SnickerQuoodles

'Tis the season to be baking.

Yes, many men and women (I'm not sexist) will be donning their aprons and getting ready to do some serious holiday baking.

Don't forget you'll need, flour, sugar (both white and brown, I'm not a racist either), baking powder, baking soda, canned milks (evaporated, condensed, and sweetened condensed) dashes of salt and then an eclectic assortment of sugary stuffs and spices to complete your baking creations.

I make a mean pumpkin roll (thanks to a very good friend teaching me how to make them, thanks you know who!). They are always a hit with anyone I give some to. Hey, I even made a pecan pie for Turkey Day. We still have some left. It was nutty and sweet, kind of like me! Well at least the nutty part.

Anyhoo, I thought I would share with you a "new" quirky cookie recipe that is sure to be a hit with family and friends and it is guaranteed to tantalize their taste buds into a tizzy of tasty delight.

SnickerQuoodles

• 1 1/2 cups sugar (After last my blood work, the lab informed my oncologist that my blood is two parts sugar one part plasma. But lucky for you I can extract the sugar from my blood.)
  
  
• 1/2 cup butter or margarine, softened (My butt is softened and I'm pretty sure I have at least one, two or even three cups.)
  
  
• 1/2 cup shortening (Take your pick, belly or thigh fat.)
  
  
• 2 eggs (My eggs got nuked a couple of summers ago, I'm sure they're still glowing, but don't let that stop you from using them. I'm sure they'll be just fine. *wink*)
  
  
• 2 3/4 cups Gold Medal® all-purpose or unbleached flour (This might take some time. But I will start using the Ped Egg tonight. It will be close, but I think I can have just enough by noon tomorrow.)
  
  
• 2 teaspoons cream of tartar (I'll scrape some off my teeth.)
  
  
• 1 teaspoon baking soda (I've got lots of soda coursing through my veins: Diet Dr. Pepper. I'll extract the baking soda part.)
  
  
• 1/4 teaspoon salt (Easy extraction because there is never a shortage of salty sweat on Quirky.)
  
  
• 1/4 cup sugar (More blood sugar extraction on the double!)
  
  
• 2 teaspoons ground cinnamon (I will extract it from the "pepper" part of Diet Dr. Pepper.)

1. Heat oven to 400ºF.
   
2. Mix 1 1/2 cups sugar, the butter, shortening and eggs in large bowl. Stir in flour, cream of tartar, baking soda and salt.
   
3. Shape dough into 1 1/4-inch LOONS. Mix 1/4 cup sugar and the cinnamon. Roll LOONS in cinnamon-sugar mixture. Place 2 inches apart on ungreased cookie sheet.
   
4. Bake 8 to 10 minutes or until set. Remove from cookie sheet to wire rack.

It will be the most delicious and quirky cookies you have ever ever eaten!

You could almost say I've put my heart and soul into this recipe.

And my body.

Can't forget that.

Or can you?







B.S. No cookies were harmed during the production of this post. And remember: cookie, cookie, cookie starts with "C!"

I Want My L&O!

Oh, it started off to be grand day.

9:00 AM Channel 26 TNT Law & Order Double Down
10:00 AM Channel 26 TNT Law & Order We Like Mike
10:00 AM Channel 04 WGN Law & Order: Criminal Intent To the Bone
11:00 AM Channel 26 TNT Law & Order: Passion
11:00 AM Channel 04 WGN Law & Order: Criminal Intent The Good
12:00 PM Channel 04 WGN Law & Order: Criminal Intent Wasichu
1:00 PM Channel 04 WGN Law & Order: Criminal Intent Wrongful Life

Then it took a serious downward turn.

An eleven-hour drought.

This was serious.

My hands started shaking and my eye started some serious twitching. I developed a neck tic as well.

It was spooky.

I felt lost and confused. I felt I couldn't focus on any one task. My life felt empty, devoid of any purpose.

Not even Diet Dr. Pepper could console my unsettled psyche.

I paced the room.

I clicked the remote.

I clicked here.

I clicked there.

I clicked on all channels EVERYWHERE!

No relief in sight.

Silence enveloped me.

My mind came to a stand still.

I sat and waited.

Unwashed dishes remained in the sink. Laundry remained unwashed. Dust multiplied by the nanoseconds. Groceries were not purchased. A strange uninvestigated odor emanated from an unknown source. Books were left untouched and unopened on the bedside table.

Minutes dragged into hours.

And still I sat and waited.

Finally, with no options left, I decided to try and sleep off my anxiety.

Just once more?

One more click through?

Yes, one more try.

I had too.

I couldn't help myself.

Ahhhhhh!

12:00 AM Channel 28 USA Law & Order: Criminal Intent Lady's Man

Relief!

I could go to sleep now and sleep sweet judicious dreams.

*snore*







B.S. No Law&Order episodes were harmed during the production of this post. Please don't let this series EVER end. I don't know what would happen to my mental well-being if it did. I don't even want to think about it, the injustice of it all!

Exotic Pets

'Tis the season for wee little ones to be asking, "Can I have a pet (fill in the blank) for Christmas? Pleeeeeeeease? As they attack you with their big innocent, pleading doe like eyes.

No fair.

Another pet?

Ack.

We already have three dogs, isn't that enough?

Apparently not.

Top Ten List of Requested Pets by Quirky Son #2 (Six-Year-Old)

*sigh*

1. Alpaca. Kind of like a llama runt. "They're smaller but their disposition is much like llamas. They will spit at each other if disgruntled about something, but will rarely spit at a human." And they better NOT even think about spitting on me. "Aggressive behavior is rare (watch for foot stomping and kicking)." I'm no doormat, I will kick and stomp right back at them. And they "like to hum." Well. Maybe I should consider an alpaca. I love to sing, they love to hum. Sounds like we might live in perfect harmony. *cheesy grin*
   
2. Chinchilla. They look "like a cute mouse?" Ugh. No mice are cute in my eyes. And what's this? They are nocturnal? Lovely. Quiet during the day, pesky and lively at night. But if it got loose? *shudders* I still haven't recovered from the horrendous mouse episode a couple of years ago. I still fear that closet.
   
3. Goat. "They like to climb and investigate everything with their mouths like paperwork, clothing and jewelry. Although they do tend to respect electric fencing." I know lots of animals who would "tend to respect electric fencing." Oh, and goats are NOT sheep. I guess they get upset when they are mistaken for sheep. Good to know. Still, I think I'll pass on considering a goat.
   
4. Hedgehog. "They are insectivores." Now that might come in handy with the crickets. We tend to have lots of crickets here. But what's this? "When threatened, they roll into a tight ball with just a mass of spines poking out." I like it! I can see it now. Bowling hedgehogs for disciplinary tactics for the boys! Roll the hedgehog at the offending boy, pain ensues, bad behavior stops, problem solved.
   
5. Axolotls. I don't even know how to pronounce the name! "It is a type of salamander native to Mexico." Uh-oh. Illegal Axolotls? Are these axolotls coming over into our land and expecting us to change our laws, language and culture for them? I have a very bad feeling about this. No to the axolotls.
   
6. Rats. Why on earth would anybody want a rat as a pet? Ick. "Limit access to the cage by other household pets, as a rat will understandably feel threatened by a cat or dog hovering outside the cage." *evil grin* Well maybe a rat wouldn't be so bad after all. Hmm. I wonder how well the rat would like our THREE dogs? Hmm.
   
7. Big Cats. Oh meow and raa'aar! "All big cats have sharp claws and teeth and can be quite destructive." Really? "Large cats eat massive quantities of raw meat." I wonder if they would eat chicken fat? I hate freezing chicken fat and then forgetting it's in the freezer for months on-end. But if I throw chicken fat into the trash, it smells so tantalizingly gross (especially in the nine months of warm weather around here). I'm going to take a wild guess and say it's probably an ix-nay on the ig-bay ats-cay.
   
8. Short Tailed Opossum. What's this? They are marsupials? "Although they do not have a pouch like most marsupials." Interesting. "The tail is prehensile, meaning it can wrap around and hold onto things..." Perhaps a cute little opossum could become my kitchen helper? (Quirky's eyes light up at the prospect.) I could train her to hold pots, pans, serving spoons, oven mitts, etc. This is definitely something to consider.
   
9. Tarantula. "...keeping tarantulas as pets can make a fascinating hobby. However, they aren't the best choice as a pet to handle very much..." Hmm, ya think? Absolutely NO to a tarantula.
   
10. Zombie Kitty.
    
    
    A huge big yes, yes, YES!
    
    Problem solved.
    
    It's going to be a wonderful Christmas.
    
    Just wonderful.
    
    

*nomnomnomnom meow nomnomnomnom*



B.S. No exotic animals were harmed during the production of this post. Thank goodness, I don't want PETA on my butt.

Qliche of the Day

Thanks for joining me on QROK at 1100 on your AM dial. Today's subject? Clams and the horrible injustice happening against them is the subject of our show today. And we begin our show with the Qliche of the day. We thought it would appropriately introduce today's topic.


Today's Qliche is brought to you by:

Campbell's Chunky Soups

Chunky Clam Chowder









--------------------------------------------
And now...

The "qliche" of the day is: happy as a clam.

Never has a statement been more false.

Our poor little bivalve mollusk friends.

Would you be happy if you laid in mud all day long? Would you be happy that you have no head or eyes? Would you be happy to have only "kidneys, a heart, a mouth, and an ANUS?" Is that enough to feel happy about?

Clams fear being eaten by sharks and squid and they do us the great service of eating Plankton.
That evil dastardly little villain! I say good riddance to him and others like him. You are probably unaware that the oceans are being overrun with plankton. It's out of control.

So how do humans repay the clams who perform this great service? Oh, they claw and rake their way through the mud so they can capture the clams with their wicked rakes and shovels of death and destruction. How would you feel if you were raked and collected, and then tortured by steaming, boiling or baking? If I were to take a stab at it, I'd say you would probably be not too happy.

Sometimes they are even turned into chowder! What an abomination! And have you ever noticed the physical resemblance of clam chowder to vomit? They both have chunks, they both contain strange looking liquids, they both are smelly. Tell me, would you want to look or smell like vomit?

That, my friends, is what clams have to look forward to.

A true injustice for our bivalved mollusk friends.

So when you say, "happy as a clam?"

I say: I think not.

--------------------------------------------

Don't forget to visit our sponsor: Campbell's Soup. And for today only, the first 100 people who visit their website will have access to a 50% off special coupon for Campbell's Soup Chunky Clam Chowder!

That's all for today folks. Thanks for tuning in to QROK and remember the more we rock, the groovier we'll be!

Tune in tomorrow when we discuss eyelash mites.

I want to wish you all a rawkin' day and until tomorrow, I leave you with a "Q-bye Bah bye!"





B.S. Since Quirkyloon is allergic to seafood, no clams were harmed during the production of this post.

Ode To A Pumpkin

Some call thee a gourd,
Some call thee squash
I say thou art a pumpkin
Come let us cook you up!

Your oblate orange form
With globs of gooey goop galore
And seeds that begin it all
As you grow into a pumpkin,
So big and tall.

At times you lend yourself
Into the night of an All Hallowed Eve
They cut you and carve you up
And make scary faces that light up.

A seed! A seed!
Let us roast them,
And then feed.
A little butter
And a little salt
A tasty treat
That comes each Fall.

Alas, when thine flesh is cooked and pureed,
The most delicious glop
Thou dost make.
For with pure pumpkin,
We make bread, cakes, and pies,
So scrumptious and tasty
To all our delight.

We thank dear pumpkin
Because thou art a pumpkin.
Let there be no mistake
A pumpkin thou art
Didst we not already say?
Yea verily a pumpkin.

Alas, thank thee dear pumpkin,
For your precious slice
Of delicious pumpkin deserts,
This Thanksgiving day and night.


Written by Quirkyloon

*No applause please*

---------------------------------------------------------

And now I want to thank all the pumpkins that have been cooked, pulverized, and baked this Thanksgiving Day, and I want to thank each and everyone of you for reading my blog and for the comments you make.

It does a Quirky ego good.

So I thought I would take a moment and thank each one of you personally.

Here goes!

TheOldSilly Marvin for so many encouraging and uplifting comments. I think he might like me! He really, really likes me!
Reffie for being my BBFF! You still rawk woman! Ref. The Refinator. Refalongalooooonga! Re-eeeef! I don't care what others say about you. You're all right in my book.
MeMe: It's not about her-her, she is not a self-centered person at all. She's a good ole' gal. And she's even from Arizona, like me! I like her.
Noname: My cancer and rock buddy. Need I say more?
CatladyLarew: Thank goodness she doesn't really like cats! You don't do you? But she is a fellow "pepper" gal and that counts for a lot. So I think I can overlook it, IF she does indeed like cats. Meow.
Joanne: She's moving forward one step at a time and I'm having fun watching her do it. Ooops, sorry. I think I pushed you! That was naughty of me, no?
MikeWJ: Mr. Writer Extraordinaire. I'm always amazed at how articulate this man is, and funny too.
Knucklehead: He gives me grief, but it's a good kind of grief. He actually scares me. I'm always afraid he's going to send me to the Principal's office or something. *grin*
VE: VE --- he brings good (and fantastical nonsense) things to life!
Mamaface: She's my soul sistah! I feel like she's writing my mind at her blog! It's spooky!
Em whose political posts I am missing wicked hard. Please hurry and finish your novel in a month, okay?
Deb who does drivel. I wonder if she does drool too. I have some if she does.
Deb who does teens (wait that doesn't sound right). Deb is my teen parenting mentor. I read her blog to get some ideas on how to deal with my tween or to know I am NOT alone.
Kablooey so sweet and gooey (wait that doesn't sound right either) But she claims she would be my biggest groupie if I formed a zombie band. I think I will and see what she does. Every time I read her name I want to start singing the theme song to Laverne and Shirley. "Schlameel, kablooey, hassenfeffer incorporated!"
Skye I can forgive her that she likes pepperoni and pineapple pizza (blech)! The sky's the limit with Skye. Mwa-mwa-mwa. I bet she hears that one a lot.
Collette is a pure, unadulterated sweetie-pie. She always makes me feel like she likes me! She really, really likes me! Hmm. I wonder if she is in cahoots with Marvin?
Ettarose: Such a hoot and I heard she's got quite a pair of hooters on her too! She is such a doll. I admit I'm afraid to enter her "Craption This" contest. Do I really want a picture of crap on my blog? That could potentially set up so many mean comments. "Oh I see your blog is crap, hence you have a picture of crap!" Yes, I'm paranoid that way.
Dana: She's a tough broad, with the mouth of a sailor, but a heart of a marshmallow.

There are some others out there who don't frequent my blog as much (and that's ok), so forgive me for not mentioning your name too.

And one last huge thank-you to the lurkers. It's more than okay by me, I'm just so happy you're here!

(Quirky gets on her knees) Please stay? I beg of you, stay!

A big *smooch* to all of youse! Cuz you all make blogging fun!

And now? We eat!

Don't forget to be grateful that a turkey was beheaded and gutted for you today.

And enjoy!

*gobble, gobble*



B.S. Lots of turkeys and pumpkins were harmed during the production of this post and they were most tasty. *burp*

Mind Your Holiday Q's

"Hon, could you put another log on the fire?"

The fire crackled as Hon gingerly placed another log on the fire. He smiled warmly at Q. Snuggled up in a warm quilt, Quirkyloon took a sip of her steaming hot chocolate and started reading her book, the latest selection from Oprah's Bookclub.

The Quirkyloons had finished decorating their house for the holidays. There were stockings hanging on the mantle and little crystal Christmas trees adorned the tables and shelves of the room. A collection of Christmas Angels spruced up the mantle as well. And the tree, oh the tree! Beautiful lace garland with frilly white angel ornaments and luscious red velvet clusters of berries decorated the tree. Wooden sleighs and long crystal icicles completed the picture of perfection.

Plush, soft quilts were in a hand painted cedar box with a vine border. The box was used as a coffee table. It offset the huge, dark chocolate micro-suede sectional sofa. An overflowing bookcase lined one of the room's pale blue walls, everything from the classics to Stephen King. Soft Christmas music was playing on their Bose music system in the background.

The plasma television set was in wall screen mode with a picture of an old wooden cabin nestled up against snowy pine trees with smoke curling out the chimney. The detail and clarity were exceptional.

Quirky husband was smiling and happy, the boys were quietly doing a jigsaw puzzle at a corner table. They were getting along so well as they always do.

It was a peaceful, serene setting.

*record scratches*

Hold the phone!

Huh? What's with the picture perfect setting Q? You know that is NOT your real life.

Get a load of Q's Real World

Quirkyloon woke up in a sweat with the ceiling fan whirling away trying to cool her off. She sent Quirky Son #1 to the kitchen to get her a tall glass of ice and a can of Diet Dr. Pepper. "Who put this blanket on me! It's 80 degrees outside! I don't need a blanket!" She got up from her stained worn couch and rapped on the wall of her son's bedroom. She tripped on a Tech Deck toy.

"Cri-min-neeeeeeee! Who left this toy here? I'm throwing it away right now!"

"No Mom, please don't! I'll put it away." QS#2 pleaded.

Quirky snorted. "Fine."

"And where's my Diet Dr. Pepper? QS#1 turn down your amp! It's too loud."

Quirky Son #1 appeared and with a look of boredom gave her the ice-cold drink. "Ahhh! That's better. Now where is my book?" She starts searching through some boxes lined up along one wall and searches for a good read. "What's this? 'Owen Fiddler?' Oh yeah, read that one already. Pretty good read. Ah, this sounds like a good one, 'Zombie Baby.'" She yawns.

The boys start bickering. "Mom he's touching me!" "Mom he won't stop taking my stuff!" "Mom, he hit me." "Mom, why doesn't he get into trouble?" "It's not fair Mom!"

"If you two keep fighting, you're both going to your rooms and no Christmas gifts for you! I'm calling Santa and telling him the deal's off!"

Quirky sons quiet down immediately and silently glare at each other.

Quirky husband comes home through the front door looking haggard and tired from a long day's work.

"Hi Hon. Where's the remote?"

He plops down on the old recliner and starts clicking through the channels. "I can't wait until we can afford to buy a new t.v. I think we're the only family that doesn't have a flat screen t.v."

"I know Hon. And do you think we could get rid of the 13" black and white television in our room? I know it's a lot to ask, but maybe?"

Kids interrupt (as they usually do): "Mom when are we going to start decorating for the holidays?"

Ugh.

She thinks to herself: "Do we have to? It looks fine without all that cheap WalMart crap I bought last year. I think one of the angels is really a gnome. How did I get that mixed up? Oh yeah, we have all those leftover chocolate covered cherries to give away. They're what? Two years old now? Yeah, they should still be good. Those things never go bad. I can't believe it's already that time of the year again! Just wake me when it's over!"

Yes, this Quirky family is geared up and ready to take on another holiday season.

"Hmm, I wonder if I can find that fruitcake in one of these boxes. I know we didn't eat it. Where did that fruitcake go? I know just who to give it to! We drew Dad's name for our Christmas gift exchange this year. I'm quite sure my father-in-law would like that slab of fruitcake because I heard him say he wants to use it as a paper weight for his desk."

Just keeping things real, folks.

Real real.

Q style.

It's never outdated.






B.S. No Christmas decorations or any holiday decorations were harmed during the production of this post. They were all harmed when they were being put away last holiday season. Anybody want a broken Christmas gnome?

I Am Not a Sardine!

I'm extremely grateful for modern medicine and therapies which help me beat (not completely, but good enough) my cancers.

But one thing I have yet to develop an appreciation for is MRIs.

I almost, ALMOST totally freaked out Monday morning.

It was time for another MRI.

I am claustrophobic, but I never ask to be sedated.

Why?

Because I'm a sadist and I immensely enjoy physically and emotionally torturing myself.

Not really.

Actually, I've always grown up believing that sometimes you have to tough things out. Not everything is going to be made super easy in life at the snap of your fingers or at the snap of a pill bottle opening up. Sometimes we have to endure difficult things.

This MRI was proving to be one of those "things."

They had to do two MRIs, one to my chest and one to my pelvis area. Makes for one mother of a LONG MRI.

I knew it was going to be bad for a couple of reasons.

One: They always offer headphones to protect your ears from the incredibly loud and obnoxious machine noises and to offer you a distraction I guess. It's nice that they ask you which FM radio station you would like to listen to. I asked for a rock station and they put it on a jazz station. Jazz? Might as well kill me now.

Two: I asked them to use the vein in the nook of my arm when it was time to inject the contrast dye. That's usually the vein EVERYBODY uses. She's my old faithful. I can always depend on her. Sometimes the veins in my hands "explode." Apparently, chemo destroys your veins and makes it very hard to insert an IV. (I found out during several outpatient procedures for internal radiation that my veins were shot! The OR nurses had to use my port.) Anyhoo, these MRI techs refused to even try my nook and said they would HAVE to use a vein in my hand. Gulp. And it hurt. A lot. That wasn't very nice.

By the way a power port is a small device inserted into the body to act as spigot to your veins. They inserted one into my chest when I got my boob chopped off. They use the power port for chemo treatments. You just hook the IV needle into the port "spigot" and it's ready to release chemicals all through my quirky veins! I still use it once a month to receive a bone strengthening treatment. Maybe one day we'll take it out, but for now it stays in.

I always ask the MRI techs if they can use my port, the answer is always no. (They are portcists! They discriminate against ports! Haters!) I then point out my "nook" vein and there's never been a problem using it before... until today.

Now I've had dozens of MRIs in the last two years. I don't know why this time became so physically and emotionally torturous for me.

All I know is that it did.

More than once they had to remind to keep my breathing calm.

Yeah lady?

You try keeping it calm, when you're squashed like sardine inside a metal tube.

And then for the life of me I don't know why and I will never be able to explain why I did this next thing.

I opened my eyes.

In. The. Tube.

Huge, huge mistake.

"Mrs. Q please relax and keep your breathing calm."

I tell you, I had it out for myself. I always keep my eyes closed during the entire procedure. I know I have to or...I'll freak out! So why, oh why, did I open my eyes this time? Maybe it was self-loathing from my grandiose self-pity day the other day. All I know is my subconscious was dictating some very bad vibes to my conscious.

And my conscious received every bad signal and then some.

Oh, and did I mention that it gets very hot inside the tube? What a lovely thing for me who already runs about ten extra degrees hot anyways. Yes, the sweat was just pouring down my face and my back. I think if they had placed a bucket underneath me, I would have filled it easily.

Loverly.

I can't tell you how glad I was when it was finally over. I did pat myself on the back for having endured it. It was tough.

Then I got home to find this phone message waiting for me.

"Mrs. Q? There was a miscommunication and we did not finish the scan. We need about fifteen more minutes of scanning."

What the scan?

Now let me backpedal. Since I was getting two different areas MRI-ed they had to move things around, so they slid me out a couple of times (much to my relief). I was surprised when the girl told me I could get up and go. I specifically asked, "Oh really? I thought I had one more time in the tube?"

"No Mrs. Q. You're all done."

"Okay, great!"

I weaved my way out of the maze of offices and rooms filled with familiar and unfamiliar machinery and was only too happy to leave.

Now I have to go back tomorrow to finish what we started.

One more squish and then we'll be done.

Until next week when I go for a PET scan!

Wheeeeeee!




B.S. Quirkyloon WAS emotionally harmed and her shoulder went numb from keeping her arms over her head for the almost two hours of MRI-ing. It sucks to be me.

All About Soap

It's a week of Gratitude posts written by yours Quirky! It's all in honor of one gluttonous upcoming holiday.
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I am so grateful for bar soap.

I can't imagine that as little as a century ago, soap was a luxury.

Smelly times, people, smelly times.

Makes me feel like wrinkling up my nose.

So I am grateful for the sweet, scented modern soaps that clean and refresh and help you smell goo-ood.

But soapy goodness does not end there.

Did you know that the type of bar soap you use can identify certain aspects of your personality.

Honest! (Well according to my loony brain.)

Looky, looky.

Dove: You are flighty and fickle. When confronted with a challenge, you wing it. You have no problems being undependable and flaky. You leave without any warning. If arrested, you would definitely be a flight-risk.

Lever 2000: You enjoy bargaining and negotiating with others. You manage to gain the positional advantage in every situation at home and work. You are the master leverager. You can talk your way out of donating to the Salvation Army bucket and actually taking all the money for yourself. Rumor has it that you finagled two grand the last time. Nice work.

Irish Spring: You are hot-wired to be sassy. A bundle of energy is bursting and springing from within you. You would love to surprise others by springing out of a cake. And you enjoy scaring the heebie jeebies out of others whenever you can. It can backfire on you if you suddenly spring onto your spouse while he or she is sleeping. A fight is sure to break-out between the two of you. But your spirited wit and sharp tongue will enable you to hold your own. Plus you tend to have smoke coming out of your nostrils. All that internal energy finding release.

Caress: You are a gentle soul. Very affectionate. You tend to be a touchy, feely person. There's not a face you won't...caress. And you have sweet breath that always gently intoxicates the one you are whispering sweet nothings to. And you always carry extra Certs in your purse or pocket.

Safeguard: You are a cautious person by nature. You plan every step of your life and you will not deter from it without ensuring that proper safeguards are in place. You hire an entourage to accompany you all the time. Detective Benjamin "Bugsy" Spiegel is always available to you when he is... available.

Dial: You are a phone addict. You cannot stop talking on the phone. You enjoy calling 1-800 numbers and anxiously await the option to "talk to a live representative." With your outgoing personality you make others feel accepted and welcomed. Sometimes you get on people's nerves with your constant chattering. (Shh! Please be quiet now.)

Oil of Olay: You are a slimy character. You weasel your way through life and have no remorse. As you slither to and fro, you leave a trail of slime that others have to clean up after you. It's no picnic being around you.

Coast: You are coasting through life, riding on the coattails of others. Hey! Stop trying to kick me off. I like it here. It's... comfy.

Bacon Soap: You are a pig. Sooooooo-ey!

Soap.

It does a body and mind good.

Even a loony mind like mine.

Strangely enough, I'm craving bacon.

Mmm bacon.

Have Cheese Will Whine

I am a dry Quirky.

I don't drink red wine, white wine, dry wines, or even wet wines.

But every once in a while I will indulge a good whine.

That "while" was on Friday.

Now for the few men who read my blog? Don't read any further. It's gonna get messy. Real messy.

Unless you like and can appreciate an emotional, weeping, whining woman, click away!

*hiccup*

Actually, I do not want to expound on the reasons why I was feeling so emotional. It was what it was. It might have been because I had only gotten four hours of sleep the night before. It might have been because I forgot to take my anti-depressant. It might have been because I want to be a vampire. It might have been because I want a werewolf and a vampire to fight over me. It might have been because Oprah is quitting her show. It might have been because I couldn't find any Law and Order episodes on television. It might have been because I couldn't find my favorite white tee-shirt. Or maybe it was because they are already playing Christmas music on a radio station, which is so, so wrong!

Or it might have been because when I woke up Friday morning there was NO diet Dr. Pepper in the house. How on earth did I let that happen?

So what did I do? That's right I fired up the computer. I took refuge in the internet. I've made music playlists at website: playlist.com. Once again, my PC completes me. Is that a bad thing? Wait. Don't answer that. I don't want it to be wrong. Because if loving the web is wrong? Then I don't wanna be right.

You all know that I absolutely LOVE music. Especially rock music.

But once in awhile when I am feeling weepy and whiny I need cheese. As in cheesy love songs.

These are the ten songs I could not stop listening to in a cathartic effort that was not successful. Unfortunately.

1. Seasons in the Sun by Westlife. I even liked the original by Terry Jacks, but these Westlife guys are hot and Terry Jacks? Not so much.


2. Sukiyaki by 4PM "For Positive Music." It's all because of you, I'm feeling sad and blue." It's all because of this line that made me want to hear this song over and over again. Oh, and take note: great lyrics does not a love song make. In fact the more trite, the better.


3. Wind Beneath My Wings by Bette Midler. First of all the Divine Miss M has a set of pipes on her unlike any other. She has a fantastic singing voice. And yes, this song always gets my tears flowing easily. It's an emotional spigot. I want her on my emotional wall. I need her on my emotional wall. I cried some more.


4. Always by Atlantic Starr. I know it's cheesy, but I like this sweet love song. It just makes my heart start dripping every time I hear the song. A good heart drip can be quite cleansing and refreshing. It's a form of slow emotional torture. Always a good trait of a cheesy love song.


5. Time, Love, and Tenderness by Michael Bolton. The ONLY Michael Bolton song I can stand to listen to. He's a screamer. I never knew you could scream a sweet soft ballad. Mr. Bolton found a way. "When love puts your through the fire, when love puts you through the test, nothing heals a broken heart like Time, Love, and Tenderness!" Yeah. Scream it Michael.


6. The Rose by Westlife. I know, I know. I was just complimenting the Divine Miss M on her pipes, but the guys from Westlife? (look at number one again, if you don't remember.) They're hot. And Miss M? She's not. At least not for me. I don't play on that team. *smile*


7. Forever and For Always by Shania Twain. No this is NOT a country song, at least not in my opinion. This was one of her crossover songs from Country to Pop. I probably would not have heard it, if it weren't for that. And now? This song makes me weep because she and her love Mutt Lange are separated and divorcing. I guess she's not keeping him forever and for always. I wouldn't either, if he had cheated on me. And why did he cheat on her? She's gawgeous! That wasn't enough for him? Yeesh.


8. Baby, What A Big Surprise by Chicago. Now this is not a cheesy love song. It's a classic rock love song. Much more up my alley. What a big surprise, eh? Ha! Obviously pun intended.


9. Always Be My Baby by David Cook. Dang! This guy has one SEXY voice. rrrRRRrrr! Gives me shivers. If I were twenty years younger, and not married, and had one more boob? Oh yeah baby, I'd be ALL over that!


10. Across the Universe by Rufus Wainwright. I know it's a John Lennon cover, but I like Rufus's voice better than John Lennon's. *gasp* A musical sacrilege! I wonder how many followers I will lose for admitting such a personal opinion. After all, he was one of The Beatles! *yawn* Now this is not a typical cheesy love song, but I can listen to this song and never get sick of it. It touches a whimsical chord within my twisted psyche. And yes, I am twisted in a loony sort of way.

So there you have it. Even a rocker Mama like myself needs a good cheesy love song diversion every once in awhile.

Whines can be good for your emotional health and well-being.

And now excuse me while I go to my happy place.

It's been awhile since I've been there.

I like my happy place.

Lots of cowbell.



B.S. No cheese was harmed during the production of this post and thankfully, Quirky finally got over it. Now? It's time to rock!

TGIP!

It's thank goodness for pencils!

TGIP!

Thank Goodness It's a Pencil.

It was 3:00 p.m. MST in Mesa, Arizona, on Thursday, November 19, 2009. One Quirky Husband ws talking to one Quirkyloon via cell phone.

"Yes, I picked up Quirky Son #2 (6-yr-old) from school. What time does Quirky Son #1 (12-yr-old) get home?"

"Around 4:30 p.m. Remember you do NOT need to pick him up today."

"Okay, well I'm taking QS#1 back to work with me. I have to finish up few things."

"Oh. Is that going to be okay?"

"Yeah, it won't take long."

"Okay." Quirky hangs up and goes back to bebopping around the movie theater.

What?

Yes, I spent about fourteen hours, yes FOURTEEN hours in the movie theater on Thursday.

Why?

New Moon.

And I'm not even a fanatical fan, but yes I was there. All twenty of us. It didn't start filling up til after 4pm. I guess we could have waited, but why take the risk?

It was quite the experience. Women (because I saw no men, until much much later) brought their i-phones, Smart phones, laptops, Macbooks and of course, one of the Twilight Series books by Stephenie Meyers with them to keep them occupied during the long, long, long, LONG wait.

I brought a Sandra Brown book leant to me by my mother-in-law.

I read about ZERO pages.

Let's just say the atmosphere was not conducive to reading. Too much laughing, chatting, and joking around going on.

Oh yeah, and others contributed to the fun too, from time to time, when they could get a word or joke in on me edgewise.

*smile*

I even checked in a couple of times with Quirky Hubs to make sure all was going well at the homestead. Of course, I became anxious about a couple of things that I knew would not make a blip on my huband's "taking care of the boys" radar.

"Did QS#1 do his homework? Did you sign it?"

"Yeah, he did it at my workplace after we found a pencil."

"Oh, how did that go? Was he well-behaved?"

"Yes, everything went well, after we found a pencil."

"Oh good." I wish I could say the same on a regular basis from HOME! It can be difficult to find a pencil in our home. They always manage to disappear.

"What about QS#2? Did he get home okay?"

"Yeah, everything was okay when QS#1 and I came home, QS#2 was on the computer."

"WHAT?"

Quirkyloon continues: "Don't you remember? He's been grounded from the computer INDEFINITELY."

"Oh yeah."

"Hon, he's got to stay off the computer."

"Don't worry, just enjoy your movies. How much longer?"

"About three more hours before they air Twilight, then at midnight they will show New Moon."

"Well have fun."

"Oh yeah."

"Wait. QS#2 wants to talk to you."

"All right, put him on."

"Mom? I love you."

"I love you too, Son."

"Guess what Mom?"

"What?"

"I got an 'O'!" (O for outstanding behavior in class.)

"Way to go! I'm so proud of you! I told you! You can do it!"

"And Dad gave me candy."

"Well, okay. Good. Oh, did you do your homework?"

"Yes, Mom. I did it at Dad's work. And guess what Mom?"

"What Sweetie?"

"They have pencils there. Lots of them Mom. Pen-cils."

"Well this is a good thing." Quirkyloon chuckles.

"So I got all my homework done."

"Good job son. I'll see you later."

"Bye Mom, I love you."

"I love you too, Sweetie."

Well thank goodness for the modern miracle of pencils!

And more importantly, thank goodness my husband's workplace keeps pencils on hand.

That's what the world needs more of: pencils.

And cowbell.

*clink, clank, clink, clank*





B.S. No pencils were broken or harmed during the production of this post. And New Moon was awesome with a capital "A!" Sadly, there were no cowbells in the movie theater and Quirky was EXTREMELY tired on Friday after only four hours of sleep. But it was worth it.

Socrates, Plato and Aristotle, Oh My!

I've always been impressed by deep thinkers.

I remember learning about the triumvirate of Greek philosophers whose quotes collectively, have stood the test of time. I am speaking of Socrates, Plato, and Aristotle, of course!

I bet you didn't realize that these wise men and philosophers had already formed opinions about the future.

Were they soothsayers as well as philosophers?

You be the judge.


Let's start with the Granddaddy of Greek philosophers: Socrates.

On blogging:

"He is a man of courage who does not run away, but remains at his post and fights against the enemy."

He clearly talking about writing blog posts here. It does take courage to not run away from blogging at times and we must always fight that infernal enemy: Blooger (misspelling intentional: I don't want to get zapped by them).

On television:

"True wisdom comes to each of us when we realize how little we understand about life, ourselves, and the world around us."

And isn't that what television teaches us each and every day? FOX News channel, CNN, MSNBC, those news stations (although I've heard FOX isn't a legitimate news channel) teach us so much about just how little we understand the world around us. Who knew that balloons could get a boy into so much trouble. I always thought they were for birthdays. Who knew Octopodes and Mothers could possibly share so much in common. Who knew that Madonna wasn't a virgin when she sang her famous song? Who knew that there would be a medium for us to learn all of these useful and edifying facts? I'll tell you who knew. Socrates! Wise, wise man.

Let's turn to his prized pupil: Aristotle. He too, had some wise prophetic words.

On PC versus MACs.

"To PerCeive is to suffer."

You read it here first, to "PC" is to suffer. *sigh*

On the longest running crime drama: Law and Order.

"Law is order, and good law is good order."

How did he know what a great show that would turn out to be! That is why it is now in its 1000th season? Amazing!

And let us not forget Aristotle's prized pupil: Plato. Another great learner at the hands of his mentor.

On cell phones:

"Wise men talk because they have something to say; fools, because they have to say something."

Isn't it hard to believe that just a couple decades ago, everyone got along just fine without cell phones. I mean people went on to live long and happy lives without a phone attached to their ear. I don't know how they managed not to report that they just moved fifty feet from where they were before. Or how did couples ever manage without knowing that their partner just ate, burped, and pooped. Yes, life is much more fulfilling these days because we ALL have something to say...all the time!

On the Internet:

"Ignorance, the root and the stem of every evil."

Yes, we have the Internet to combat ignorance. Google anything! You are sure to get at least five billion hits. Guaranteed. Want to know about the sleep cycles of worms? There's a hit for that. Want to know what Pee Wee Herman is up to (no pun intended) these days? There's a hit for that. Want to know about Quirkyloons? There's even a hit for that! (Thank goodness!)

I'm so grateful for these wise men and their wise quotes. It makes me feel connected to them that they understood so much about world and the future. And let's not forget that we have modern day philosophers to turn to and admire.

Like dear, silly, and crabby Maxine:

On vampires:

"Why do weather forecasts include the precise time of sunrise and sunset? As a service to the vampire community?"

On bad days:

"Having a bad day? Well better you than me!"

On fruits and vegetables:

"I'd eat more fruits and vegetables if they tasted more like microwaved burritos."

On ovens:

"Life is like an oven. It burns my buns."

On life:

"In a hundred years this won't matter. It barely matters now."


Yes, we've come a long way since the days of the Socrates, Plato and Aristotle. Thank goodness for Maxine and others like her (i.e., Happy Bunny) of our day. It is the likes of these modern day philosophical pioneers that give us wisdom fodder.

So we continue to ponder and soak up the wisdom.

Is it just me or is it getting deep in here?

A little too deep.




B.S. No philosophers were harmed during the production of this post...at least that is what they have pondered and thought and spoken.

Pineapples Unite!

On behalf of pineapples everywhere, I am here to plead their cause against a huge injustice.

Pineapples have been known for their sweet juicy goodness since Christopher Columbus discovered them back in 1493 on the island of Guadeloupe.

Why even "I cannot tell a lie," George Washington declared it as his favorite tropical fruit when he first tasted it.

Pineapples are wonderful, juicy sweet treat.

But not on pizza.

Yes, I know, I know that pineapple has been a major staple of ham glazes for centuries. Pineapples accept this. They know that they add flavorful juices to hams.

But when you add ham and pineapple to a pizza?

That, my friends, is an injustice.

A huge injustice.

Why?

Because pineapple and tomato sauce do not mix. They are polar opposites in taste and texture. They only similarity they share is their acidic nature and of course, they are both fruits. But taste wise, they do NOT belong together.

Pineapples are weary of being placed on a slab of cheesy dough and misnamed as "Hawaiian Pizza."

Pineapples were imported to Hawaii from South America. Why aren't they called Brazilian Pizza or Guatemalan Pizza.

Pfft.

Pineapples want to be heard and they want humans to understand one thing.

It is offensive to pineapples everywhere to prepare them with pizza sauce. The pineapples lose most of their juicy sweetness and their lovely flavor is eclipsed by the tomato taste of pizza sauce.

They feel under valued and under appreciated.

After all how can one enjoy the soggy, tomatoed down, cheesy taste of a piece of baked pineapple on a pizza.

They cannot.

Pineapples acknowledge, accept, and encourage humans to consume them in jello salads, cakes (upside down or right side up, they don't care), or just plain raw.

They are delicious goodness in their correct element.

And pizza is NOT an acceptable element.

Oh, and don't even get the pineapples started about their shells being used an underwater home for a certain sponge.

"Who lives in a pineapple under the sea. Sponge Bob Square Pants!"

Ahem.

It's wrong!

The pineapples are fed up.

They have had it.

They are ready to blow.

Blow pineapple chunks!





B.S. No pineapples were mistakenly baked on a any pizzas during the production of this post.

To Catch A Pizza

Hello, I'm Chris Hansen. Welcome to another episode of To Catch A Pizza. Tonight's shocking episode features a clandestine rendezvous between a young, sweet, innocent 14-year-old girl and one "pizza" delivery guy. Mmm-hmm. "Pizza." Sure. Here is our latest sting. You be the judge.

Pizza Guy rings the door bell.

Eliza: Oh, come right in. I just need to get my purse.

Pizza Guy walks in.

Eliza: Go ahead into the kitchen and wait for me there. I'll be right down.

Pizza Guy: Okay.

Pizza Guy carries two large pizza boxes and a six-pack of beverages. He sits on a stool. He shifts his body and starts fishing in his pants pocket.

Chris Hansen: (walks to the kitchen) You came for Rachel?

Pizza Guy: No.

Chris Hansen: Jennifer?

Pizza Guy: No.

Chris Hansen: Eliza?

Pizza Guy: (looks at slip of paper) Yes.

Chris Hansen: So you're here for the 14-year-old girl.

Pizza Guy: I guess.

Chris Hansen: What were you doing with your pants when you were standing there.

Pizza Guy: Making sure I had my money bag for possible change.

Chris Hansen: Money? You plan on charging for your "goods and services?"

Pizza Guy: That's usually how it works, Sir.

Chris Hansen: Really? You admit it? (looks at the pizza boxes) You brought quite the selection tonight.

Pizza Guy: Yes.

Chris Hansen: What do we have here? (points to a six pack of beverages) Is that beer? Were you going give that to a 14-year-old girl?

Pizza Guy: Sir, it's ROOT beer. And yes I will give it to her, if she pays for it.

Chris Hansen: Well, well, well. You don't waste any time do you? Let me see a bottle of that. Root beer, eh? Looks like a beer bottle to me. Tell me what kind of root beer is this?

Pizza Guy: IBC root beer.

Chris Hansen: IBC Regular or Lite?

Pizza Guy: It's regular, but sir? It's called Diet IBC Root Beer, not IBC lite beer.

Chris Hansen: (shrewdly) Really? We shall see. And it appears you were open to the idea of having pizza and this alledged root beer with this girl?

Pizza Guy: Oh no, Sir!

Chris Hansen: Are you sure? So maybe you would have had pizza with this girl.

Pizza Guy: No, sir.

Chris Hansen: Hmm. I have this transcript of the online conversation between you and Eliza. Now you go by the online name of Papa John?

Pizza Guy: Yes, sir.

Chris Hansen: Well there's a name for you. A typical name for those who sell the type of goods and services YOU are offering.

Pizza Guy: Huh?

Chris Hansen: Do you have all the girls call you Papa? Or are you their dear John?

Pizza Guy: I don't understand.

Chris Hansen: Oh, you don't understand. Well here's something I don't understand. Let me read part of the transcript to you. "If you want it hot, we can do that too. Just tell me how you want it." Just what did you mean by that?

Pizza Guy: That we could give her some crushed red peppers, or put jalapenos on the pizza.

Chris Hansen: I see. So what do you really mean? Are those code words? Crushed red peppers? Jalapenos? Who on earth would ever put those items on a pizza. And what is this about a thirty minute limit? You place a time restriction on your goods and services?

Pizza Guy: Yes, sir, or they get it for free!

Chris Hansen: What?

Pizza Guy: Are we talking about the same thing, sir?

Chris Hansen: I'm quite sure we are Papa. I'm quite sure we are. Tell me John, what do you think should happen to you now?

Pizza Guy: I deliver the pizza and root beer and get paid?

Chris Hansen: Oh, you'll get paid all right. Officer, right in here, please.

Pizza Guy: What?

Chris Hansen: There's a special place for men like you.

Pizza Guy: I don't understand. I'm just trying to make a delivery!

Chris Hansen: Don't worry, you'll be able to make lots of deliveries where you're going.

Pizza Guy: But, but, but... I have more deliveries to make!

Chris Hansen: You won't be making any more deliveries EVER. Capiche?

Chris Hansen turns to the camera. "Look at this disgusting, perverted mess of a pizza. Pineapples and capers? This man needs a good long time to think and ponder on his misdeeds. And he will be getting his just punishment, or my name isn't Chris Hansen!"

Pizza Guy is handcuffed, read his rights, and escorted out and into a police car.

Thank you for joining us for another successful capture on To Catch A Pizza. Be sure to tune in next week when we talk to online persona "Domino." Until then this is Chris Hansen. Good night.






B.S. One pizza smothered in jalapenos and crushed red peppers was consumed during the production of this post. Mmm. Yummo! I like it hot, hot, hot!

Rock Band

I came.

I saw.

I conquered.

I experienced first hand the video game called Rock Band.

I have found my true calling in life.

Better late than never.

I am a rock singer in an old Mama costume.

The music was pure joy coursing through my veins.

I was in my element.

I was tingling.

I was excited.

I was complete.

I'm still quivering at the memory.

I sang!

And then I sang some more.

If only you had been there.

If only.



B.S. No video games were harmed during the production of this post, but one husband has been duly notified of what to give his wife for Christmas. *smile*

Obnoxious Tween?

Has my 12-year-old son become an obnoxious tween?

Here are my Top Ten reasons why I think it might be true.

10. He threw a half-full Gatorade bottle at the car. He didn't cause any damage, but I asked him, "Why did you do that?" His response: "I dunno."
    
    
9. He screamed out the car window at a man on a ladder. The man did not fall down, but my son and his friend and I cracked up. I politely let him know that would not be happening again, darn! thank-goodness.
   
   
8. When I arrived to pick him and the car pool kids up from school? He was dancing super silly in the streets. I don't think this is what Martha and the Vandellas or Van Halen had in mind. He was not embarrassed. Not one bit.
   
   
7. He thinks Selena Gomez is hot. Oh, brother.
   
   
6. He was putting on a sad and depressed face for me. He was telling me how very sad his life is right now. The phone rang. "Here, son, it's for you." He grabbed the phone, "Hello?" One nanosecond later: "YO WHATSUP? My Brotha! Howzit go-in? Whatup! Yeah! Let's hang out. Oh Dude! Burn!" He hung up with a big smile on his face. "Mom, I'm leaving now."
   
   
5. He figured out that I went on his gmail account and read his mail. He was quite upset. Too bad, so sad. Did he really join the Selena Gomez fan club? Eeek.
   
   
4. He spit out the car window. I asked him, "Did you really not know that you shouldn't do that?" He shrugged.
   
   
3. When I try to suggest a solution to one of his problems, he immediately starts talking over what I'm saying: "I know, I know, I know, I know, I know Mom!" And then five minutes later he asks me the exact same question, but this time he'll listen.
   
   
2. He wore his Slash wig to a school carnival and when I laughed at seeing him wearing it, he got hurt. "I'm not trying to be funny, Mom." Me: "Oh yeah? Well people will be laughing at you wearing that wig." Him: "It's NOT funny, Mom."
   
   
1. He has started wearing a chrome choke chain on his jeans. It's one of three DOG LEASHES that we use for the poochers. He loops it twice through his belt loops on his right side. "Mom, don't my chains look cool?"

I think I've answered my own question after spelling out his latest behaviors.

Most definitely, positively, YES!





B.S. No 12-year-old sons were harmed during the production of this post as of November 16, 2009, 3:03 AM. In a Quirkyloon minute, ANYTHING can change.

Who Cares?

It would seem that the late Michael Jackson was singing about injustice long before the Humor Bloggers decided to take stabs at it.

I confess I don't remember this song, but after all the hoopla and watching the movie, "This Is It." I've decided one thing.

I like it.

The drums are especially appealing to my quirky ear drums.

So I present to you, MY zombied up rendition of Michael Jackson's "They Don't Care About Us."

This long distance dedication goes out to all the UNcaring UNdead out there.

Please click play.

	michael jackson they don't care about us .mp3
	Found at bee mp3 search engine

"They Don't Care About Us"

(children chanting)
All I wanna say is that they don't really care about us
All I wanna say is that they don't really care about us
All I wanna say is that they don't really care about us

Skinned dead, fried head
Everybody gone bad
Situation, aggravation
Everybody zombification
It tastes sweet, on the spoon
Everybody's zombie food
Bite her, bite heads
Everybody's gone mad

All I wanna say is that
They don't really care about us
All I wanna say is that
They don't really care about us

Beat me, bake me
You can make zombie
Slurp me, burp me
You already killed me
Can me, soup me
Everybody's fresh meat
Fork me, knife me
Don't you under cook me

All I wanna say is that
They don't really care about us
All I wanna say is that
They don't really care about us

Tell me what has become of my life
I have a knife and two axes who cut me
I am the victim of zombie brutality, now
I'm tired of bein' the icin' on cakes
You're saltin' me on my hide, oh, for Loon's sake
I look to zombies to fulfill their prophecy...
Set and freeze

Skinned head, fried head
Everybody gone bad
Marination, liquidation
Everybody zombification
In the kitchen, on the news
Everybody's zombie food
Black man, brown male
Everybody's now a meal

All I wanna say is that
They don't really care about us
All I wanna say is that
They don't really care about us

Tell me what has become of my bites
Am I invisible because you have gored me?
Your zombification promised me free energy, now
I'm tired of bein' the meal for the day
They're throwing me in a platter with some giblets
I can't believe this is the body from which I came

You know I do really hate to say it
The government don't wanna see
But now Roosevelt is livin'
He's UNdead, now you see, no, no

Cheese cake, cheese head
Everything has gone bad
Situation, toast and bacon
Everybody zombification
Beat me, mash me
You always wanna nosh on me
Rub me, gel me
Don't forget to spice me

All I wanna say is that
They don't really care about us

All I wanna say is that
They don't really care about us

(guitar solo)

Some foods in life they just don't wanna be
Now that Martin Luther is livin'
He's UNdead, just like me

Skinned head, fried head
Everybody gone bad
Preservations, pressure cooking
Everybody zombification
In the kitchen, on the stools
Everybody's dog food
Rub me, spice me
Don't you under grill me

All I wanna say is that
They don't really care about us

All I wanna say is that
They don't really care about us

All I wanna say is that
They don't really care about us

All I wanna say is that
They don't really care about
All I wanna say is that
They don't really care about
All I wanna say is that
They don't really care about us

hee hee
woo-hoo

Catchy beat, no?

"Yeah, Dick I give it an eight cuz it's got a great beat and it's easy to dance to."

Hello?

Dick?

Dick is that you? What are you eating? Oh, no! Not you too?

I should've known. Dick Clark is a zombie.

Yeesh.

Dang zombies.

They just don't care.

Nobody cares.




B.S. Many humans were harmed (gored) during the production of this post. Dick did it.

Quirky Hallmark

Did I ever mention that I applied for a job with Hallmark many moons ago?

I was positive I was going to get the job. I thought, no, I knew I could contribute some outstanding card sentiments that would send their sales right through the roof! I had no doubt of my capabilities and that my writing talent would boggle their minds.

They would just love me.

I would love working for them.

A win-win situation, no?

After completing a two-page application, I noticed a huge blank space on the last page. I read the directions carefully, and joy gurgled in my throat.

They wanted writing samples.

Ye-eah, baby! Suh-weet!

I was excited. I was going to knock the socks off this writing challenge. I could feel the creative juices flowing through my veins.

After two minutes, I was done. I rushed home so I could rewrite my samples. I wanted a copy to keep for my hope chest. I remember gingerly placing it in the chest, under my embroidered dish cloths. I came across it just the other day when I was looking for a clean dish towel and now I am ready to share it with all of you!

The first card example was for a funeral.

Cover:

Our Deepest Sympathies

Inside:

And Our Greatest Congratulations!

You've got one less mouth to feed!

The second card sample: a wedding.

Cover:

Congratulations!

Inside:

Butterflies
Dirt
Bobby Pins
Plates
Steam Engine
Paper

Love is a collage. May yours be colorful and joyous.

And the last card sample: a birthday.

Cover:

Gay Day of Creation!

Inside:

Aging is what happens to people who live!
So quit your whining and be glad you're not dead!

Oh, excuse me! I got verklempt!

(Quirky fans away the sudden onset of emotions from her eyes.)

I was so proud. I could not believe the depth of my creativity. My submissions were pure genius. Brilliant! Magnificent!

So I was quite dumbfounded when I never heard from Hallmark again.

I called the company several times, but kept on getting disconnected. I never did find out what the problem was with the phone lines.

Hmm.

I can't help but wonder what different path my life might have taken had I gotten the job.

I try not to get caught up in the past.

After all, it is the past and that is where it shall remain.

But every time I pass the Hallmark card aisle, I feel a whiff of nostalgia come over me.

And yes, I do.

I wonder why.

Why?

Hmm.




B.S. No Hallmark employees were harmed during the production of this post, well maybe in my dreams.

Quirky and BAM BAM!

That is what is pouring out of my ears right now.

Toot! Toot! The smoke is raging out of me so forcefully that it is audible.

Yes, I'm on another venting rage against a huge injustice.

But there is a slight problem.

I can't remember what the injustice is.

Which brings me to my next point. You see for some time now, I've noticed my memory...sucks!

There are huge blocks of periods of my life that I cannot remember.

Spooky.

I used to blame it on the chemo. There have been studies showing that chemo patients can and do get what is called "chemo brain." And I have noticed that my forgetfulness increased by leaps and bounds after that fateful summer of toxins pulsating through my system.

Hey they did their job, but maybe a little too well.

So back to my injustice.

Criminy!

It's on the tip of tongue, just hovering on the edges of my temporal lobe and there, there, there...it is?

Drat! It's gone again!

Come back here you synapsed failure laden fool! Come back!

I can't tell you how many times I've been writing my blog or other things and all of a sudden my mind draws a blank.

(20 minutes later)

Oh yeah. What was I writing again?

Case in point.

Remember my infamous Interview With A Zombie? Oh, I see, perhaps your memory is failing you too? Or could it be...you NEVER read it. Harumph.

(More smoke billowing out of Quirky's ears and nostrils.)

I was on a roll that day when writing up that blog post. I felt like the words and ideas were flowing out of me like a raging river. I couldn't type fast enough to keep up with myself. It was great! It was like a high that yes, I have experienced before thanks to my numerous pain killers (another post, for another day... oops, don't forget to jot that idea down in the blog fodder notebook).

I felt I had hit writing nirvana. I enjoyed the ride while it lasted, because while I was writing away, suddenly, I slammed into a hard, rock, cement wall!

BAM!

What was that word I was looking for?

I could see it floating around in my brain, but every time I tried to focus in on it, it would get blurry or just float away.

Egads.

So I did what I usually do.

"Hon, what's that word that means... something like... about... you know....? I mean, it's a descriptive word...?"

(silence from the Hubs)

"Do you know which word I mean?"

"Um, no?"

"It's the word that kinda means like when you don't know, but you think... you know... that thing."

Quirky continues: "Hon? Can you help me please? I really can't think of that word right now."

(Quirky Husband gives her an incredulous look.)

"Oh forget it!"

"Wait! That's it! That's the word I was looking for. It was right there before me and I couldn't remember it!

Yes, the word finally recollected itself in the mushy masses of my brain.

A bad memory can serve as a huge injustice.

A huge injustice to blogging and...

To a marriage!

BAM!



B.S. No husbands were harmed during the production of this post.

Manna Barking From Heaven

You know this whole blogging adventure is just that: an adventure.

You never know what will inspire you to write the silly or sad, happy or mad, or just plain quirky things that happen in your life.

I live for the quirky.

And the humorous.

Hence, I always look at life with the cup one-third-full of laughter and quirkiness. (Half cup is too typical and expected. I am atypical.) *smile*

It works for me.

I highly recommend it.

I have mentioned previously that I keep a blog notebook and jot down ideas for future blog posts.

I still do that.

Some ideas will probably never come to fruition. Sometimes I will reread an idea and think to myself, "And....?"

Lucky for you those shall remain in the notebook unless I can twist it into a funny.

But what I love are those days when blog fodder falls upon you like manna from heaven.

Recently, blog manna was bestowed upon me.



*****
(faint barking heard)

"Darn... (yawn) that dog! Somebody shut (double yawn) her up please?"

*snore*

(one minute later)

"Dang it. She's still at it. I'm soooo tired. It's not even 6:00 am! The neighbors are gonna get upset. Won't that dog shut-up?"

(one minute later)

"All right, all right! I'm getting up. Where are my specs? Drat, I gotta take a pee first."

(sitting on pot)

(dog barking)

"Guvvie! Be quiet!"

Of course she can't hear me, she's an almost 17-year-old dog who has cataracts and has gone deaf. I plan on going outside to shut her up, but I will have to get her attention and use sign language. (Don't worry the sign language doesn't involve the use of any middle fingers. *smile*)

(still barking)

"All right!"

I shuffle down the hallway through the dining room to the back door. I open it and step out. Now where is the culprit? She's got to be close to the RV gate. She probably saw a shadow and now thinks somebody is trying to break and enter into our lovely backyard.

(Quirky rolls her eyes.)

I scan the yard and burst out laughing.

I ran back inside and grabbed my cell-phone. No time to dig out the digital camera. I quickly turn it on and switch it to camera mode. I click away.

Guvvie is still barking through all of this.

I'm still laughing.

Because this is what I saw:


Now I understood why she wouldn't stop barking.

Her head was stuck inside the bag!

She was barking for help.

I performed the operation with the utmost care. I gently removed the "growth" from her head and she was free!

I gave her relief from her dog food bag prison.

But what she gave me? It was precious manna from heaven.

And I said a prayer of thanks for the blog manna, erm, I mean, fodder.

It was hilariously heavenly!

*ruff*









B.S. Guvvie was not harmed during the production of this post. I removed the bag and she briskly ran inside for some water and then plopped down for a good rest. I'm sure the neighbors did too!

Paper Clips And Rubber Bands Fear Me

Many moons ago, I committed a ghastly ("ly" ha to you Marvin!) injustice to paper clips and rubberbands.

You see once upon a time, a Quirkyloon was working her way through college. She worked for a utility company (that shall rename UNnamed) as an emergency dispatcher.

What a joke.

Like I could help ANYBODY during an electrical outage. Yep, those linemen were depending on ME to tell them accurate information regarding outages so they could get people back in power.

At the time, it was great job for me because I needed a flexible schedule and this position provided it.

You know it really sucked during my junior and senior years at college that certain required courses were only offered once a year and only met at 2:40 p.m. on Tuesdays.

Yeesh.

Howza a Quirkyloon supposed to support herself with a job and go to school?

It was tough.

No, no need for violins this time, but thanks for offering.

Before I started working as a dispatcher, I worked in a different department for the same company.

Let's say the manager in this department liked to give me a very hard time. Talk about an injustice.

I think he was secretly crushing on me. Definitely an injustice.

This was pre-sexual harrasment days.

He would comment on my clothes, my hair, my make-up, my earrings, my everything. He would hang out at my desk all day, making small talk with others, while keeping an eye on me. A horrific injustice.

I disliked him. Immensely.

He made me feel very uncomfortable.

So after I left that department and moved to the dispatching position which happened to be located in a completely different building, I told a co-worker about this previous manager.

This co-worker ended up becoming a great friend. She had a great evil streak in her, just like me. I just kept mine a little more hidden.

One slow day, we put our evil minds together and concocted a way to get back at this manager.

Naturally, we started collecting paper-clips and rubberbands.

After a couple of weeks, we had a lot paper-clips and rubberbands galore. We took an inter-office envelope and filled it to capacity with the paper clips and rubberbands and then I did my best left-handed writing to address it to this manager. (I'm a rightie.)

Off it went into the inter-office mail bin.

I was still friends with another girl who still worked in that department. Very casually, I asked her one day how things were going there.

Of course, this envelope incident or the PCRBgate (Paper Clip Rubber Band) as I liked to call it, stood out in her mind.

I was sooooo good.

I never let on one teensy weensy bit, that I co-partnered this act of contempt!

I could not risk it. But when she told me about it, I laughed and laughed and laughed.

I couldn't wait to go back and tell my co-worker about the success of our prank!

And boy howdy, did we roll with laughter.

To this day, I can't help but smile when I see or use a paperclip or a rubberband.

I remember this mischievous act with great fondness.

I know one day I will pay for this sin.

But until then?

I smile.




B.S. No paperclips or rubberbands were harmed or mailed to anybody that I know during the production of this post. But beware, you cross me? You never know what might happen! I'm capable of worse, much worse. *wagging eyebrows*

Matinees

Today's injustice is brought to you courtesy of the American Movie Association.

Movie matinees are not what they used to be.

I remember many moons ago when the beloved matinee price was any show time before 6pm.

Then they moved the time up (or is it back?) to 5pm.

Still doable and worthwhile.

Then it seemed like the very next week, it had been moved (up or back, still not sure) to 4pm.

What the show?

Now 4pm was ridiculous. Right dab smack in the middle of carpool time or after school sports time. I mean really. Who goes to a movie before 4pm? Not me.

Then it was 2pm.

Then 1pm.

But now they have pushed it even further up or back (can somebody please clue me in?). Yes, now the beloved matinee price is only valid on any movies seen before 12pm.

That's noon.

Are they freakin' serious?

Who goes to the movies before noon?

I do.

*smile*

With both boys in school during the days, once a week, a good friend and I go see a matinee. It's so nice to be able to see a chick flick or something that is NOT animated.

Last week, we saw the Michael Jackson movie, "This Is It." We both enjoyed it immensely. Say what you want about his questionable personal choices, but as a musician? He was a genius. It was better than watching him in concert, because you got a great feel for the behind the scenes and what was ticking in his mind to perform a song this way or that way.

But alas, my friend will probably be working at a part-time job soon. Something I would consider, if I didn't have so many ongoing health issues. Yes, please play your violin for me. I always enjoy hearing, "My Heart Bleeds For You" on the finger violin. Um, Noname? I can't hear you. Ah, that's better. Thank you. It's so touching when somebody cares.

But who says a Quirky can't go to a movie matinee by herself? I used to do it all the time, before I was married, and even after I was married. Pshaw on those women who can't do anything by themselves. And yes, I have eaten at restaurants by myself. I drove myself to chemo and radiation therapies (good times, people, good times). And by golly, I even pump my own gas!

It's no big deal.

So I shall continue to treat myself to a matinee, until Winter Break and the boys are out of school for two weeks!

Gah.

That will be a miserable two weeks for me.

*sigh*

Can't wait.

Until then?

Matinees, here I come!

Next on my list? "2012."

John Cusack and the end of the world? That's my kind of matinee!

Oh yeah, baby!

So AMA? You just keep moving (up or back ?) the matinee times. I'll just keep going earlier and earlier.

A big harumph to you and a...

In your face!



B.S. No movie theaters were harmed or vandalized during the production of this post. Quirky has been practicing her spray painting skills, so it could still happen. Watch out projector screens...."Viva La Quirky!"

I Am Anconeus!

You humans disgust me.

You are guilty of a huge injustice.

No, no, no. Oh no, you don't.

No clicking away allowed.

You can't run, you can't hide. You will listen to me and my case.

Anconeus is my name.

Don't know who or what I am?

Oh, you shall. Mark my words. You shall.

Oh, I know you are very familiar with my brothers and my sisters. They get all the attention. Everybody knows their names. Everybody cares what they're doing. Everybody can't wait to flex them. Everybody is excited to see how they develop, their tone and definition.

But there is something you don't know.

Without me?

They are nothing!

Noth-thing.

That's right. You read it correctly. And now? I am here to stand up for the rights of all anconeus world wide.

Of course, you still have no earthly idea of what I am.

And you should.

I am the small triangular extensor muscle located by your elbow. What's my function? Extension of the forearm.

Yet all we arm muscles ever hear is about the triARMverate, erm, I mean, triumverate.

Yes, deltoids, biceps, and triceps, oh my!

I'm sick to death that they get all the attention.

What about the anconeus?

Or the brachialis?

The rhomboids? (Not to be mistaken for the other 'rhoids.)

All of us contribute to the flexion and extension of the human arm.

But to hear you humans go on and on, it's ONLY about the deltoids, biceps, and triceps.

Gah.

Consider yourselves warned.

We anconeus will not be ignored any longer.

We will unite!

We shall fight!

We shall overcome this injustice.

We shall arm ourselves with the truth.

And the arms shall set us free!

Arms!

They ain't nuttin' without me.

Noth-thing.








B.S. No deltoids, triceps or biceps were harmed during the production of this post. But please try to remember: anconeus are muscles too!

Stream of Consciousness Sunday

I can't believe the holidays are almost here. Gah! Please, please, please don't let it be me who gets to cook the turkey this year. Freaks me out how bird-like the turkey looks. It's always slipping in my hands. Icky. Too easy to imagine it clucking and freebasing, no, dumb Sandie, it's not freebasing it's free ranging poultry. Hmm. I think. Maybe I'll google that later. I contributed five dollars to the Michael Jackson estate. Despite his questionable personal life, he was a musical genius on stage. Amazing. Oh looky there, I just remembered the "hee haw" in Wanna Be Starting Something. Drat! I keep forgetting to take a picture of my cute "Zombee" t-shirt. It's the cutest little zombified bee. "Pour some sugar on me!" Darn dog Maisy, she struck again. Hamburger buns gone! Jon and Kate From Love to Hate? Is this for real? Gee sounds like a cheesy title I would come up with. Mmm. Cheese. Nothing like a good slab of mellow cheddar. Kill Bill marathon? And I missed it? Gah. Where is the remote? Oh no not that movie! Would anybody really name their daughter, Baby? Dirty Dancing...whatever. "I am he as you are he as you are me and we are all together." I can be such a hater of movies. I try not to be, but with movies like... I can't think of any titles right now. I'll have too google that too. Where's the spike in Spike TV? Ha! A new buzzword: BURN. I just heard it on iCarly, so must be hip. It replaces the "old" buzzword SNAP! I think I like snap better. I can't believe the holidays are almost here again! Did I already think that? Oh yeah. Where is that book? I know I put it somewhere. Where are the crackers? Who invented playdoh? And why? Hmm. I guess I could google that later. Wait wasn't there something else I wanted to google? What was that again? Did Steven Tyler ever recover from his stage injury? Why don't I think before I speak? Did I really ask that woman if she was a natural blond? I could clearly see the roots, so why would I bring attention to it. Gah! I hate it when people do that to me. By the way, lots of hateful people around today. But hey, I'll sing if I want to! So what if I'm in public. You don't like the voice, turn up the volume on your IPOD. Yeesh. Oh, yeah, what to blog about. Better dig out my blog ideas notebook. "I am the eggman. They are the eggmen. I am the walrus. Goo goo ga joob!" Oh yeah, that was the book I was looking for! Oh no! I broke a nail. Should I buy Depends? I don't really need them...yet. Venus De Milo. Was there a weird dance song about Buffalos in the 80's? I can't stop thinking about Oprah. Does she really care? "Elementary penguin singing Hare Krishna." I wonder if I have a booger hanging out of my nose. I hope not. Woops! I farted! And it was a double! A-rat-tat! Oh well! "Goo goo g'joob, G-goo goo g'joob, Goo goo g'goo, G-goo goo g'joob goo! Hee hee hee, ha ha ha, ho ho ho!" (And if you lasted this long? Go and have somebody do something real nice for you. Real nice. *smile* Tell 'em Sandie sent you. *grin*)








B.S. No streams of consciousness were interrupted during the production of this post.

Apparently...

I'm a racist.

According to my twelve-year-old son.

He is doing my reputation and my character a huge injustice.

(There's that word again--injustice! Funny how it just conveniently keeps popping up. *big, slow, deliberate wink*)

This might seem cheesy, but I looked the word up at Merriam-Webster Online Dictionary.

Racism:
1 : a belief that race is the primary determinant of human traits and capacities and that racial differences produce an inherent superiority of a particular race
2 : racial prejudice or discrimination

What?

He thinks I am a racist?

Nothing could be further from the truth.

I have never ever judged a person by the color of their skin. I judge others by how quirky they are or are not. Isn't that the number one "judging" criteria by most people?

But really, I love brown, black, yellow, red, and yes, even white people. It matters not to me where they come from, or how they speak, just be nice and friendly to me and I'll be nice and friendly to you. That's all I ask.

So what gives with this horrendous accusation?

Let's go back to the event that precipitated the bestowal of this notorious label.

It's carpool time.

Everyday I go pick up my 12-year-old son, his friend, and one 14-year-old girl and drive them home from junior high-school. Their parents handle the driving to the school in the mornings. Works wonderfully well for me. This has been going on since mid-August, but until last week, I had not given the girl a ride home.

She was involved in after-school sports. Now, volleyball season is over and she has been needing a ride home.

I told my son that we were going to let her ride in the front. He could sit in the back with his friend and little brother. The boys in the back, the girls in the front.

Whooo-weeee!

You would have thought I tried to cut off his guitar playing hands.

When we arrived home, he had a conniption fit.

I was stunned.

Okay, he was definitely acting like a spoiled brat, but I let him have his say.

Very generous of me, I know.

"Mom, you're a racist! Why should she be able to sit in the front. I'm YOUR son! You're making me feel like I'm not important to you. Why does she get to sit up there, because she's a gir-irl? I can't believe how racist you are being to me. Don't I matter? Why should her feelings be more important than mine? Just because she is a girl? That's so racist!"

I am still stunned.

I was utterly embarrassed and appalled by his behavior.

Thank goodness it was in the privacy of our own home, because I let that booger-brat have it. I mean, I gently corrected him and lovingly explained how his perceptions were a wee bit skewed and just a little bit wrong. I could tell that he finally understood after our thoughtful and tender conversation.

*bats eyelashes*

"First of all, Son... let's learn what racism really means shall we? Open your dictionary to the 'r' pages.... blah, blah, blah, blah.

"And, now let's talk about how you are appearing to be quite disrespectful, but I know you don't mean to be, because I know you love me and would never intentionally be rude to me... blah, blah, blah, blah.

"And, let's not forget how your accusations are without substantial justification, and how I'll be kicking your behind out the car door and you can walk home if you ever make a peep about this again....blah, blah, blah, blah.

"And last, but not least, I must firmly declare: I am not a racist! I'm a sexist! Please, get it straight next time."

What?

Just keepin' it real, folks.

Genderly, erm, I mean genuinely real.






B.S. No Quirkyloon sons were harmed during the production of this post, unless you define emotional and psychological torture as "harm."

That's It!

It can only be described as a musical injustice.

I have had the unpleasant experience of receiving an earful of harrowing musical injustices over the years. But recently, it all came to a head.

While waiting in a doctor's office, I had the displeasure of having to listen to some of the most insipid music ever "created." I use the word "created" loosely. Sometimes there simply is no justice to explain how on earth, anybody in their right mind would ever write, produce, record, let alone sing certain songs.

Something wicked was in the musical airwaves that fateful afternoon. It was unreal. How could so much atrocious music be jammed together for a half-hour? So what did I do? I took the time to scribble the song titles in the border of my Sudoku puzzle page.

Lucky you.

I present to you the Top Ten Musical Injustices in the Hall of Quirky Infamy.

1. We Built This City by Jefferson Starship. What were they thinking? This is the same group that came up with White Rabbit? I think they should have stuck with the airplane and leave the star ships to astronauts or aliens.
   
2. Undercover Angel by Alan O'Day. I said, What? We say, ooooooucheee! I said alright? I say spare me, spare me, spare me! Oh yeah, my lyrics are much, much better. No?
   
3. Uptown Girl by Billy Joel. I know I'm going to get flack for this one. I acknowledge and recognize that Joel can play the piano and he plays it extremely well. But his music? Major chunks of cheese. And the Brie, Edam or Swiss flavor of Joel "music" is Uptown Girl. Blech! Have you ever noticed how Swiss smells like stinky feet?
   
4. Wake Me Up Before You Go Go by Wham. Come on. You knew this would make the list, didn't you? The sad thing about this song is it became popular during the pre-CD era. This was also a pre-burning CD era, and definitely not even a wink of a celestial satellite radio station was even conceived yet. In other words, with no other viable options, you were stuck listening to this crap.
   
5. Don't Give Up Us On Baby by David Soul. "Don't give up on us, baby. Don't make the wrong seem right." That is the exact reason why this song makes the cut. Ain't no-way, no-how this song is "right" in any way shape or form! It is simply wrong, wrong, wrong!
   
6. Here I Am (Just When I Thought I Was Over You) by Air Supply. Gag. My stomach is feeling sour.
   
7. Lost In Love by Air Supply. Double gag. Uh oh, the acid is really starting to slosh around.
   
8. Even The Nights Are Better by Air Supply. Triple gag. Oh no, was that a mini-episode of acid reflux?
   
9. All Out Of Love by Air Supply. Quadruple gag. Are you sensing a theme yet?And another not so mini-episode of acid reflux.
   
10. Making Love Out of Nothing At All by Air Supply. Gag to the nth degree. Excuse me while I hurl. Hands down this "band" holds the blatant honor of producing such hurl-inducing tunes that make me want to drag my non-existent fingernails on a chalkboard. Oh no you don't! Don't you dare call me a hater. Listen to these Air Supply "songs" again and answer me this: WHO is being hateful? Uh-huh, I thought so.

There you have it.

What made me so lucky that the Muzak station that day was playing these barbaric strains?

Muzak tormented me.

And I don't appreciate that.

Hence, I have decided. Muzak is of the devil.

And if that is not an injustice to the entire music industry and its innocent listeners (like you and me) than what is?







B.S. No members of the "band" Air Supply were harmed during the production of this post. Many malicious and violent thoughts were entertained, but not acted upon (yet).