent.)

Thou Shalt Kill JoJo

My sons have created a new game.

Kill JoJo.

For those of you who are not familiar with JoJo, please let me introduce you to her.

This is JoJo.

She's an innocent, sweet little gal-character from the Disney Playhouse JoJo's Circus show.

This new "game" actually started a couple of years ago. And no, I don't have a problem with it: it's called playing. You might remember in your day or your parents' days a little game that boys and girls used to play called Guns and Robbers? Or how about Cowboys and Indians? Good guys versus bad guys?

Granted JoJo is not an easily identifiable arch enemy, but I bet that's what Chucky the Doll parents thought about him at first. And we know what happened there, don't we?

Ahem.

Anyhoo, so over the last three years, poor JoJo has seen better days. JoJo has been water-boarded, flipped around, slammed against the walls, she's been hurled, thrown, baseball batted and offered as a chew toy to the dogs. There was one time when she was thrown onto the roof where she spent a couple of weeks, erm, recuperating.

It occurred to me that our JoJo is a lot like Osama Bin Laden.

She amazingly reappears after short or long absences. Like you know who. Her resilience and popularity never takes a hit. Like you know who. She's a little torn up and tattered. Like you know who. But she manages to stay in one whole piece. Like you know who. And sometimes she talks too. Like you know who. Although she is not in need of a serious beard trim, like you know who.

After observing how my sons love to torture and maim the little doll, I'm thinking they've got great careers as mercenaries in store for them. Perhaps Mr. Bin Laden is looking for new recruits? They've got lots of practical hands-on experience in the torturing and maiming area.

(I think the boys are looking for her right now! They are ready to rumble.)

And there's always job security in that field.

Take a look at world history and you will see that there ain't no such thing as "world peace" in man's world.

Never has been.

Never will be. (until December 21, 2012?)

Peace.

Bah humbug.

I'll give you peace....

A piece of THIS!

Funny, now I feel like playing Kill JoJo with the boys.

Toodles!

Krabby No More

Hear ye, hear ye!

All friends of crustaceans near and far, come and support our cause: a full-fledged boycott of all things Krabby.

Crustaceans and friends of crustaceans worldwide have begun uniting in an effort to put Mr. Krabs in his proper place: the Clink or the Poorhouse, whichever causes him more emotional pain.

The accusation?

Krabs is a crabannibal!

Mr. Krabs, a crab himself, kills and eats crabs.

Our evidence?

I give you...the Krabby Patty!

It's made with...crabs!

Horrific, but true.

There can be no doubt. Krabs is most definitely a crabannibal.

What brought him to this level of shame and depravity? Greed. Mr. Krabs is greedy and only thinks, dreams, and lusts for "money, money, money, money, money, money, money!"

Mr. Krabs and the dollar signs in his eyes, have been the cause of irrefutable emotional and physical damage to crustaceans sea worldwide.

Crustaceans never had to fear before Mr. Carapace-Stabbing Krabs came along. They enjoyed walking and running along the sea-bottom. But now with Mr. Krabs on the loose with his grubby pincers grabbing anything and everything under the sea; crabs have been documented running sideways at new record speeds: they are literally running for their lives!

Crabs have even turned to their distant relatives: lobsters and shrimps, pleading for help. Alas, it has been in vain. For they have turned their chitinous backs on their cousin crabs.

So the crabs stand alone.

Read this testimonial by Mr. Cobb Crab: "Aye, in all me sea-life, I've never had to use me pincers as much as I do now. That Krabs is a greedy and seedy chit! If only I was something younger, I'd show him me pincer or two."


Yes, Mr. Krabs is a greedy old soul. Nothing or nobody is sacred. If he can sell it? He will. He is lower than low and he will go to any length to get more "money, money, money, money, money!"

It's disgusting and pathetic.

He has no shame. For look at his latest greedy endeavor.



Sea what I mean?

Ooops, that should be: see what I mean?

Aye, 'tis a ShamWow shame-filled and sad day.

Arrrrrrrgh.

Now hand me that ShamWow, so I can blow me nose.

*honk*

Unsolved Mystery

Nadine threw back her long, stringy, blond hair away from her pudgy face. As she smacked on a gob of chewing gum in her mouth, she gave Quirky a gummy smile. Quirky could only hope the fear in heart did not show on her face. Quirky looked down quickly before any look could be misinterpreted by the hefty and mean Nadine.

Quirky could hear the sound of a fist being punched into a hand. She risked a glance and looked Nadine's way and sure enough Nadine was smiling at her punching her fist into her other hand.

Gulp.

Quirky was gonna get it.

Nadine was going to whup Quirky's butt.

An hour earlier, Nadine and Quirky shared Study Hall together. There should be a rule that Study Hall should never be the last hour of a high-school day. The beasts are ready to roar and let loose by the end of the day. Those last forty minutes of the school day in Study Hall just served to agitate the rumblings of beastly high-schoolers.

And on one particular day, Nadine was a beast.

And I was the prey.

As I have previously mentioned, I was always the quiet type during my school years. And on this day after learning of Nadine's intentions, I was quieter than quiet. I was petrified with fear. To this day, I still do not know why Nadine had decided I needed a butt beating.

Hoping to avoid my doom, I remember waiting a few extra minutes after the final bell, so hopefully the school bus picking up Nadine would show up a little early and perhaps she would be long gone by the time I reached her bus stop area.

Unfortunately, no such luck.

She saw me before I saw her. But there was no mistaking the glint of evil shining from her eyes and teeth.

An inner panic started pulsing through my veins. I had a decision to make. Do I just walk directly towards her which would have been my normal route to walk home, or do I try to avoid her by walking 50 feet out my way?

It was a tough decision, especially for a cowardly Quirky like me.

All too quickly, I found myself at the fork in the path. One direction led to physical pain, another direction led to safety with the promise of future physical pain. Making my decision, I put my head down, and trudged forward, towards Nadine.

Eeek.

I could hear the punching get louder.

She spoke to me as soon as I was near her.

"I'm going to beat the crap out of you."

Quirky looked up in alarm. Her eyes widened in fear. Nadine continued.

"Oh don't give me that look, you know what you did and now you're going to pay for it."

Nadine approached a still mute Quirky and gave her a hard shove.

"What? Are you going to cry like a baby?"

Quirky was still suffering from an inner horror and panic and all she could think of was the people standing around and watching the events unfold of her probable and untimely death. Quirky asked herself silently, "What should I do?"

Nadine: "Didn't you hear me? You will NOT do that again, got it?"

Quirky nods affirmatively.

Nadine punch-pushes Quirky one more time as if for reinforcement.

Nadine waddled away in her flip-flops and cotton dress to her school bus and got on board. Quirky kept walking with her head down. As she walked out of the school parking lot, she heard the bus zoom by and looked up to see a smiling Nadine watching her.

Quirky sighed a sigh of relief.

As Quirky continued walking, she replayed the entire beat-up scene in her mind. And one thing kept nagging at her.

What had she done to Nadine, that Nadine was so upset?

Yeah, Quirky agreed to "never do it again," but she had no clue what "it" was. She only knew she never wanted Nadine to beat her up again.

To this day, I still don't know what it was about. But every time I meet a woman named Nadine, I give her an extra careful look.

You never know when a "Nadine" might resurface to cause me emotional or physical pain.

It could happen.

Have you ever watched thirty seconds of The Jerry Springer Show?

Then you know.

It could happen.

In the meantime, I steer clear of any woman named Nadine.

Because some things are better left alone.

This is one unsolved mystery from my past.

And I aim to keep it that way.


P.S. Please don't let Nadine be reading this! Please!

Mop 'Til You Drop

Mops have a come a long way, baby.

First, we started with our cottendeck mops. They were made with those long, thick strands of cotton. Remember how awful and heavy they were to rinse out? It took forever and your hands always came away smelling...not so good. Yet, a cottendeck was my first experience with a mop ever. Yes, I learned how to mop a floor with one of these babies.

And I've rued the day since then.

Oh, and on the day the new improved roller mop was invented, I could hear the angelic choirs singing: Alleluia! No more touching nasty, spaghetti-like, noodle cotton strands. Ah, yes, the roller mop promised a break from the "ickiness" of mopping. I was more than happy to start using a roller mop, but dang the sponge part was not very resilient and sometimes, (just sometimes) with floor stains? You need resilience with a capital "rez." Plus, the sponge needed replacing quite often. That was always a booger to have to deal with.


But now? Man, the wonderful, imaginative, and inventive creature that he is, has come up with the piece de resistance of mops. You take a pair of flip flops attach a mop to the bottoms and wa-lah! Mop-Flip-Flops! You can actually wash dishes and mop at the same time, you can wipe down the kitchen counter and mop at the same time. You need pressure to get that syrupy five-week-old, I mean, five-day-old stain? Then step on it a little harder.

I am in love with mopping again!

Who said the spark could not be reignited? Who said we would grow tired of each other. This is one mopping affair that will never end.

Yes, my mop-flip-flops and I?

We are united in mind, body, and thought, and yes, it feels soooooo good!

*sigh*

Oh, and one more thing. I heard they are giving away a free set of Shamwows with every purchase of the Mop-Flip-Flops. And they are giving a copy of the best selling book, "I Got Your Mop, Baby!"

You can't beat a deal like that.

Can you?

I've Got A Widget In My Bloggit

This post is based on the book by Dr. Seuss, "I've Got A Wocket In My Pocket."

Did you ever have the feeling that there's a Swallower
In your widget called Followers?
Sometimes Followers disappear from your blog.
Is it unsubscribers or does Blogger scarf them up?
(I think it's Blogger. She can be a booger sometimes.)

Look! Look! Is that an LOL/Hater Script in my
HTML/Java Script (widget)?
Many Bloggers make you think or laugh or smile,
And then all of a sudden one day they sadly expire.
Perhaps they didn't realize how fun they were and wild,
Or maybe they hate feeling blog uninspired.

But sometimes that widget called Text?
Why, it keeps trying to bring up S.E.X!
I'll have none of that, no siree.
Cause, my blog is certified P-oh-G-ee,
So take that hanky panky away,
Or I'll take you by the ear
And give you a swift kick to the rear.

Have you had any Seizures in your Picture (widget)?
Or have a Kaleidoscope suddenly appear in your Slideshow (widget)?
Not me, no way, no how. And a big ole' nuh-uh, not going there.
Cause, I happen to be 'puter illiterate,
And frankly, my dear; sometimes, I just don't care.

And look at the Hoglist in my Blog List,
And is that a Clique List inside my Link List?
So many bloggers to read and enjoy
I laugh and smile, til I'm reminded of my 'rhoids.

Have you ever felt like Weeds are in your Feed (widget)?
And how can potential readers out there read
Let alone find your little ole' blippity blog,
In the folds and corners of the world wide web-bog.

And look at those Hives in my Blog Archive.
With spiders weaving cobwebs in my posts?
Do blog readers even know
When my blog began and how it has grown?

Despite my quirky life and quirky imagination,
There be no Fables in my Labels (widget),
And one of the best sources of my blog inspiration?
Is my good ole' basic cable telly-vision.

Look at how my blog got better,
Because of my beautiful Page Header.
I don't care, if you believe it or not.
But this is the kind of blog, that I got.
And no matter how hard you might try,
I will not be blog-shut-up!

Written and edited by Dr. Quirkyloon

Now go and get some widgets and enjoy your blog today.

Quirky Q's Sans A's

Is there a reason why Spanish nuts are always singled out? Is our hatred of illegal Mexicans in the U.S. spilling over into the nut world? Can't we all just be nuts without alluding to the differences between cashews and almonds, macadamias and pecans, etc., etc., etc? Can't we focus on the positive that all nuts are delicious to the taste and somewhat healthy for the body. Yes, even the Spanish nuts. Take pity on the nuts, especially our Hermana nuts.

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When I see all the pencils lined up at the stores, I go out and caress a tree. I hope it feels my sympathy that I acknowledge and appreciate that it's sister tree was cut, destroyed, and mutilated, so it could serve me as a writing utensil. But ofttimes when I reach out for the tree touch, I get a sliver in my finger. And it hurts for many hours. Hateful trees.

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It's always best to carry a switchblade in your purse, so when E.T. The Extra-Terrestrial approaches you and extends his finger out to you? You can slice it right off. There, there now that's better. Extra Terrestrials have proven themselves to be a bigger nuisance than rats. It would be better if they stayed on their planets and we will stay on ours. Yes, it is time for decisive and slice-ive action, for it is better to be safe than sorry. Plus, you just never know where that finger has been.

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This portion of our program has been brought to you by Children of the Corn Nibblers. Found in your grocer's frozen food section. Buy some today!

Thank-you for tuning into Quirky Q's Sans A's. Come back next week, when Quirky questions and ponders "Buy Dentures" or "Go Gummy."

Paranoid

(Another MamaKat at Mama's Losin' It inspired post.)

I grew up an only child.

I can see you all thinking, "well that explains a few things about Quirky."

Maybe it does, or maybe it doesn't.

And maybe because I didn't have siblings to set me straight or to tease me mercilessly, I have ended up being paranoid about a lot certain things.

I already mentioned one paranoia at my recent MWOB post about my dilly dallying outings on the beach at La Jolla. Remember my one red beach bag? I clung to it for my very life. Of course, I trusted my beach buddy, Rosa, and for the most part I enjoyed our outings as long as the red beach bag stayed in view.

Okay, NO, I'm not trying to repost a post by reworking it and rewording it. But, I don't blame you for thinking that. (Does that sound paranoid?)

Anyhoo, my red beach bag was only the beginning of many Quirky Paranoias.

It seems as though being paranoid is as easy as breathing air for me. I was surprised as I grew older and into an adult (I use the term adult loosely) that most people don't share the same amount of paranoia.

I mean really it's almost absurd to admit some of the things I'm paranoid about, but since I've declared myself a full-fledged "Paranoi-er," I figured I would share a few with you.

(You are sooooo lucky!)

I'm paranoid about being seen in public. Sounds like I need therapy, no? Really, it's not that I'm an agoraphobic. I'm a "chataphobic." Never heard of that? It's about social chit-chat. I don't do the small chit chat very well when I run into people. I feel awkward and stressed that I need to say something funny or witty. And if their kids are with them? Double eek. I have to point out how cute they are or the shirt they're wearing is "adorable." Sometimes I can hear myself blabbering on and on and all I am thinking in my brain is: dang, I sound phony! And this is all in the name of chit-chat and being friendly and social. Then I leave in a hurry and forget half the items I went shopping for.

I just want to do my shopping in peace. Is that so wrong?

Another paranoia I have is forgetting to deodorize. I'm quite sure I never have, but this fear, that I might be smelly, literally, makes me sweat. And we know what sweat can lead to: an odoriferous aroma aka body odor (BO). Maybe it's because when I've had the "privilege" of smelling it on others, it is most difficult for me to mask the scented pain. My eyes start to water and a look of panic and fear envelopes my face. That scent is nasty with a capital NAST. I would never have made it in the cave man days when the natural "musky" odor was considered acceptable and even...sexy? Gah. Makes me want to puke. And because I am so paranoid, I've been known to carry a deodorant stick in my purse. Hey, you never know when you might be in dire need of a reapplication.

I just don't want to smell offensive. Is that so wrong?

And this leads me to another paranoia: being accused of shoplifting. Let the blog-record show that I have NEVER shoplifted. But because sometimes I do carry a deodorant stick around, I always worry that when I'm paying at the register, I will open my purse to get the cash out or my debit card and there will be the deodorant stick for the cashier to see. And then of course, a tap on the shoulder, a request to follow security, a fingerprinting, a mug shot and worst of all a Not Allowed To Shop Here sign with my face plastered on it. Surely you see how this could happen. But the shoplifting paranoia does not stop with just deodorant.

Have you ever shopped for a pair of earrings? So where do you put them until you are ready to pay? Carrying them in your hands is a good spot, until you have to go fishing in your purse for your ringing cell-phone. What is Mr. Security Camera seeing then? An open purse and a reaching hand with a pair of UNpurchased earrings in it.

Not good.

Let's say for the sake of argument, you have a basket or cart. Do you know how easy it is to overlook a small item like earrings and not pay for it? (Not that this has ever happened to me....*nervous giggle*) Okay, it almost happened once, but I caught it in time and boy howdy did I laugh and giggle nervously as I retrieved the item out of the basket AFTER I had paid for all other purchases. Then I made a big deal to the already suspicious cashier about almost forgetting to pay for the earrings. Gah! It makes me paranoid, indeed!

I just don't want to be a thief. Is that so wrong?

As you can see. I'm one paranoiac mess!

This list could go on and on.

But I'm paranoid that you would stop reading.

Is that so wrong?

Is it?

Hello?

Cheeky Smiles

I've got it!

No not, "upset stomach, diarrhea!"

(Nothing like putting that little "sweet" ditty into your head for the day. *grin* You're welcome. *bats eyelashes*)

No, today is Opposite Day.

I bet you had no clue. Aren't you glad you came here today?

(Okay, so I stole the idea from SpongeBob Square Pants, so sue me!)

• I am not going to eat extra hot salsa today.
  
• I am not going to have an explosive bowel movement due to the consumption of hot salsa.
  
• I am going to go to the store for the fourth time this week, because it's only Wednesday.
  
• I am going to leave the laundry in its basket for the third day in a row.
  
• I am going to watch as much as possible of the continuing coverage of Michael Jackson 1958-2009.
  
• I am going to take the kids to McDonald's: the second happiest place on the earth (after Disneyland, of course).
  
• I am not going to play Bejeweled online (deep voice: "Excellent. Next level.")
  
• I am not going to wear ear plugs when I ask my son to clean his room.
  
• I am not going to smile when the wailing, weeping, and gnashing of teeth begin.
  
• I will not drown my sorrows in Diet Dr. Pepper.

It's gonna be grrrrreat!

Don't you wish you were me? Just for today?

*bats eyelashes*

Oh, one more thing.

I am going to wish you all a horrible and nasty day! Cuz, I like to spread the sunshine wherever I go.

*still batting eyelashes*

*still wearing fake smile*

Okay, my cheeks are starting to hurt from smiling so much.

Buh-bye.

Kablooey, Klemazel

One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight.
Schlemeel, schlemazel, hasenfeffer incorporated.

Remember The Laverne and Shirley Show? What a couple of sad and pathetic girls they were.

What? You thought I was going to laud their laurels?

Hardly.

When I look back on it now, I can't believe I watched this show. I anticipated this show. I enjoyed (eek!) this show.

Ack, the mind of a tween who had no cool shows like iCarly or Hannah Montana to watch in the 70's.

Anyhoo, I was recently reminded of this theme song in a weird and quirky way. After all what other way would I remember it?

It was the name of a blogger that set this memory in motion. (So you can blame her, not me. *smile*) Ms. Kablooey at Kablooeyquest blog gave me a I Love Your Blog Award.



Ain't that sweet of her? Thank-you so much Ms. Kablooey!

I went to her blog to check things out and was pleasantly surprised. She has a section of "first lines of stories she hasn't written yet" and that just cracked me up.

Why? Because that's so quirky, like me!

So for some strange reason her name "kablooey" reminded of the Laverne and Shirley theme song. It just sounds like it could fit right into the song.

Here let me show you.

	Charles Fox & Norman Gimbel - OT: Laverne & Shirley
	Found at bee mp3 search engine

One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight. Kablooey, klemazel, bloggerspot incorporated.

blah, blah, blah, blah, blah,
woo-ooo-oooooo
...for about 15 seconds...
woo-ooo-oooooo
blah, blah, blah, blah, blah

On your blog, get set, and go now,
Got an award and we just know now,
We’re gonna make our blogs so rule.
And we’ll blog it our way, yes our way.
Make all our blogs too cool,
And blog it our way, yes our way,
Needing bloglove like a mule,
For me and you.

Now didn't that just make you feel like a bowl of yummy Yorkshire pudding? Didn't you just love it? Like you love my blog?

No?

Well it just might be time for a quirky song-parody time-out.

Unless you tell me (ahem) otherwise.

Unless you tell me (ahem) how much you want me to keep on doing them.

Unless you tell me (ahem) how you would die without them.

You know it's true.

Everything I do.

I do it, erm, I mean I blog it for you.

Ooops, sounds like another song parody coming on.

I'm stopping now.

Promise.

(fingers crossed behind my back)