A Zombie and a Blonde

I laughed so hard!

And then I came upon this zombie picture.



I screamed so hard!

But who knew Richard Simmons would finally get some fashion sense after he becomes a zombie.

Thank goodness the short shorts will be biting the dust.

And look at his zombie physique! It's so lithe and lean.

I guess a steady diet of brainz does the zombie body good.

Brainz!







B.S. No zombies were harmed during the production of this post. My eyes are still burning from the Richard Simmons zombie image, but with time and rest (something I excel at) my vision will be restored to full health.

Mother Confessor Wannabe

I have already mentioned the show, Legend of The Seeker in a previous blogpost.

Remember the guy with the puny head?

Let me refresh your memory about his Lady Love. Her title is The Mother Confessor. Apparently, she is the closest thing to a demi-god in the storyline. Even Kings and Queens bow to her.

The Mother Confessor not only wields magic, but she wields knives and fights a mean fight against the enemy.

Many bad guys have been killed by The Mother Confessor. She's definitely talented at hand to hand combat. Her knives? They be deadly.

She wields them well!

Behold The Mother Confessor! (With knives attached.)



On the other hand, in real life, we have another weapon wielding Mother.

Yes recently, one certain Mother decided to go bat-sword crazy at her child's school over a "spitting contest" that happened between her child and another on a previous day. She brandished the weapon at the school and ran down the hallways with it.

What?

Behold The Mother Confessor Wannabe!


(NOT the actual Mother, but a fairly good representation of what I'm envisioning in my quirky mind, so that means you should too.)

Me thinks this Mother has been watching a little too much of The Legend of The Seeker show. Perhaps it is her fantasy to be The Mother Confessor? Or is this a case of the Mother Lion syndrome protecting her young? Personally, I'm leaning towards the former.

Whatever her reasoning was for doing this, apparently, there wasn't any... reasoning.

I confess.

This was a bit much.

Just a bit.







B.S. No Mother Confessors were harmed during the production of this post. Little Johnnie was pretty torn up over the nasty spit hitting him, but the "wounded" limb has been healed. It's a miracle!



*Old Lady image courtesy of webwombat.

Curry Favor

I was reading idifficult's blog last night.

He's pretty funny and quirky which, of course, captures my practically non-existent attention span (at least these days it is: one too many "feeling high" drugs).

Groovy.

Ooops, I digress.

One underlying theme of idifficult's blog writing is curry.

Which made me start wondering: why?

Of course, it would have been way too easy to simply ask him. I could've just posted a comment with those three little letters that comprise the world's most annoying question: why? (Sorry it was a long afternoon with the six-year-old.)

So I decided to Google it.

Remember?

She knows everything.

And she did NOT let me down.

With one teensy click, the answer became very clear.

Curry clear.



Yes, a picture is definitely worth a thousand words.

Now I understand completely why he likes his curry and can't stop writing about it.

Mmm-hmmm.

I've got his number.

Ahem.







B.S. No difficult or undifficult bloggers were harmed during the production of this post.

Mmm, Tasty!

I loves me a good award!

'Tis delightful to sink my teeth into one and partake of its delicious, juicy tendrils.

No, I'm not talking about brainz, I'm talking about pineapples! The lazy ones are the best. *wink*

A certain Ms. Lazy Pineapple at her Lazy Pineapple blog awarded me the Beautiful Blogger award. Yes, I've been known to maim people with my "killer" looks. Ahem.

But aye, 'tis a mighty fine looking award. Here it be:



And here come the bee-you-tee-ful RULES.

(I hear you haters out there sighing. Just chill! It's ME, not YOU.)

1. Thank the person who gave you the award.
   
   Thankee kindly, oh Ms. Pineapple, albeit your juicy tidbits start to leave my tongue burning, I still enjoy ye very much.
   
   
2. Paste the award on your blog.
   
   Done.
   
   
3. Link the person who nominated you for the award.
   
   Done.
   
   
4. Share 7 things you find to be beautiful around you.
   
   Aye, it's so easy to find the beauty around me.
   
   
   • Elliot Stabler or as I like to call him, El, from Law & Order:Special Victims Unit. His beauty ignites something within me. (rawr)
   
   
   • CircleK Convenience Stores. There is so much beauty and deliciousness found inside these handy, convenient stores. And their soda fountain drinks? To. Die. For. It's heaven on earth, I tell ye!
   
   
   • The song, Creep, by Radiohead. It makes ME feel beautiful and takes me to a happy, beautiful place in my head.
   
   
   • Ed Hardy pictures: too cool and beautiful.
   
   
   • My debit card. Aye, I don't leave home without this little beauty.
   
   
   • My zombie girl graphic: Isn't she a "dead" ringer for beauty through and through? When I become one of the UNdead, I want to look just like her.
   
   
   • A twelve pack, no make that a 24-pack of Diet Dr. Pepper, such beauty, both inner and outer! *slurp*
   
   
   
5. Nominate 7 bloggers or more.
   
   Or more? Surely you jest. I'm already gonna have seven very angry bloggers when I tag them. I still don't understand the hatred behind the awards and memes, they are FUN! FUN. Say it with me. FUN!
   
   So here goes:
   
   • Catlady LaRew at How To Be A Catlady Without The Cats Woops, I think she might have already won this award. Hmm. Oh well. She's a beautiful blogger and deserves it again.
   
   
   • MeMe at The Screaming MeMe And she just won the StudioThirty+ award for best Blog Design Layout. Well-deserved. Plus she is one smart cookie. That's beautiful!
   
   
   • Reffie at Confessions of a Reforming Geek Please don't hate me for tagging you again, but this lady is my BBFF and she will always hold a special place in my heart. I cannot say enough good about her and her hateful lovely cat. Oh, and Evil Twin, how could I ever forget her?
   
   
   • Robin at Insights and Belly Laughs Oh my goodness, this lady has some of the most beautiful and vivid painting illustrations on her web. I could stare for hours. Very mesmerizing.
   
   
   • Tracie at Kacklin' With Kalynn She's got a witch flying around! Is that too cool, or what?
   
   
   • Ms. Adrienzgirl at Think Tank Momma I have a girl crush on the vector girl in her blog header. She's got a big, poofy and beautiful butt!
   
   
   • Richard Simmons at website RichardSimmons.com No explanation necessary.


And there you have it, my lovelies.

I love awards, because they spread the joy!

What?

Spread WHAT?

*Quirky rolls eyes*

Okay, okay. Sometimes they spread...

Something else.

Enough said.





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

American Infidel Idol

Tonight on American Infidel Idol, we are down to our final three contestants. Who will go home this week, leaving us with our final two for next week's season finale and naming of YOUR American Infidel Idol.

This is American Infidel Idol.

(cue music: uh uh-uh huh-uh)

Ryan Seacrest walks out to front and center with mike in hand: Welcome America to the number one show in America, American Infidel Idol!

(applause)

Ryan: We'd like to take a moment and introduce our judges on tonight's show. Coming to us from Queens, New York, we have retired dock worker and bar owner, recent hip-hop/rap music mogul Archie Bunker.

(pans to Archie Bunker, who is lighting a cigar)

Archie Bunker: Um, yeah, I was inviteds heres tonights tah give my three cents. Edith? Where's Edith? I need mah beer. (looks to his left) Edith? That you?

Ryan: Um, no Archie that would be our new lovely female judge Sarah Palin

Sarah Palin: You betcha Ryan. I'm here to judge and judge you I will.

Ryan: And... of course, our one and only snipe Simon Cowell!

(boos and hisses)

Simon rolls his eyes: Ryan you're looking particular loverly tonight. I'm sure your boyfriend is thrilled.

Ryan: Uh, thanks Simon. I'll take that into consideration. And please, let's give a special welcome to this season's permanent guest judge: Osama Bin Laden!

(crowd boos and hisses)

Osama Bin Laden: Bwahaha Death to Amereeeka! Death to Amereeeka!

Ryan: O-kaaaay. And now? Let's get on with the show.

We're turning back the wheels of time to a time when our country was first born. Tonight's theme is patriotic music. America, the greatest country on earth, has been the inspiration for many a patriotic tunes. With the likes of Irving Berlin's God Bless America to Lee Greenwood's God Bless the USA. Yes, music hits that deep, patriotic emotional note that makes us proud to be Americans!

(crowd cheers)

Let's begin with our first contestant: Chad Kroeger. He will be singing George M. Cohan's, You're A Grand Old Flag.

Chad approaches the microphone, wipes his nervous sweaty palms on his pants and begins to sing with his well-known throaty, raspy voice.

You're a grand old flag,
(And they say that a hero can save us.)
You're a high flying flag
(I'm not gonna stand here and wait.)

Insert two minutes of throaty, raspy singing voice here.

And forever in peace, may you wave.
(And they're watching us, watching us, as we all fly away.)
Should auld acquaintance be forgot,
(They're watching us, watching us, as we all fly away.)
Keep your eye on the grand old flag.

(crowd cheers)

Chad walk to the spot and awaits his critiques. He winces and cringes at the appropriate spots.

Archie Bunker: What the hell was that? Dont'choo tell me youse one of those Draft Dodgers who flakied up to Canaduh. Yeah, I hoyd they eats peoples up on theres. What's that stuff called Serlent Green? I knows about the likes of youse and now I ain't in a happy frame of mood.

Sarah Palin: I thought you coulda done better. But I know how it is when you got Russia in yer back yard. Yep. You betcha.

Simon Cowell: That was utterly dreadful. You tried to make it your own, but I felt like I was in a Nickelback concert! I won't be surprised if you go home this week.

Osama Bin Laden: Bwahaha Death to Amereeeka! Death to Amereeeka!

Ryan Seacrest: Okay, thank-you judges. Well Chad what do you think of their remarks.

Chad: I could care less. I'm a Canadian AND a rockstar.

Ryan: Ri-ight. O-kay. Let's move on to our next contestant: Stevie Nicks. She'll be singing Irving Berlin's, God Bless America.

(crowd cheers)

Stevie swashes up to the mike dressed in a flowing black dress, with black tights, black laced boots. She starts to bleat, erm, I mean sing.

God bless America,
(Well, I've been afraid of changing.)
Land that I love,
(Cause I've built my life around you.)
Stand beside her and guide her
(But time makes you bolder.)
Thru the night with a light from above;
(Even children get older.)

Insert one and half minutes of sheep bleating, erm, I mean quivering vibrato rock singing here.

(And if you see my reflection in the snow covered hills.)
God bless America,
(Well, the landslide bring it down.)
My home, sweet home.
(Oh, the landslide bring it down.)

Ryan: Thank-you Stevie. And now our judges.

Archie Bunker: What is it witchoo you womens dressing like that? You looks like some kinda witch or something. Howz you ever gonna get a decent guy dressed like that? You wanna be stuck with a meathead like my little girl? And you think you got a singin' voice? Sinseriously?

Sarah Palin: Ya know, I love sheep. And I guess you're kinda like a sheep with that voice and all. But my sheep have got responsibilities.

Simon Cowell: That was, in my opinion, utterly dreadful. No pun intended. You sound like a bleating sheep. I have to agree with Sare-er on this one.

Osama Bin Laden: I spit on your sheep voice. And... Bwahaha Death to Amereeeka! Death to Amereeeka!

Stevie swishes away with her head held high. Her black dress flows all around her.

Ryan: Um Stevie? Stevie? Well we'll check back with her later.

And now, our final contestant for the night: Quirkyloon. She will be singing the touching and profound God Bless The U.S.A. by Lee Greenwood.

(crowd so quiet, you can hear a pin drop)

Quirky walks up to the mike, adjusts her fake boob, takes a swig of Diet Dr. Pepper, burps loudly and then begins to sing loudly in her infamous rock-opera style.

If tomorrow all the loons were gone I'd worked for all my life,
And I had to start again with just my loonatic and cheesecake pie.
I'd thank my lucky stars to be living here today,
'Cause the flag still stands for quirkiness and they can't take that away.

And I'm proud to be a Quirkyloon where at least I know I'm free.
And I won't forget the loons who died, who gave that right to me.
And I'd gladly stand up next to you and defend her still today.
'Cause there ain't no doubt I love the loons God bless Quirkyloon today.

From the lakes of Minnesota, to the hills of Tennessee,
across the plains of Texas, from sea to shining sea,

From Detroit down to Houston and New York to LA,
Well, there's a loon in every American heart,
and it's time to stand and say:

I'm proud to be read Quirkyloon's blog where at least I know I'm free.
And I won't forget the loons who died, who gave that right to her.
And I'd gladly stand up next to you and defend her still today.
'Cause there ain't no doubt I love this loon God bless Quirkyloon today.

Archie Bunker (smiling): I'd say you ain't only a loon, but looks like youse a dingbat too!

Sarah Palin: I never much cared for her blog, but I heard she reads all the major news publications on a regular basis.

Simon Cowell: What. Was. That?

Osama Bin Laden: Bwahaha Death to Amereeka! Death to Amereeka!

Ryan: And that is it for tonight, folks. I'd like to thank our judges and a very special thank-you to our permanent guest judge, Osama Bin Laden.

(camera pans to Osama while crowd boos and hissses)

Osama Bin Laden: Bwahahahaha Death to Amereeeka! Death to Amereeeka! Bwahahahahahaha

Quirkyloon plasters fake smile on her face, takes on another swig of Diet Dr. Pepper. Accidentally throws up on all the judges, with most of the hurl matter landing on Simon. All three contestants line up on the stage for the final shot.

Ryan: The phone lines are now open! Don't forget to vote. And please join us tomorrow for the results show.

Ryan: Seacrest out.

(cue music: uh uh-uh huh-uh)







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

Quirky Bowl

"When life gives you lemons, make lemonade." Or in my case, "When life gives you chunks, make blog fodder."

Well, buckle on your seat belts because you are about to go on a ride. A ride on the Quirky Bowl! It will make your inner loonatic churn.

Yes, I thought I would share with you some of my thoughts as my commode and I reconnected on an up close and personal level.

"Second-hand tater tot casserole is incredibly nasty."

"I loved watching Resident Evil while resting my acidic tummy. Thank-you TNT. I was looking for a Law & Order episode, but this movie worked! I love zombie movies!"

"My husband is the bomb-diggity! He took care of the boys and everything while I wallowed in my own filth."

"I hate life. Especially mine."

"I can't believe the weird salad dreams I had last night."

"So I'm in my mid-forties, have terrible coordination, have always sucked at sports: so is it too late to become a professional ice-skater?"

"Misery, thy name is Quirkyloon."

"Sexting?"

"What was that weird green stuff?"

"I hate the name Sandra. So boring! Why couldn't I be named something cool like... Oh, I don't know. I can't think right now."

"That's it. I'm not blogging anymore. Why bother?"

"Rah-rah Ra Mah Ma-ah, Ga-ga Ooh la la!"

"Gouging my eyes out would be more pleasant than this."

"Syfy? Why?"

"Will somebody please give Glenn Beck a chill pill? He cries more than I do."

"You mock me. I will not be mocked."

"Anybody got a pick?"

"Will somebody SHUT that dog up? Oh, that's not the dog?"

"Boy, I really need to scrub this toilet."

"What's Stephenie Meyer got that I haven't got? Oh yeah, FIVE published books that have made millions, not to mention movies based on her books. And Twilight was based on a dream? Please, please let MEEEE dream!"

(In my best middle-eastern accent) "Death to America!"

"What's love got to do with it? Absolutely NOTHING."

"What would SpongeBob do?"

"S-s-s-s-o-o-o-oh     k-k-k-k-coooold."

"Crap!"

"A thousand points of light...."

"I miss my Diet Dr. Pepper."

*sob*

"I want my. I want my. I want my MTV."

"Why do English people add the "er" sound to a word ending in "a" For ensample: Bell-er is alive and well! When anyone with half-a-clue should know it's Bell-AH, not Beller. Gah!"

"Oh yeah. Carrot Top is most definitely hot."

"I gotta get started on that one blog post."

"Somebody seal slap me, now."

"Still no Law & Order? Come on TNT?! And USA? The Olympics? Come on!"

"Yes, can you turn on the fan? I'm so sweaty right now."

"Why on EARTH would you cook bacon? Oh no! Not again." (Quirky runs into the bathroom.)

"Who is that? Oh my gawsh. It's me! The years have not been good to me."

"The Kardashians? Really?"

"I'm afraid to go to sleep. I might choke on my chunks."

"Haters!"

Just be grateful, I'm not sharing the Big "D" thoughts with you.

And be grateful that I edited.

It was even uglier.

Hard to believe, I know.








B.S. One toilet was harmed during the production of this post.

We Interrupt This Regularly Scheduled Blog

To....

*hurl*

Quirky is sick.

It is 7:45 p.m. MST. And this is only the second time for the whole day that I've been online. (Yeah, yeah, I know you're not reading it til Monday and hopefully by then I'll be over the worse part of this, but I'm not staying up til I feel better to post. So you get what you get and hope I don't blow chunks in the middle of it all.)

I usually average 2-5 online visits each of my waking hours.

I barely got through comment responses and my stomach be churnin' something wicked.

The good news: I have no inclination to oink, hence I don't believe this flu is of the swine variety.

*churn*

Dang, this stomach churning business is nasty!

Where's my blankie?

I'm chillin' folks. In about five minutes, I'll be sweating bricks again.

So much fun, fun, fun!

All right.

The flu wins.

For now.




B.S. Flu-like as well as flu symptoms SUCK.

A Quirky Devotional

On today's Quirky Devotional we begin by reading scripture:

In the beginning,
Al Gore invented the internet.
And he saw that it was good.

And Al Gore knew his wife Tipper, and begat e-mail.
And email begat message boards, including Survivor Sucks.
And message boards begat by invitation only "friends" boards.

And message boards begat search engines: Yahoo or Google.
And Google knew Yahoo and reigned supreme.
And Google begat Blogger.
And many called themselves bloggers.
And Al Gore saw that it was still good.

Al Gore knew his wife Tipper again,
And begat Yahoo Music,
Who begat Napster,
Who begat Limewire,
Who begat MySpace,
Who begat Facebook,
Who begat YouTube,
Who begat Rhapsody,
Who begat Online Boggle,
Who begat Hulu,
Who begat Twitter.

And Al Gore looked upon his web inventions,
From his private jet plane,
Spewing forth more emissions,
Than a Native American sweat lodge.
And saw that it was ALL good.


Ahhhhh-men.

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

And now we have this week's Inspirational Quirky Thought
brought to you by Angel Soft Toilet Paper

Quirkyloon had to reread the Book of Blip.FM and ponder it for awhile. A recent incident had incited anger and incredulity within her breast. She found that she needed to pray for peace and forgiveness.

This is her story.

*dun, dun*

One day I begat a music list at blip.fm
And I thought it was good.
Then apparently I did not know blip.fm.
But blip.fm begat to feel neglected,
Hence, begat a Gmail from blip.fm to Quirkyloon:

Normally we'd tell you who's given you props and who your new listeners are this week, but it doesn't look like you've been active lately. Why not share one of this week's hot tracks with your friends by clicking one of the song titles below.

This Week's Most Blipped Tracks
1.Massive Attack - Paradise Circus
2.Phoenix - 1901
3.Kings Of Leon - Use Somebody
4.The Temper Trap - Sweet Disposition
5.Sade - Soldier of Love

Forgive me blip.fm for I knew ye not,
And now I know NOT of any of these tunes.
Then because Quirkyloon knew not blip.fm
It behooved her to feel a guilt trip or two.
From whence Quirkyloon determined to know blip.fm again
And she begat to listen to her tunes.
Then Al Gore gave props to Quirky,
And she knew once again that blip.fm was good.


Ahhhhh-men.

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

We end today's devotional with a prayer whilst listening to blip.fm featuring music by Madonna.

"Life is a mystery,
Quirkyloon must stand alone
I read her blog each day,
And it feels like..
Home."



Ahhhhh-men.








B.S. Are my eyes deceiving me? Did Sade cover Donny Osmond's, "Soldier of Love" song? Can that be right? When it's so very, very, VERY wrong?

Quirky Plumbing Lesson

Let's begin our lesson shall we?

Here is a diagram of a toilet tank.



Now pay close attention to Number 4. See the chain?

Yeah?

Good.

The lever which is a rod extends from the handle to a chain (look again, it's number 4) that activates the flapper valve, hence completing the toilet flushing process.

Why all this information?

Because one Quirky Tween Son found an old toilet chain under the sink in the bathroom cabinet.

This old chain had been replaced with a sparkling new one in the "terlet" as Archie Bunker would say.

And... Quirky Tween Son decided to wear it as a BRACELET to school.

I'm still laughing.









B.S. No terlets were harmed during the production of this post. One Quirky Tween Son ego was shattered, but oh well.

Hey Ho, Let's Go!

I so rock.

(I'm such a narkie. That's short for narcissist, it's too hard to remember how many "s's" go where.)

But I'm a narkie for a good reason. Check this out.

Quirky saunters out onto the pavement with a smarmy grin. She's got her black, skull and crossbones t-shirt with black jeans on. Skull earrings adorn her ears and her lips are painted a cool cranberry luscious lip color. She's wearing a pink and black skull and crossbones bandanna.

Her back-pack is stuffed with deodorant, her "makes her feel high" drugs, Diet Dr. Pepper and other things. She's borrowing her son's iPOD Nano filled with lots of cool classic rock music. (He'll find out after we're long gone.) Oh, and if you're really nice (and smell good) I'll even share a bud with you.

And in her hands are a set of keys.

In her sultry voice: "Let's go baby!"

*vroom, vroom*

We are off for a two-week motorcycle riding vacation in Califas via Highway 1. We'll be hitting the finest hotels and motels with continental breakfasts and taking lots of breaks to sit on the beach (to rest our hoo-hahs) and meditate while watching seagulls dive for their dinner. And of course, there will be lots of Diet Dr. Pepper runs and consequently lots of Rest Area bathroom stops (and hopefully no runs! Ha!).

Bring some books, baby, cuz there will be time for reading. Oh, and please bring a laptop, because I don't have one (*sob*). We must have a laptop for there will be blogs.

Lots of blogs and blogging.

What's that you saying, Baby?

Twitter? Well, if you insist, Baby. Can do.

I've got the cards, Baby, cuz we'll be playing our hearts out of the Hand and Foot card game.

And we'll be hitting the popular television show for a chance to win a Double Showcase! Yes, I'm talking about The Price Is Right. Drew Carey, here we come! We are soooo there, baby.

We can even stop and give Jay Leno a visit. Ooops, no can do. Well then how about Conan O'Brien? Ooops again! Jimmy Fallon? Is he still around or has he been flimflammed by NBC too?

Now if we were hitting the East coast, we'd be ALL over the Law & Order tapings. Oh yeah, Baby. Can you say Stabler? *sizzle*

Plus, we'll be hitting Disneyland. It's great fun, Baby, WITHOUT kids. And of course, we can't forget Six Flags Magic Mountain.

If we're real lucky IHOP will still be having their All You Can Eat Pancake extravaganza.

I'm salivating. And drooling.

And intermittently throughout all this relaxation, eating heavenly pancakes, and motor-cycle riding, you will have the honor of my witty and funny comments, remarks, and observations.

Because we all know I'm full of it 'em, Baby!

You know want to go with me.

And now I know you want to.

How?

Cuz, I won the Studio 30+ contest of "Blogger you would most like to take a vacation with," Baby.


Let's DO THIS THANG!

Oh and Baby? Guess what?

I found me another set of keys, Baby! Just for you!

Hop on aboard, Baby!

*vroom, vroom*

Hey ho, let's go!

Don't worry Baby, I won't pass judgment on ye, even if ye are a "ho."

*vroom, vroom*








B.S. No narkies, babies, or ho's were harmed during the production of this post.

Oh, The Pain!

I'm really reluctant to blog about the latest pain my twelve-year-old boy has given me.

But I gotta.

I just gotta!

Let me start off with a big sigh.

*SIGH*

Okay, let's get on with the ugly truth.

"Hi Quirky Tween Son! How was your day at school?" Quirky asked with a big smile on her face.

Tween son kept half his face turned away and replied: "It was okay."

What was that?

I saw... something.

Uh-huh. I did! I did! There it was. I know I saw it! Yep, yep it was... right... right... there! Between the words "was" and "okay" I know I saw the slightest flash of fear cross his face.

*warning, warning, danger, danger*

Yes, the red flags were falling on me faster than the 21 inches of snow that has fallen in Dallas of late.

Immediately, I went into "concerned" mode.

"Are you really okay?"

"Um yeah Mom."

Ack! There it was again and why isn't he facing me?

"Son, look at me."

He pushed his hair forward and looked at me.

"Did you do something?"

"What?"

Oh my gawsh! He did do something! I could tell by the way he said "what?"

I began to pray. "Please, please! Help me handle this the right way."

And a little light went off in my head. I KNEW exactly what he had done.

"Did you, did you pierce your ear? (no-way no how!) Let me see both of your ears right now."

He pushed his hair away to reveal a PIN stuck completely through his left lobe.

(Oh my gawsh, no-way no how! He did, he did, HE DID!)

I was silent.

"Is that a pin?"

"Yea-ah."

"You pierced your ear? With a pin?"

"Yea-ah."

"Who did this? And when? You didn't have this pin in your ear this morning when you left."

"I did it last night Mom, in my room."

"WHAT?" Okay Quirky, calm down, take a deep, deep breath and calm. the. flip. down.

So I learned that the previous night he had taken it upon himself to jab a needle in his ear. All his friends were going to be getting piercings soon and I guess he wanted to beat them to the punch.

"Did you wear that all day? Did you show people?"

(Stupid, STUPID question.)

Of course he did! And I'm quite sure he did so with a lot of pride.

Now what really baffles me is this kid is petrified of pain as most kids are. But he has always been an extra weenie when it came to the slightest pain. So I had a very hard time believing that he had done this to himself.

What ensued next was a nice long painful talk. I was concerned about the "cleanliness" of the self-inflicted procedure. I was concerned because he KNEW how we felt about piercings (and tattoos). It was understood, so I thought, that that was NOT going to happen unless he had MOVED out and was supporting himself. I was hoping that even then he would choose NOT to do something like that.

And this is NOT about judging others who tatoo and pierce themselves, these are OUR beliefs and rules that we feel comfortable teaching and expecting of our sons. They don't have to be your rules, but they are definitely MINE and my husband's.

I can't believe he had the chutzpah to actually do this.

So this kid has lost ALL privileges: no computer, no cell-phone (that really hurts him), no friends, and he's grounded for the indefinite future.

When I asked him, "Did it hurt?"

"Not really."

Well guess what?

It hurts now.

And he's only JUST begun to feel the (emotional and psychological) pain. Long, long, LONG-TERM pain.

Did I mention he's only TWELVE-YEARS-OLD?

Shoot me now!







B.S. No twelve-year-olds were physically harmed during the production of this post. And boy howdy is one certain twelve-year-old lucky. LUCK-KEE!

Quirky Exposed!

When I was in the throes of my cancer treatments I had the UNpleasure of having radiation seed pellets injected into my hoo-hah. (I refuse to use Oprah's euphemism for "the" female anatomical part. I prefer hoo-hah.)

I had this procedure (brachytherapy or internal radiation) treatment done a total of six times.

Six times I was either under general anesthesia or numbed from the waist down while my legs were in stirrups and my hoo-hah exposed to every doctor, hospital administrator giving tours, anesthesiologist, nurse, orderly, tech, food vendor, and even janitor as they came bebopping by.

I think I saw a Nun once and she was hail-Marying me and I'm not even Catholic! Or that could've been a hallucination produced by the "cocktail" my anesthesiologist had given me. (Ooooh, aren't anesthesiologists like the STRANGEST doctors ever? "With or without salt, Mrs. Quirky?" heheheheheheheheheh)

And I am NOT exaggerating, because from the times I was only numb from the waist down? I was shocked at how much foot traffic was going on in the procedure room during MY procedure. I'm surprised they didn't just leave the door wide open. What's a few more strangers gazing upon my most inner private parts?

Pfft.

Call me crazy, but I really do prefer keeping my hoo-hah under wraps, if you know what I mean.

I mean there was even ONE time when I was completely out and I found out later that the hospital gynecologic oncologist EXAMINED me.

I had never even MET the dude. And I have YET (two years later?) to receive a copy of his report regarding his spelunking efforts and findings.

What the hoo-hah?

Was I the strangest gynecological cancer case in the world?

Hardly.

She's a bitch through and through, no way around that.

But it was very disconcerting and humiliating to realize that anybody could have walked by and taken a gander or two (or three). And there I was laying on the table either snoring away or feeling woozy. I was always given something to help me relax.

Well, thank-you very much.

*insert Quirky eyeroll here*

And at least they did have the decency to cover me from the waist down so I wouldn't have to see my own hoo-hah or anything embarrassing like that.

Well!

Thank heavens for small favors, eh?

And if I EVER have to go through that kind of therapy again? The answer will be a big negatory on my part. There has got to be more treatment options made available to women like me who really don't enjoy the whole hoo-hah exposure!

Even if it IS for a good cause.

Gah!






B.S. No hoo-hahs were harmed during the production of this post.

Couch Potato?

Hardly.

I was rereading my last 25 blog posts when I realized how often I mention a certain little show by the name of Law & Order on my blog. And I often use the word "marathon" in relation to the show.

And I realized that I'm probably giving you the impression that I watch a lot of television.

And that would be... right.

But lest you think I'm some sort of couch potato, I am here to sit, erm, I mean set the record straight.

There is a lot of physical labor involved in watching television for at least five or six hours in one sitting.

Please check out my routine and then you judge for yourself.

I start out by warming up my right hand. It's very important to get it ready for the remote control or as I affectionately refer to it: the clicker. Give yourself at least ten minutes before the marathon starts.

I do two sets of ten repetitions of clenching and unclenching my hand into a fist, unless it is a Saturday marathon which usually lasts about ten hours, then I will add another set of ten reps.

Then I will do three sets of tapping my right thumb and right forefinger together. I like to do this to the beat of Lady GaGa's "Bad Romance" song. This helps avoid the dreaded carpal clicker finger syndrome. It keeps the clicker finger limber and helps avoid those nasty thumb cramps.

I then move my attention to my entire right arm. Starting with my fist at my chest, elbow up, I swing my arm out to the right then back to the center at least ten times. I do this to warm up my brachioradialus to provide added strength and endurance and ability to hold up the remote control for long periods of time. Another added benefit to this drill: it helps alleviate any exacerbated stress on my elbow joint and keeps my lower arm muscles and joints limber and lubed.

Once I have completed the hand and arm portion of my routine, I move into the squat portion. I do my own rendition of a squat. I usually end up doing about six reps. It could be more if I've had a lot to drink during viewing pleasure. First, I make sure my feet are set on the floor about hip width apart, I stick my butt out, allowing my boob to gently caress my left thigh. Then I slowly lower the gluteus maximus muscles down into the sofa seat. And it's about control, people. Make sure you do the movement fluidly and with control. You don't want to be slamming your butt down in a rush. That could have serious repercussions. I remember the time when I had an extremely painful case of gluteusitis. I kept on running out of heating cream. It became quite expensive over time. Oh, and I make sure to stay stationary until the next commercial or my screaming bladder invites me to... um... GO!

Just remember these words of caution: it's extremely important to allow your backside time to recuperate from the physical exertion. Mustn't, I repeat, MUSTN'T overdo.

Some days when I'm feeling the need for a little extra movement, I will do what I call the leg scissor exercise. I cross my right knee over my left thigh. A few minutes later, I uncross the knee over the leg, returning the legs to the side by side position. The left leg rarely needs crossing/uncrossing, but if I've seen the same Law & Order episode at least five times in the last month? I get antsy and want to do more.

And ladies, if you want to develop a nice calf muscle? Make sure that you flex your calf a few times while doing the scissor movement. I'm shocked at how much muscle mass I'm gaining.

And this is why I'm so grateful for my Law & Order marathons and I am NOT ashamed to admit to how much television I do indeed watch.

Couch potato, smouch smotato!

More like a FREAK!

And exercise freak.

*dun, dun*





B.S. No Law & Order episodes, couches, freaks or potatoes were harmed during the production of this post.

Bear With Me

You know those "adorable" Charmin Toilet Paper commercials with the little bear with toilet paper stuck to its hairy butt?

Here let me refresh your memory.



That's some image, Charmin.

I'm really confused why the Charmin Toilet Paper Company would have EVER agreed to such an ad campaign.

Cuz let me tell you something: I'm not feeling it.

Or perhaps I am.

Feeling it.

Little soiled pieces of toilet paper stuck to my... never mind.

Who was the wunderkind who thought of this campaign? I ask because I'm confused. Is this really the image the Charmin Toilet Paper Company wants associated with their toilet paper product? Do you actually believe we, the consumers, will buy your toilet paper after you have instilled a subconscious image of [your?] toilet paper stuck to the butt? That's definitely a not so fresh subconscious suggestion.

Oh, I realize that your commercial details (pun intended) that your product does NOT stick to the butt, allegedly. But (another pun intended) that's not how we, the consumers, are remembering it in our brains. Sorry, but you've got to cross the t's and dot the i's for us.

We don't need or want commercials that make us have to think. It's painful. Hence, we want commercials that require the least amount of synaptical activity.

Less is definitely more. (However, less is not always more when actually using toilet paper. Ahem.) Please do not get it wrong and confuse us anymore.

I, hereby, declare your toilet paper commercial: FAIL.

You have left an image in our subconscious minds of the word Charmin right next to bare bear (still yet another pun intended) butt adorned with odd pieces of sticky toilet paper.

See how that might not be a "charmin'" image for our baffled minds?

Let me give you a much needed clue.

It's not charmin'.

Not at all.

Now please hand me the toilet paper.

I gotta go.







B.S. No toilet paper or bears were harmed during the production of this post. Well at least no toilet paper that I'm willing to share with you. Oh wait. Scratch that butt thought. Toilet paper should NEVER be shared. Aren't you glad you have me around to keep you informed of these highly important issues? Well, you should be.

Fare Thee Well iCarly!

Something has been missing from my life lately.

My mind has been in its usual state of muddle and confusion. So identifying the "what" has eluded me. Yes, I haven't been able to put my finger on it.

But recently, the synapses enjoyed a rare surge through the muddy masses of my brain coils and I remembered!

Plus I saw a commercial on the boob-tube.

iCarly.

You see Quirky Tween Son is no longer interested in watching the iCarly show. We shared many a iCarly marathon sessions of viewing pleasure (?) together. You see, he always wanted ME to watch the show with him. And of course, being the wise parental unit that I am, I recognized a potential bonding moment, so I would watch the show with him. (Thank goodness, he never got into Hannah Montana! Whew. And even more thank goodness that his Drake and Josh phase was short-lived. Double whew!)

Yes, many an hour were spent laughing at Carly and her buddies Sam and Fred. And of course, Spencer her big brother slash guardian. He was an even larger goof than the young kids and yet he was the one "in charge." Makes me smile at the thought. Because I love when the "adult" is depicted as a loony goof. Perhaps, because I can relate to it (a little too much)?

Plus, Spencer taught me about a whole new culinary treat: spaghetti tacos.

Yes, I went there and made that and ate it. 'Twas lip-smacking good. Especially with salsa. Lots of salsa.

But now Quirky Tween has moved on from such shows. They are beneath his viewing pleasure now. (And his viewing pleasures now? Let's just say, I'm afraid. Very afraid.)

And while this transition has freed me up to return to my much needed Law & Order marathons, sometimes I think of iCarly with a teensy weensy bit of fondness and nostalgia.

*sigh*

Quirky Son #2 is only six-years-old, so it will be a considerable amount of moons before he reaches the iCarly viewing stage. And perhaps she will be long gone from Nickelodeon and onto doing dirty dance videos a la Britney Spears or worse she might be following Lindsay Lohan's dainty (leg-spreading) steps.

Ahem.

It could happen.

But for now? Would it be so wrong to sneak in an iCarly eppy every now and then? She's still so pure and innocent.

Aye, 'twould warm the cockles of my heart.

Anybody wanna a spaghetti taco?

*nomnomnomnomnomnomnomnom*




B.S. No children were harmed during the production of this post. Only Quirky's fond memories of yesterday... *sigh*....! Oh, and one spaghetti taco was demolished. *smacks lips*

Deiter Disses Quirky

(in Mike Myers as Deiter a la Sprockets Teutonic voice) "Dieter, here.

"I come bearing my monkey and solemn type greetings to those who purchased Toyota hybrid instead of uber superb German car.

"No, you cannot touch my monkey.

"I have become avare of new trend: blogz.

"Can my monkey has a blogz? No?"

*insert Deiter eyeroll and one yawn here*

"Vell, then just how vonderful can these blogz ve?"

*one more yawn*

"Vell, I has come to decision. I only visit and comment on zose blogs that have a Google page ranking of 8 or higher. Anyting less, it would be beneeze me."

*insert Quirky eyeroll here*

"No, you still cannot touch my monkey.

"What or who is dis Quirkyloons? She tinks she is a blog-her? I shall see.

"Hmm, I vonder."

Deiter is seen typing on a lap-top.

"And an l. An o. And anudder o. And finally, n. Then zee dot. Then zee com."

Deiter pulls his "tee-tees" out on his shirt. Holds them there for a minute.

"Ack! Tere it is. I knewz it. I just knewz it!

"Her Googles Page Ranking is less than an eight. I only read doze blogs that ranks highers thanz an eight.

"And now? Her quirky blog narrative has become tiresome.

"Now is the time on Sprockets vhen ve dance!"


*insert David Bowie "Let's Dance" song here."








B.S. Only my blog ego was harmed during the production of this post. Don't bother (to check my page ranking). Please?

B.B.S. Quirky's right ankle was slightly harmed during the dancing portion of this post.

As The Band Turns

Quirky Son #1 (the twelve-year-old) entered through the front door with his school back pack slung over his shoulder.

He stepped into the living room and plopped down on the worn sofa. The back pack slid to the floor. His head was hanging low and his face looked sullen.

"What's the matter?"

"Nuttin'.

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah. I guess so."

"Okay. I'm gonna see if there's an episode of Law & Order on. Or maybe if we're real lucky maybe MTV's show Sixteen and Pregnant is on!"

"Mo-om."

Quirky starts flipping through the channels. Quirky son sighs a couple of times. Quirky ignores it. Aha! There it is! There it is! Law & Order and it's an SVU Law & Order! What ever did she do to deserve this special television treat?

*dun dun*

"Mom?"

"Mmm?" Quirky replied but kept her eyes glued to the set not wanting to miss any part of the rerun episode which she has already seen at least twice before.

"Mom?" He said a little louder.

"Yeah?" Quirky still doesn't remove her eyes from the t.v.

"Mom, can I talk to you?"

"Darn!" Quirky thinks and hopes she didn't say it aloud.

"Of course, Son, what's up."

"It's about my band."

Uh oh. This should be good.

"I had to tell Roland today that he's no longer in the band. And now he's really upset with me and texting me all sorts of mean messages like: 'You don't know what you're doing. You watch when I make it big and you don't. Brody (the replacement bass player) doesn't even know how to read music, and I do! You're not my friend anymore.' And Mom, I feel bad. Real bad."

"Well why did you kick Roland out? Is this Brody guy better?"

"Mom, everybody's sick of Roland, he acts like a freak. I just think we all get along better with Brody. But now I've hurt Roland and he's upset with me and I feel bad."

"Aw, of course you feel bad. It's tough being a leader and making tough choices. Roland is feeling hurt right now, so he's lashing out. Give it some time."

"Mom, I told him I still wanted to be friends."

"What did he say?"

"He texted: You just don't get it. You don't GET anything."

Ouch!

"Like I said, he's hurt. Just be nice to him and wait and see what happens."

"But Mom he said that Brandon is going to leave the band and go with him!"

"What? I thought you and Brandon were best friends doing this band thing together."

"We are Mom."

"Then don't worry about Brandon, until you know there is something to worry about."

"But Mom, I texted Brandon and he hasn't returned my text."

"Give it time, Son."

"Mom," he starts sobbing (What?)"Mom, this is MY band. I can't have it falling apart!"

"Son, it will be okay! Don't be so upset. Find out what Brandon is thinking and keep on being nice to Roland. It will work out."

"Okay," he croaks. "I'm gonna go to my room now."

"Are you sure? Do you feel better?"

"Well, a little bit. I'm just worried, that's all."

"Well Son that's part of the job of being a band leader. It's hard to make the tough decisions. You're doing great!"

"Thanks Mom. Can I have a hug?"

"Of course, Sweetie! Of course."

They hug and Quirky watches the retreating form of her son walking down the hallway with his head hanging low.

Whew! All this behind the scenes drama with "the band"!

Actually, now I'm worried too. Why?

• Five or six Twelve-year-old boys. (That's scary already.)
• No drummer or drum kit. (Dang! I wish we had one! I want to learn so badly!)
  
• One bass player (recently "hired" and can't read music).
  
• No real band equipment. (My son has one little measly amp.)
  
• They have not even NAMED the band yet. (I think DudeTudes would be a great name! They, however, do not agree with me.)
• No garage or room set up for band practices. (Not my house. Nuh-uh, no way!)
  
• No lead singer, yet. (My son wouldn't even consider me. How rude!)
  
• Two lead guitarists. (Yeah, that's gonna be real peachy.)

And...

They have not had ONE practice yet.

And already a bass player has been fired?!

The drama has begun!

Yikes!

*drum drum*




B.S. No band members were harmed during the production of this post. Well not physically, but Roland is still steaming.

Whiskers!

Oh My Gahhhh-osh!

I've been sporting chin whiskers for a few months now. Okay, okay, so it's been a bit longer. A wee bit. Sheesh. You don't have to rub it in.

Medically induced menopause is a wonderful thang!

Or not.

Those darn whiskers!

But they are keeping me and my handy dandy tweezers busy!

So now you know what I do all day long while the boys are in school.

"Cuz I got my one hand on my mirror
And the other one is tweezing the nubs away!"

A little fun courtesy of Alanis Morrisette. Actually, should that be a DIScourtesy? She has no idea how I'm destroying her song.

And I happen to really like that song.

Anyhoo, I digress.

Back to whiskers. So I have to take this drug (not the one that makes me "feel high") to block any estrogen production. Because (insert monotone Dr. voice) "Mrs. Quirky this medicine will help fight the production of any future cancer cells."

*yawn*

Forgive my flip attitude, but I feel I've earned the right. You got a problem with it? "Well you can kiss mah....grits!" (I'm so glad my television viewing years have given me so much blog fodder: Thanks Flo from the popular television series Alice.)

Ha!

*snarky grin*

Anyhoo, so now I got whiskers. (Better than chemo! Right Nomie? Sorry Bud!)

And whiskers?

So, sooooo sexy!

Hello?

I think I lost you.

We must have a bad connection.

Anyhoo, keeping those darn pesky whiskers at bay can be a long arduous task. Once I feel clean and whisker free, a couple hours later, I accidentally touch my chin and lo and behold: another nub.

Those whiskers be regenerating at lightning speed!

But the other day I found this one lone hair: it's not on the chin but further back, not quite at the neck.

And this sucker is looo-ooong!

I find myself fascinated with this long, lonely hair.

I pull on it gently. I don't want to pull it out.

First, I gently grasp it. I rub it in between my fingers up and down a couple of times. My eyes start to glaze over. I take the precious hair and twist it around and around. The brain synapses start to flow even slower, coming to an idle. *glub, glub, glub, glub... glub...glub.......glub* I feel the hair again. Ever so gently, I give it a tug. Now my mind is completely numb, my stupor is complete. I am in my own nirvana.

"When the moon is in the Seventh House
And Jupiter aligns with Mars
Then peace will guide the planets
And love will steer the stars

This is the dawning of the age of Aquarius
The age of Aquarius
Aquarius!
Aquarius!"
(5th Dimension)

It's sooooo groovy!

Yeah, I won't be plucking my little friend away any time soon.

In the meantime, if I really have the urge to rub hair away. I still got my left eyebrow.

"Hello. My name is Quirky and I'm a Trichotillomaniast."

(all in unison) "Hi Quirky!"

*rub, rub, rub*





B.S. Many whiskers and one eyebrow were harmed during the production of this post. Eyebrow pencil anyone? I need one. Badly.

I'm Hearing Stars!

Oh my stars!

There is a blogger amongst us who has been touched by celebrity! Although he probably doesn't know it...yet. But he will know (once he reads this blog post).

Thanks to the internet, celebrities have become much more aware of the rank of file of the global community.

That would be you, and you, and you over there, and me.

And it also would be one incredibly gifted writer both in real life and the internet waves: Mike at Too Many Mornings.

This man is no wannabe writer, he is a real writer in every sense of the word. All you have to do read one or two (or three) of his posts to see the intelligence, thought, humor and wit shine through.

It's a beautiful thang.

Anyhooser, (I'm sure Mike, a bonafide wordsmith, appreciates this kind of quirky jargon, ahem.) Mike is one of two finalists in Knucklehead's Blog Idol Contest. For several weeks now, Mike has been writing incredible entries in this blog writing contest. Knucklehead, in true idol fashion, keeps track of the votes, counts the votes and gently kicks off those with the least number.

And it is no surprise that Mike has made it to the final two.

Yee haw!

But now Mike is up against one challenger. The entries have been written and it's up to US, yes, that's you, and you, and you over there to VOTE.

Please, go to Knucklehead's blog and VOTE for Mike from Too Many Mornings.

We all know he cannot have Too Many Votes.

Please vote for him, he's worthy of it.

And if you don't believe me, CHECK THIS OUT.

(My hands are shaking!)

I recently caught wind of the fact that oh, just a little band by the name of Green Day has been singing Mike's praises. They like him. They really, really like him and his blog. This is what they had to sing about the Too Many Mornings blog:

"One, 21 guns,
Too Many Mornings,
Don't give up the fight.
One, 21 guns,
Throw up your votes
For Mike tonight,
You and I!"

And Green Day is not the only band to become aware of Mike's writing talents. He's even caught the attention of (drum roll please): The Black Eyed Peas!

I gotta feeling,
That Too Many Mornings gonna have a good night!
That Too Many Mornings gonna win Knucklehead's contest tonight!
That tonight's gonna be a good, good night!"

But wait, there's more.

I give to you the one and only: Lady GaGa. (whispers: Can YOU believe it?)

Even the Lady Gaga recently sang of Mike and his blog! Unbelievable, but true.

Rah-rah-ah-ah-ah-ah!
Ramah-ramah-mamaa!
Ga-ga-ooh-la-la!
Want your blog-mance.

Rah-rah-ah-ah-ah-ah!
Ramah-ramah-mamaa!
Ga-ga-ooh-la-la!
Want your blog-mance.

I want his writing,
I want his disease.
I want his everything
As long as it's free
I want your blog.
Blog, blog, blog!
I want your blog.

Yes, even Lady Gaga endorses Mike at Too Many Mornings to win Knucklehead's Blog Idol Contest.

So what the heck are YOU waiting for? You gotta go vote. Today is the last day of voting. Please, go get your Mother and take her to the Knucklehead Blog Idol Contest show!

Rah-rah-ah-ah-ah-ah!
Ramah-ramah-mamaa!
Ga-ga-ooh-la-la!
Want your blog-mance.

Sorry, that's a catchy tune and I've been finding myself singing it a lot lately. *smile* If you'd rather hear The Lady sing it or you feel that you might enjoy it more coming from her and not me (ahem), well please click play. Although that would be so UNlikely (that you wouldn't be enjoying MY singing).

*bats eyelashes*

B.S. No stars were harmed during the production of this post. But my jaw hurts from hitting the floor so many times upon learning of Mike's celebrity admirers. Whoo-wee! Rah-rah--ah-ah-ah!

UNfollower

Dear UNfollower,

I noticed you left me and my humble blog domain. It hurts wicked hard that you chose to UNfollow me.

I don't know what I did or what I said or wrote, but won't you reconsider?

Was it my breath? I brush religiously and floss (more than occasionally, but not quite religiously).

It couldn't be body odor. I am fastidious with my stick of Dove Anti-Perspirant and Deodorant. I carry it with me where'er I go. If I catch even the faintest whiff of a not so fresh feeling, off to the loo I go and I apply fast and furiously.

Yes, I've been known let out a deadly gasser or two (or three). Perhaps, it's time to take the Activia challenge. "Activiaaaaaah!" And I'll do it! For you and a reclick on the follow button.

Look at ALL I am willing to do for you.

Won't you please follow me once again?

Baby? Please come back.

Zombily Yours,

Quirkyloon

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

Alas, tis true. I'm one follower less these days.

I have no idea who left (but I plan on doing a blog follower inventory later).

My heart is breaking and my mind is confused. What did I do wrong?

Or could it be like my husband said?

*doodle lee doo, doodle lee doo, doodle lee doo*

"Oh noooooo! Hon! I lost a follower!" Quirky started sobbing and crying.

"You lost a follower?"

"Yeh-ees" Quirky hiccuped.

"Don't worry Hon. It's not you or your writing or your sense of humor."

"Of course it is! Why else would they UNfollow me?"

"I bet they died."

Quirky perking up. "You think?"

"Oh, I'm sure that's what it is. Why would ANYONE ever UNfollow your blog."

"Why...why... I think you maybe onto something. I bet he or she did die! That explains it! In that case RIP to my once follower now dead UNfollower, RIP! Thanks Hon, I feel better now. Much better."

That sounds like a pretty good reason to UNfollow somebody, don't you think?

Death.

But wait, their Will Executor could have at least started following me to make up for my the loss.

Now I feel sad.

Again.

*sigh*







B.S. No followers or UNfollowers were harmed during the production of this post. But Quirky is starting to feel a little desperate. Will somebody just click her follow button, please? *hiccup* *sob* *hiccup*

A Quirky Super Bowel

Was it just me?

Or did the Super Bowl commercials seem rather meh?

And did this year hold the record for most Super Bowl commercials featuring underwear? And it wasn't sexy, pretty and sassy Victoria Secrets or hunka hunka of basketball love Michael Jordan sporting those "mmm-mm good" form fitting white spandex numbers.

No, we should be so lucky.

Instead, it was middle-aged and any-aged poofy men with bland looking undies.

Blech.

Can undies look bland? Wait, please, don't answer that.

And I have some complaints about the football uniforms too.

The gold colored bottoms of that team in the black and gold? Just not happening. It made their bottoms look less than flattering. I saw saggage. What was the saggage of? Heavens, I don't know and frankly, I don't WANT to know. My imagination is starting to get grossed out.

The blue/white team was okay. But haven't we done blue with white soooo many times before? So incredibly boring. And don't EVEN tell me that those grass stains are going to come out of those white bottoms. I don't believe that for one second and neither should you (or you over there shaking your head). It won't matter how much Tide with Bleach Detergent you use on them suckers. Those grass stains are there to stay.

My husband got tired of me identifying the teams as the black and gold one and the blue and white one. He finally told me it was the Indianapolis Colts (blue/white) versus the New Orleans Saints (black/gold) football teams.

Oh!

I had Twittered earlier in the day that I was rooting for the Dallas Cowboys to win.

Imagine my surprise when I found out they weren't even playing!

I was wrong.

Trust me that doesn't happen often.

Ahem.

But I did have a wonderfully refreshing bowel movement right after The Who half-time show.

They rocked it!

And so did I!

The commode, I mean.

Is this TMI?








B.S. Many football players were harmed during the production of this post, but hey they get paid the mega-bucks to do so AND they do so voluntarily. I would hurt myself for buku bucks. Any takers? I wouldn't even ask for tens of millions. Just a few million, well maybe seven million. That sounds like a nice number.

The Zombie Cat Mash

I got some mish-mash-Zombie-hash for ya.

*chuckle*

I got such a huge laugh from Mad Margo from The Screaming MeMe a couple of days ago. She is a great blogger and I'm honored to be her one of her blogging buddies. She sweetly gave me a cyber gift at the Studio30+ (over thirty and wordy) blog.

What did she bestow upon me? It was the coolest little Zombie and he was singing me a zombie ditty. Unfortunately, I couldn't cut and paste the little zombie dude. Suffice it say, he was an uber coo-well looking little zombie dude. But I did find some similar looking little Zombie Dudes. Not as good as the original, but hey, they'll work.

And this is what he was singing:

"Brainz on the ground Brainz on the ground Looking like a ghoul With your brainz on the ground."

I laughed so hard when I saw and read this, so I had to share it with you.

And then I found this excellent video featuring Zombie Cats.

I guarantee you, this will be the best two-minutes and forty-seven seconds of your day.

You're welcome.

hee hee



Makes me ALMOST want to buy a cat.

Almost.

*meow, meow*






B.S. No cats or zombies were harmed during the production of this post. *hiss*

Groovy!

Yeah, Baby!

Totally groovy.

The Loon here to tell ya, she's got a new drug.

Lots of possible side effects, but the only one I'm interested in?

"Some people indicated a sense of feeling high."

Yee-aah, Baby!

That's the ticket.

All. The. Way.

See ya'll later.

I've got some trippin' to do.

And it feels good, Baby.

Mmm-mmm-Goooood!

"Dr. I lurve ya!"

"Everyone? I lurve ya?"

"Zombies? I wanna bite you!"

"Look at that fly. Hear that buzzing?"

"Bzzzzz. Bzzzzzzz. Bzz. Bzz. Bzz."

"Ain't it soo, soooooo coo-well?"

"Why does my head keep bobbling?"

"Ouch."

I hit my head.

Pain.

Yippee!

Must be time for another pill.

Oh yeah.

See ya'll on the flip side Babies!

Peace out!




B.S. No drugs were harmed during the production of this post. Drugs are my new "Precious"!!!

I Confess...

I want to read YOUR confessions.

I got this idea from another blogger Mindi at Word to Your Mother. (Psst, she has no idea who I am, she's a much more popular blogger than me and that's okay. And she's more of a Mommy Blogger *not that there's anything wrong with that* whereas, I try to be am a humor blogger.) She hosts a confessional booth for like a week. You can write ANYTHING you want to vent or confess about.

And I do mean ANYTHING. Got a crush on your pastor? Confess it. Want to kick the dog? Confess it. Want to tell us about that drunken episode? Confess it. Got a crush on a fellow blogger? Confess it. Hate the President? Confess it. Love the President? Confess it. Love to fart at church? Confess it.

Confess it all, my friends!

And do it here.

Why?

Because it will make you feel better to get it off your chest.

Use me. Use my blog.

Confess your confessions here at my blog.

I guess you could call it the Quirky Confessor Booth (for one day only.)

I would like to keep it PG or PG-13 rated and I'm not a priestess or anything, so don't look for absolution here, but it is fun to get the little (or not so little) devil thoughts out of your system from time to time.

No judgments will be given by me (well at least not out-loud).

Go ahead.

Give some honesty a try.

(I'm tingling with anticipation. Is that wrong?)

I will keep all posts anon. I won't be hunting you down or trying to guess who wrote what. But I won't mind if you give me little hints. Bwahahaha.

In other words: your secrets and confessions are safe with me!

(Bwahahahaha.)

Just ignore that above laughter. That slipped out accidentally!

Now let the juicy confessions begin.

(I'm a little too excited aren't I?)

Confessions are good for the soul (and the Quirky blog).

Go forth my blogger buddies and confess.

Go ahead.

Don't keep stalling.

NOW.

DO IT.






B.S. No confessors or Mother Confessors were harmed during the production of this post. Am I opening up a Quirky Pandora Box? Oh well. Let the chips and confessions fall where they may. But now I'm afraid. Should I be?

B.B.S. Relax, Baby, let it happen.


*I reserve the right to delete any comments.*

Grateful Dread

Okay.

I admit it. I love to blog and I love to read blogs.

I'm grateful to have found so many great blogs to pore over. There are so many funny (my main cyber-quest), interesting and thoughtful bloggers out there.

I have my handy-dandy blog roll list on my blog page which is supposed to update when one of those bloggers publish a new post. (Psst, it doesn't always work. Grrr.)

I have my Google-Reader for the many blogs that I don't have listed on the blog-roll (because it would make the blog roll list ridiculously long and I really don't think people would scroll down an "infinite" blog roll list, although I have been known to do it a time or two. Ahem.).

I have my Blogger Dashboard which is great, but it definitely leaves out the WordPress bloggers. Have I sighed yet?

*sigh*

And lately, many of you have moved to WordPress. More power to you. That's great and all that. But Blogger is obviously dissin' you all, because despite the fact that I follow you or have you on my blog-list, it doesn't seem to update accurately. Apparently, she becomes bitter when you break up with her and go to another blog hosting site. Yes, she's a scorned blog-lover.

*sigh*

And of course, I always make at least 1000 cyber trips to Humor Bloggers Dot Com. And now I have this new membership at Studio30+ dot com. There are blogs all over the place and I'm trying to read them ALL.

I've come to the conclusion that I have to think (a very hard thing for me to do) of a way to try to organize (Quirky's eyes open in horror at the thought! Organize? Gulp!) the blogs I want to read.

In this world of instant gratification and making the cyber world easier at the click of the mouse, I'm feeling mentally tired.

So I ask ye.

How do you handle your daily blog reading?

I'm thinking that I might have to create a favorites folder and drag you all into it. That way it's just ONE place where I know everybody's name!

But right now I'm clicking all over the place and woe is me (and you?) Or do you even care if I read your blog or not? Ha! I thought so. *insert Cheshire grin here*).

And this is part that I dread.

This has been the most gratifying hobby: trying to find others who appreciate and hopefully laugh at my quirky (and silly) sense of humor. And it's even better when I find bloggers that I can laugh at their senses of humor. I love the funny. It makes me laugh. A lot.

So I can't stop, I just want to find an easier way to read you all.

Can somebody help me please?

Make my clicking life a little easier?

Me and my carpal-tunneled right wrist will love you forever.

Thank-you.





B.S. No blogs were harmed during the production of this post. Now Quirky's wrist? That's a pain she'll have to live with. What's one more pain to add to the already full list?

The Zombie Indoctrination

It has begun!

It is no secret that the Zombie Apocalypse WILL happen. It's just a matter of time, my friends.

I have tried to give you friendly (and hopefully humorous) reminders that well... the zombies are coming. It might happen sooner than you zink, erm, I mean think. And I'm still doing my part to keep you, the general public, informed.

*doodle lee doo, doodle lee doo, doodle lee doo*

"Class, I want to welcome Mrs. Quirky as our Mother Helper for today."

25 kidlets in unison. "Good Morning, Mrs. Quirky."

Quirky waves and smiles. She starts her helping duties.

"Aldo, come here. I need you to count to 100 for me."

"1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, um, um, um."

"11?"

"Oh yeah, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16, 17, 18, 19, um, um, um."

"20?"

This went on for every ten numbers. He couldn't remember the transition to 20, 30, 40, etc.

I still give him a big ole' "Great job!" and a knuckle bump.

He liked that.

The knuckle bump made him smile.

So let's fast forward to recess time. Some of the children stayed in to eat their snack if they brought one. The teacher asked me if I could stay in the classroom for a few minutes while she took the other kidlets to the kindergarten playground.

"Sure, no problem."

And that's when the real learning began.

"Mrs. Quirky the other day Ben was playing his bouncy ball and it hit him real hard on the head (points to a spot above his right eye) and I could see his brains!"

"Mrs. Quirky, one time my brain got hurt. I was running down the stairs and tripped. And I think some of my brains spilled out."

"Mrs. Quirky that girl's brain had some blood on it."

Then my son piped in. "Mom! Remember that time when you said if I kept jumping off the fence, my head could split open and my brains might come out?"

"Yes, I do. And it could happen."

All the kids. "Ewww!"

"Kids, you need to take good care of your brains, you never know when a zomb..."

The door swung open and in came the teacher.

"Thank-you Mrs. Quirky, I'm so glad you came in today."

"Not a problem." Quirky said smiling.

"We'll see you in a couple of weeks."

"Oh yes! I'll be here."

I've got more subterfuge work to do teaching our little ones about brains and zombies.

The seeds have been planted and soon will come time for the harvest!

It's amazing the influence just ONE person can make, especially when the teacher leaves the room.

Don't you worry "My Pretties" and "My Cuties," Mama Quirky won't let you down. I've got my work cut out for me. But I'll be back. Oh yeah. I'll be coming back to...

"Feed your mind!" (A big thanks to Grace Slick for that sound bite.)

Or life will become Zombie Hammer Time lookin' for a bite or two (or three).

"You can't touch this!" (Thanks to MC Hammer for this sound bite.)

*knucklebump*





B.S. No kidlets, zombies, or brainz were harmed during the production of this post. But it's just a matter of time my friends. *brainz*

It's A Conspiracy!

Well, well, well.

Once upon a time (sound familiar?) there was a Catlady Larew who conspired with an idifficult blogger and they both bestowed upon the Queen of Quirky the Best Follower Award!

Now what really cracks me up is how we hear all the time about how bloggers hate memes for this reason or for that reason.

Blah, blah, BLOG!

I happen to like memes. I rarely follow the rules, but I enjoy doing them.

So despite being an ardent admirer and championess of memes, even I was SHOCKED at the rules of this meme.

You have to answer forty-two flippin' questions!

Whoa.

And actually I read at idifficult's blog that you're supposed to add a question? And he did just that! So that leaves me with forty-three flippin' questions to answer.

Yeesh.

Anyhoo, the award is purdy. Here it be.



And now?

I dig in!

1. What is your current obsession? Zombies, blogging, Diet Dr. Pepper, motorcycles, lemoncello cake, singing rock opera style in public and private, jalapenos, rubbing my eyebrow raw, and generally making a fool out of myself in public.

2. What are you wearing today? Black capri sweats, with a black knit top and a green shirt over the top. I love layering! And this is the only month of the year I can do it in hot and sunny Arizona!

3. What’s for dinner? I actually did cook dinner tonight. My husband's jaw hit the floor. He was like, "What no grilled cheese sandwiches? No quesadillas? No scrambled eggs? No Ramen?" Ahem. I made fried chicken and a green salad (to unclog the arteries from the fried chicken).

4. What’s the last thing you bought? A twelve-pack of Cherry Diet Dr. Pepper. Mmm.

5. What are you listening to right now? Toadies Possum Kingdom. I think there's some implied nasties in the lyrics. But I'm not sure, so I keep listening to it to... make sure... yeah... that's the ticket!

6. What do you think about the person who tagged you? Catlady is the Da Bomb Diggity! idifficult is a humorous enigma.

7. If you could have a house totally paid for, fully furnished anywhere in the world, where would you like it to be? On the beach, Baby!

8. What are your must-have pieces for summer? Air-conditioning, air-conditioning, and air-conditioning. Remember we have at least 100 days of 100+ degree temps. "I'm melting! I'm melting!"

9. If you could go anywhere in the world for the next hour, where would you go? To the grocery store on the beach!

10. Which language do you want to learn? I'm still struggling with Zombie, but I wouldn't mind learning Inuit-Inupiaq (the common language spoken by Eskimos).

11. What’s your favourite quote?

"My doctor told me I'm having problems finishing what I've started. So I just ate an entire chocolate cake and a bag of chips. I feel better already."

12. Who do you want to meet right now? Kathy Griffin! She is hilarious.

13. What is your favourite colour? Oh, this is always the most difficult question for me. I struggle between Chartreuse (yellow green colour) and Chrysochlorous (greenish gold). It's a tough choice.

14. Give us 3 styling tips that work for you. Rub your eyebrow hair away instead of tweezing, stay away from black lipstick, and if you can't find your fake boob? A bunched up tank top does the trick!

15. What is your dream job? I want to be the person who is always in the van parked on the street listening to phone calls. I'd LOVE it!

16. What’s your favorite magazine? Highlights (children's magazine).

17. If you had $100 now, what would you spend it on? Zombie books and Diet Dr. Pepper.

18. What do you consider a fashion faux pas? Fat women wearing tight clothing with their blubber squeezing out every which way.

19. Who according to you is the most over-rated style icon? Barney the Dinosaur.

20. What kind of haircut do you prefer? Shagalicious and curly, Baby!

21. What are you going to do after this? Pee.

22. What are your favourite movies? Twilight (yes, I'm one of those people), Lord of the Rings, What About Bob.

23. What inspires you? The Addax also known as the Screwhorn Antelope. They're almost extinct! We must save them!

24. What do your friends call you most commonly? Sandie, Sandra, Sondra (which I hate) Q, Quirkster, Quirky, Quirkylingadingdong.

25. Would you prefer coffee or tea? Neither, Diet Dr. Pepper, Baby!

26. What do you do when you are feeling low or terribly depressed? I dress up as an evil clown and go for a bike ride. It's fun to see all the horrified children running away.

27. What makes you go wild? Motorcycles, Baby! *vroom, vroom*

28. Which other blogs do you love visiting? I have ALOT, but to name a few: Catlady, Reffie, Nomie, Mad Mad Margo, Marvin, Mike at Too Many Mornings, Em at Life, Liberty and the Pursuit, Deb at Dirty Socks and Pizza and many many more!

29. Favorite Dessert/Sweet? Lemoncello cake from The Cheesecake Factory. It. Is. To. Die. For.

30. How many tabs are turned on in your browser right now? Five.

31. Favorite Season? Definitely winter! We have about eight months of summer and one month of winter.

32. If I come to your house now, what would you cook for me? Frozen pizza. Ha!

33. What is the right way to avoid people who purposefully hurt you? Go up to them and give them a big wet kiss on the lips. They'll leave you alone after that.

34. What are you afraid of the most? Losing the remote controls! I shudder in fear at the thought!

35. When you looked at yourself in the mirror today, what was the first thing you thought? I blinded myself with my shiny nose.

36. What brings a smile on your face instantly? Administering emotional torture.

37. A word that you say a lot? Mine.

38. What would you do if you were made President for one day? Decrease government involvement to almost nothing.

39. What is that one thing that keeps you going? Besides Diet Dr. Pepper? Classic television shows like: I Dream of Jeannie, All In The Family, Gilligan's Island, Fantasy Island.

40. What word drives you crazy when you hear it? Ma-aan!

41. What's your least favourite character trait? Honesty. It's way over-rated.

42. What do you get if you multiply six by nine? Um... 54. So I googled it. Sue me.

Whew!

Oh, and I'm supposed to add one question.

43. What do you get when you fall in love?

And guess what? I'm gonna tag a couple of followers. Yep. You lucky dawgs you! Come on down Nomie! You're the next contestant, erm, I mean blogger to answer the questions. And let's give a big ole' hand to the Refster! Yes, come and join Nomie up here in contestant, erm, I mean blogger row.

It's gonna be good folks.

Real good.

B.S. No Blog Awards or Memes were harmed during the production of this post. My mind is a mess now from all this proactive thinking to answer all these questions, but that's normal. However, I confess that I prefer autopilot thinking.

Tale of the Missing Plates

Once upon a time there lived a Quirky family of four.

Papa Quirky was a gentle, funny, and quiet soul. Mama Quirky was a loon. Tween Quirky Son was a guitar playing Dude, and Kidlet Quirky was a candy fiend.

One day while Mama Quirky was washing dishes she gasped.

"Where are all the plates? We started out with at least ten, eleven, or twelve and now there are only three? How can this be? Where are they?"

Mama Quirky knew she would have to investigate. She looked in all the kitchen cupboards but only came up with the same three plates.

She looked in the refrigerator on every shelf. First, she moved the milk. Not there. Then she moved an old tupperware bowl filled with mystery leftovers from a couple of months ago. "Oh look at that fuzz." She pushed the bowl a little further back on the right side.

Then she kept looking.

She looked in the freezer. Nope, no plates there.

Then she went into the living room. She snooped behind the sofas, the recliners, why she even lifted the cushions! "Oh that's where my Nintendo DS Lite went to! I've been looking for that for several years now."

Yes, Mama Quirky is the proud owner of a pink Nintendo DS Lite. She couldn't wait to get one!

She looked behind the television and on all the bookshelves. Still no plates.

"This is getting spooky."

She looked in all the hall closets. She poked through blankets coated in a nice layer of dust, why she even searched through the Christmas decorations. That's when she "accidentally" broke a Christmas ball.

Quirky Mama hates shiny aluminum Christmas balls. She only likes the homemade artsy craftsy kind much to Papa Quirky's chagrin.

Quirky Mama continued her thorough investigation. She knew she had to think outside the box, so she went where no plate should ever be: the bathroom. She looked under the sink, in the medicine cabinet (even though they would not fit in there), she even looked in the tub! Who knew what the Kidlet Quirky Son was collecting in there as bath time toys.

Still no plates.

She turned her eye to her room. "Oh, come on! Surely I would know if I had a bunch of plates collecting in my room? Wouldn't I?"

So she started searching her own room. She looked high and low, to the right and to the left, she even looked in-between the mattresses.

Still no plates.

She sighed and stepped back out into the hallway. "Where oh where can my plates be?"

She thought and pondered her dilemma. "I'm missing something here. What am I not thinking of?"

Kidlet Quirky's Room! She slowly opened the door, and just as she expected an avalanche of toys fell against the door. Carefully, she gave the door a couple of good shoves, took a step inside and started looking. She searched through the toy-bins, under the twin beds, in each dresser drawer and finally the most likely place and scariest: the closet. She found the missing pair of pliers that Papa Quirky had been looking for and she found several pairs of scissors. Hmm.

But, still no plates!

"Well I guess that only leaves Tween Quirky Son's room."

Now this was going to get ugly. It had been many moons since she had entered the Tween Cave. At times she had caught glimpses and was mortified at what she saw (and smelled).

"You can do this. You. Can. Do. This." She mentally psyched herself up for what would be a look into the unknown. Sweat beads of fear formed in her pits. She wiped away at her brow. She took a deep breath and reached for the doorknob.

Slowly she turned the knob to the right and...the door creaked opened.

Her eyes opened in terror!

There on the floor were plates! So many of them! And on each and every single plate was a blue-green and yellowish stringy substance. The stench arose at the same time and filled her nostrils with a smell so putrid she almost vomited.

The plates! I found them. She retreated out of the room to go and get some gloves. There was no-way, no-how she was going to handle those random mysterious globs of matter on each plate with her bare hands.

She returned with gloved hands. She started picking up the plates with their mysterious blobs. Her eyes burned. She took them all to the sink and had to soak them for several hours before anyone (Tween Quirky Son) could attempt to wash them.

She returned to the Tween Cave to look some more. She figured the scariest part was over, she was pretty sure all the plates were now present and accounted for. But there was still one bowl missing. "Well, while I'm in here, might as well just check and see if the bowl is in his closet." It was decision she quickly regretted.

With a stab of confidence, she threw open the closet doors and screamed!

There lay the bowl.

In the bowl was the same stringy, blue-green globby substance she had seen (and smelled) on the plates, but this matter was moving!

It was moving towards her!

Something (she later learned it was cheese) had morphed into a living organism in Tween Quirky's closet!

She shrieked again and felt a tugging at her shoulders.

"Wake up Hon!" Papa Quirky was shaking Mama Quirky awake.

"Wha... wha... what?"

"You were dreaming."

Quirky sighed in relief and giggled. "It was only a dream! Whew! Thank goodness! Is Tween Quirky Son eating nachos? Because if he is...."

Papa Quirky interrupted her. "Yeah, tell me about the dream later. Right now I need to know something. Where are all the plates? I was washing the dishes and we only have like three plates?"

*thud*





B.S. Many plates WERE harmed during the production of this post. They'll never be the same.