The Heat Is ON!

And I'm not talking about the weather.

So my seven-year-old son is blossoming into quite the social butterfly.

He met a little boy walking home from school one day and now? They are BFFs.

That's all good and dandy. I'm glad he's making new friends and such.

But...

You knew there had to be a "but" coming, didn't you?

His new BFF is a tad bit assertive.

Last week BFF came into my house to "meet" me on the way home from school. My son introduced us. We had a nice little interview. He questioned me about this and that. I answered that I usually buy store-bought cookies, because I'm not into baking (anymore) for fear of burning the house down.

I explained that Mario Kart was considered an acceptable video game in our home. And yes, we do carry Angel Soft toilet paper. And no, I would not try to feed him asparagus or carrots.

Apparently, I assuaged any concerns or fears he may have had for then he promptly set up a play date for Saturday at MY house. I guess I passed the initial inspection. I'm not a mean looking Mommy (unless you're trying to pry a Diet Dr. Pepper can from my fingers).

Okay.

Not a problem.

Last Friday after school, he came into my house again with my son to confirm the Saturday plans. Good to go!

This last Monday, I was sitting in my living room waiting for my little guy to come home from school. The door was unlocked and I was ready for my little guy to bounce in and tell me all about his school day.

I heard the door open and in walked BFF. SANS my son.

What?

He had important business to conduct. He came in to request: 1. My son's presence at his birthday party to take place on Friday after school, and 2. He would like to come over on Saturday at noon for another play date.

Um okay.

Got it.

Not a problem. I think.

Tuesday after school, he came into my house again WITHOUT MY SON because yes, the door was unlocked for MY son. But BFF had important duties to check off. He confirmed whether or not my son would be attending the party on Friday and he was double confirming the pending play date on Saturday.

Me: "Yes Sir!"

BFF: "I Can't HEAR You!"

Me: "YES. SIR!  Quirky Son #2. Will. Be. Attending. Said birthday party. And. We. WILL. Be ready. To receive. You. On Saturday. At 1200 hours sharp! SIR!"

I saluted him as he made his exit.

Oh, there's my little guy now coming INTO the house as BFF is walking OUT the door to go home.

BFF: "Hey! You get to come to my party on Friday!"

Quirky Son #2: "Oh yeah!"

BFF: "Make sure you get me something GOOOOD!"

Laughter.

Dang!

I guess I'd better make it "good" or I might get a demerit or two.

This little BFF is keeping me on my toes.

I'm starting to sweat.

AttenHut!

Uh, excuse me...

I'm being...summoned...

Again.








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

Reason #1098

I love Law & Order.

Carotid Artery. (Thank-you Mr. or Ms. Medterms.com for the information. You rock!)

Now, I'm sure I must have learned a little something about what a carotid artery is during my four plus decades here on earth. Way back when I sat in my cave school and learned how PeePaw built a fire, and how my uncle Teetoe started his new wheel manufacturing business; I'm sure I learned a little something about human anatomy too.

But it wasn't until my recent steady diet of Law & Order that the term resurfaced and its definition cemented itself in my stale brain.

I obviously do not have the mind of a killer because most killers seem intimately familiar with the carotid artery. I would say about 85% to 90% of all the murders (on Law & Order) occur because of fatal harm to the carotid artery.

"There are 2 carotid arteries... on each side of the neck. Together...[they] provide the principal blood supply to the head and neck."

Which brings me to my next point.

Apparently, one common problem with the carotids? Plaque. As in buildup, narrowing the passageways, inhibiting blood flow to the BRAIN and neck. (Oh, and of course, those pesky murderers out there who insist on killing by strangulation or knife cut to the cartoid artery.)

And now?

I'm sure I have carotid plaque.

No, I'm not a hypochondriac. I have enough REAL medical issues. (Cancer, anyone?) I don't go looking for new ones. Trust me.

How do I know I MUST have carotid plaque?

It's Sunday afternoon and one Quirky Mom decides to do a nice thing for her family and bake some brownies. It's been a long, long, long time since she did any baking. Her family will be most pleasantly surprised.

Quirky is a firm advocate of preheating the oven before baking. She believes a fully-heated oven will ensure complete baking, thereby producing a delightful, edible, and most delicious food product.

Hence, she set the oven to preheat to 350 degrees Fahrenheit. (She also knows how to read and follow directions. Most of the time.)

Then she went to play some Sudoku and lo and behold an HOUR passed before she even REMEMBERED that the oven was preheating.

Whee.

Off she went to mix up the batter, spread it in the pans, and put them in the extreme preheated oven.

Ay, yi, yi.

The blood canNOT be flowing well into my brain innards. How else could I forget something so vital so quickly? I mean our house could have burnt down! Do I have an inner desire for my house to burn down? (Maybe. New house built, anyone?)

At least I remembered to use the timer AND to keep it with me so I could hear it ring.

They're cooling off now.

I don't think I can mess that up.

But I'm sure my blocked carotids will sure try!




B.S. No houses were harmed (or burned down) during the production of this post.

A Quirky Death Wish

I had an epiphany.

My husband wants me dead.

It's true!

His weapon of choice?

Machete? No.

Sword? No. (As if. Where would we get a sword? Whew! *nervous chuckle* What? Damn Amazon dot com! It has everything.)

Gun? Nope.

Perhaps something more subtle.

Poison. Nah.

Lethal Injection. I don't think so. I'm deathly afraid of needles.

Definitely none of the above.

No, this is his secret weapon of choice to ensure my early demise.

Oh to the average viewer they look innocent enough. Useful enough. They provide support, comfort, and protection.

But for me?

They will end my life. I have never been more certain of anything in my measly life.

How?

Picture this.

It's 2:00 a.m. Quirky is finally asleep. She had a full day of Sudoku puzzles and guzzling Diet Dr. Pepper. Uh oh. Said Diet Dr. Pepper is ready for a quick exit. She gets up. Her swollen eyes don't let her see very well. She starts to stumble towards the relief pot and then snap!

Ankle roll.

She ALMOST trips to her untimely death because somebody left his tennis shoes peaking out from underneath the bed. 

And for the record, if I trip? I'll go face down. As my inner honker splats, the explosion of cartilege will crack my front skull into pieces. A nice bone shard or two or three will pierce my brain causing an immediate shutdown. But not before inducing blindness in my right orb. Panic will ensue and I will seizure and shudder to my last breath. Brain matter will trickle out of my left ear.

And that's how I will die. I just nose it. Erm, I mean know it.

Now Quirky has asked the perpetrator on several occasions in her sweetest and kindest voice, "Honey, when I wake up in the middle of the night, it's dark and I'm in a hurry. And your shoes are always encroaching on my path. I've almost fallen down several times. One time is all it will take."

He smiles and nods absentmindedly.

*sigh*

But now I have witnesses.

All of YOU!

If anything happens, especially if I die by some freakish means. You all know who did it.

And for the record.

We ain't got no butlers.





B.S. Charles Bronson was not harmed during the production of this post.

Rocky Gone Wild!

Forget Charlie Sheen and his tiger blood.

Remi Gaillard has got the REAL eye of the tiger. And he will rock your tiger world. *rawr*

This guy is brilliant. Insane. Hilarious. Thanks to ChelleB aka The Offended Blogger for introducing me to him and his wild videos.

Put your Depends on. You're gonna need them. And I would highly recommend the extra absorbent pads.



And now if my skater Dude son doesn't become the next Bucky Lasek or Rodney Mullen? I've got his Plan B. He's already showing "uuuuuuuuuhhhhh" the signs. Yes, I've got my cub's tiger striped back!

Guts? Check.

No fear? Check.

Obnoxious? Check.

Dead pan look? Check.

Insane? Double Check.

Brilliant? Still working on that one.

(I think he's got an A in Technical Engineering aka Shop as they called it in my day. Math grade? Let's just say it falls between the letters C and F. *sigh*)

"uuuuuuuuuhhhhh"*

Woops! I mean...

*rawr*






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

By Popular Demand...

I'll go ahead and explain the recent Skategate scandal that hit our Quirky household.

(So it really wasn't by "popular" demand, it was the demand of one. But he's [not] God! And I mustn't take that kind of demand lightly, ya know?)

Enter one Quirky 13-year-old son. Make that a clueless Quirky 13-year-old son. He hangs out with other 13-year-old dudes. One dude, let's call him, Dude A, left his $250.00 skateboard (wide eyes) at our house, unbeknownst to one Quirky Mom or Dad.

Now Dude A didn't seem in any hurry to get his skateboard (that must have been coated with Tiger Blood...doesn't it sell like $500/ounce? Let's ask Charlie!) back into his hot little hands. Why? His hot little hands have been too busy playing XBOX live Halo.

These Dudes and their video games! What? Why you looking at me and my monkey-kicking-a-ball that way? (Would you like to touch my monkey? *wags eyebrows*)

So because of the Halo distraction, my Quirky son has been hanging out with his other Dudes B, C, and D who like to get out of the house and actually skateboard. Except Dude C. He likes to video them with the Flip Video.

This is a good thing until one clueless Quirky Son LENDS OUT Dude A's "Tiger Blood" Skateboard to Dude B or D. But it was definitely not Dude C. He's just there to watch and video.

Yes, my son lent out his friend's skateboard to one of his other friends to use.

Off to the loading docks we go!

These docks are located behind a strip mall near our house.
Then my son decided to use the "Tiger Blood" skateboard himself and ollied off the dock (roughly six feet high *thud*) but the Tiger Blood didn't protect the board! Tiger Blood FAIL. (What would Charlie think?) The board snapped.

Ay, yi, yi!

Well for some strange reason (remember we are talking about TEEN BOYS) Dude C (remember our avid video taper?) decided he would throw the two pieces of the snapped skateboard onto the top of the building.

Whee.

Gotta love those teen boys.

So fast forward to Friday morning and I was in the shower when the commotion hit the skateboard!

"Mom, Dude A's Dad is here and he's yelling at me."

"What happened? Why?"

I got the story in bits and pieces and went to face the ire of Dad A.

He was not a happy camper. I didn't blame him. He wasn't even mad that the board snapped. He was mad because his own son, Dude A, gave him the run around and said the board was on the roof of a grocery store nowhere NEAR the strip mall. Dad A had gone with ladder in hand to retrieve the skateboard pieces.  And surprise, surprise! They weren't there! So then Dude A tells his Dad that Quirky Son did it. Quirky Son had the board and he threw it on some rooftop and told him the wrong place.

*sigh*

That sigh quickly became a gasp when Dad A started screaming at my son that "if you don't tell me where you threw the board and get your butt on that roof and get me my son's skateboard, I'll be calling the cops on YOU and your friend, Dude C."

Whoa Nelly.

Finally, I intervened.

I found out where the skateboard was and told Dad A that we would go and get the board. He met us there behind the strip mall at the loading docks where they had been skating. I kept apologizing to Dad A and that softened him up quite a bit. My son just pouted.

Gotta love those teen boys. *insert fake smile here*

We had nice long chat about accountability and responsibility.

"But it was Dude C who threw it up there! Not me!"

"Ah! Tis true, my son, but....it was in YOUR care and you had NO RIGHT to lend it out. We're lucky that Dad A doesn't expect us to buy a whole new board." Quirky son doesn't know just how lucky.

Dad A just wanted the trucks and wheels to the board and I know why. They can be VERY expensive. Who knew a piece of metal could cost the big bucks? (Not quite as expensive as Tiger Blood, I'm sure.)

I continued: "Look YOU have to step up here and take the higher ground. Forget that Dude C did the actual throwing, you need to accept responsibility for what happened, because YOU lent out the board."

And he did take the higher ground. Up the ladder he went, right on up to that rooftop and retrieved the snapped skateboard pieces.

Then Dad A was happy. I was feeling gassy. And Quirky Son was relieved it was over.

The moral of this story?

Tiger Blood ain't what it used to be.

But teen boys...

They're still...

Clueless.




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

This Is What Went Down Quirky Style

Quirky's week in a loonshell.

• Developed an ear infection. It's amazing how much my body is reverting to its original infancy. Ear infections, adult diapers (not yet, but it's looking highly probable), no boobies (well, just the one). The only thing that hasn't reverted is losing my hair. I was a bald baby. Now I just wish I had a bald chin.


• I got addicted to a ball kicking monkey and lost several hours of precious sleep and day time hours normally devoted to.... Sudoku.


• My son got reamed by his friend's parent. Whee. I love the timing of such events. I was showering/shaving when I heard the dogs barking. Not thinking too much of it, I was surprised when I heard my 13-yr-old son yelling at me through the door, "Mom, I need to talk to you."  Right now?  So I hurried, dried myself, and got dressed and emerged into a pit of anger and confusion. After threats, yells, and one 13-year-old son begrudgingly taking the "higher ground." He literally had to take the higher ground and get up on the roof top of a strip mall and retrieve a snapped into two pieces skateboard that belonged to his friend. Enough said.


• I got frustrated with t.v. And you all know how much I depend on my t.v. Every single flippin' episode of Criminal Minds and Law & Order were episodes I had seen within the last two weeks. And Syfy? Enough with the StarTrek movies! I like StarTrek. I do. But I need my daily fix of horror, ya know? Speaking of horror. I did enjoy the premiere of TLC's Sister Wives. The drama continues... four-wives-fold. 


• I started playing a card game with myself. It's called Hand & Foot. My left hand versus my right hand. And I got ticked off my left hand! It won EVERY single flippin' time! I started rooting for my right hand (the obvious underdog), but nooooooo. It was always that annoying left hand that kept on winning and getting all the right cards just at the right time.


• And I think I got a blog award and for the life of me, I cannot remember who gave it to me! I apologize if you are reading this. I was very happy to receive it. Honest. It's like a pat on the back. And I need many pats. I blame the ball kicking monkey. And so should you.


• And last, but not least, I realized that I suffer from a high level of brain flatulence. Because... I Googled this Super Moon phenomenon and...? You see? I'm pretty sure it didn't have anything to do with lycanthropes (I love that word!) or vampires...most disappointing. Once again my intelligent and witty thoughts got swallowed up into a cranial gas implosion. Too bad it didn't jump start the synapses.

"Jane, get me off this crazy thing [called MY life]!"

So this week was meh.

But there's always next week.

"Tomorrow! Tomorrow! It's only a day away!"

I think.




B.S. No super moons or supernovas were harmed during the production of this post.

Stop Monkeying Around

Monkey Kickoff.

The name of the game that was filling the blank spaces of my brain. Yes, I have more than the requisite amount.

Chelle B, the lovely owner and sole operator extraordinaire, of Humor Bloggers Dot Com teased me with an Arcade Contest. I normally ignore such teases. But this time? I bit. Hard.

That monkey became MY life.

My sons. "Mom, are you playing that monkey game again?"

Who had time to answer them? Not me.

I should've suspected that Monkey Kickoff was the reason for the return of my right eye twitch. Involuntarily or not, I find comfort in twitching that eye. My life feels wrong when it's not twitching.

Back to the game.

Chelle was in first place. Then Spaz. Then ME!!! Oh yeah, baby. Then Spaz couldn't leave well enough alone and slapped me into second place. (He hates me and I don't know why.) I was not a happy monkey camper.

Enter Haley Keppel into MY monkey's life. She bumped Spaz into second place and me into third place.

Eye twitch resumed big time.

So I went at it with even further resolve and a lot less sleep. My kitchen vomited so many times and I didn't care. Pee breaks became a huge sacrifice. I almost bit the Depends bullet.

But. I. Was. Determined.

Yay! Second place. I put the Spazinator back in his place.  Now off to conquer Haley! And get the coveted first place. I can do it. I can do it. I. Can. Do. It!

The contest ended last night.

I lost.

Damn Haley Keppel won.

Congrats Haley! And I hate you forever!

What hurts worse?

The monkey is gone.

I monkey you not!

Would I kid about something so serious?

Ee-ee-ee!

Whatever will I do with my new found time?

Go to the zoo?

Nah.

Bananas.

I'll eat more bananas.

Quirky shuffles to the kitchen. Eyes widen in alarm at the growing mess. Moss is spurting through the kitchen tiles. How many days-old rivers of milk and chocolate powder mix meander along the counter tops. There are strange growths and tufts thriving in the sink. Is that a pizza roll? That is the nastiest thing I've ever seen! It's growing new pepperoni guts! And they're green! Ugh. She hears a knocking noise. Turning her head slowly she realizes it's coming from the oven. Horrified, she opens the oven door and something flies out and scampers away.

Tell me that wasn't one of those pesky aliens a la Ripley.

Forget this.

Just give me a banana. No more monkeying around. I'm going back to my happy place. My safe haven. Cyber life.

Real life sucks!

Especially upon the horrifying discovery that there are no bananas in the house.

What?

We have no bananas?

*thud*






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

St. Paddy's Day!

Yee-ow-zah! Today is St. Paddy's Day! And the funny folks at Humor Bloggers Dot Com are hosting a St. Paddy's Day Parade! Erm, I mean Humor Carnival.

What does this mean?

It means many funny bloggers are writing funny posts about little green leprechauns and such! So ye and ye and ye over there should go to Humor Bloggers Dot Com and get yo' green funny on.

For your convenience, click on the badge and it'll take you right there! AFTER you read AND comment on my post, of course. *huge cheesy grin*

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I've always loved St. Paddle's Day.

It's the non-Irish in me.

And today is the special day we get to celebrate and revere paddles, paddles, paddles!

St. Paddles Day.

Then I wondered: why? Why the need to celebrate paddles? Why give it its own special day?

Then I realized how little I know about paddles and Saint Paddles Day, so I went to the internet's Number One and Never Wrong (N1NW) source: Wikipedia to do some extensive paddle research.

"A spanking paddle is an implement used to strike a person on the buttocks."

A paddle is supposed to be used on a person's buttocks?  We want to celebrate spanking butt? That's strange and here I thought a paddle's main use was to strike a donkey.

What are you talking about, "that's a different kind of a**?"  Exsqueeze me, I try (usually) not to use that kind of language, thank-you very much. So it's not for donkey use. Huh. Go figure.

Let me read some more.

"A paddle that has numerous holes through the wide surface of its blade[14] encounters less air resistance as it is swung through the air. Such a paddle can therefore be swung faster and can, on impact, cause higher levels of pain." (emphasis added)

Again this paddle/pain affiliation, but I never realized that paddling also involved quantum physics.

I must read and learn some more.

What's this I'm reading?

"... celebrities have mounted Howard Stern's spanking bench to be paddled by his paddle machine, the "Robospanker."

Paddling also involves robotics? And some celebrities voluntarily get spanked? This paddling dealio is much more diverse than I ever imagined. I dunno. I never wanted to get spanked, not as a child nor as an adult. I guess that's what separates me from celebrities (that and a few million dollars).

This Saint Paddles Day is not at all what I thought it was.

It seems sadistic.

Mean.

And it does NOT seem very saintly to celebrate hurting the butts of others on Saint Paddles Day.

I didn't realize I was so Saint Paddles Day ignorant.

And that truly scares me.

*record scratch

What?

It's not a paddle day celebration?

What do you mean it's paddy, not a paddle? Like a krabby patty?

No, not that either?

It's what?

A Saint?

A real Saint? One of those religious persons?

So it has nothing to do with... paddles?

Oh my.

Well then...

Never mind.

Anyway, I still have that Kinky Mayo Day to look forward to!






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

Evolution of a Blog

First Stage: Euphoria aka Huge Dollar Signs in the Eyes.

"What's this blogging gig about? I can write a blog? Does it cost money? I can do it for free? How much money did she make in one month? Oh, yeah, baby, I can definitely do this."

Second Stage: Determination.

"Ooooooh, looky here. I can change the blog header. Photobucket? I can use those photos for my blog? Excellent! Drag this page element here (tongue sticks out of corner of mouth), move this widget there. I can't believe I know what a widget is! I feel so computer-literate!

Third Stage: Determination Part Two.

"Edit HTML? What the .....? Now I just googled for the umpteenth time how to center my text on my header and it's STILL not working. What the....? Ooooooh, the color palette! I can just type in the code? Oh yeah, baby. I'm doing the blogging template dealio!"

Fourth Stage: Writing Begets Patience.

"Ah! That's the post that will get them following me in roves! Yep. That's a killer post. I would laugh so much if I read this post at somebody else's blog. Waiting. Still waiting. That's funny, I should have at least one thousand followers by now. Hmm. I guess 13 is a good start. Hmm."

Fifth Stage: Patience Part Two.

"Well one year has gone by and by golly, I know it's gonna happen for me. Like my husband said, it'll happen one day and your numbers will shoot to the stars. Year two has gone by, but looky! I'm up to 139 followers! It's gonna happen, it's GONNA happen. Watch out D**C* and R** the Pioneer **M**! I'm hot on your heels!"

Sixth Stage: Impatience aka the diminishing of the Dollar Signs in the Eyes.

"Now what does SHE do, that I don't? Personally, I think I'm much funnier and she just barely started her blog and she's already got four hundred freakin' followers? Well, I have 173 followers. That's good, isn't it? Darn it! There's another typo! I swear I triple-checked! Ugggggggghhhh!"

Seventh Stage: Humble Pie.

"Okay, so not everybody gets my humor. That's okay. That doesn't mean I should quit blogging. I'm honing my writing and comedic skills. Right? Yeah, that's the ticket. Two new followers in three months? Yay! Yay! Yay!!!!!"

Eighth Stage: Making Friends aka The End of the Dollar Signs in the Eyes.

"Okay, so financially this blogging gig didn't quite go where I thought it would, but look at the cool people I've met! And they like me! They really, really like me! They give me cute blog awards and such. This is good."

Ninth Stage: Resolution.

"Well looky thar! Three years...and I finally hit 200 followers! (Please, please, don't anybody unfollow...please?)  Blogging. It's a good and fun hobby. It definitely appeals to my anti-social ways, cuz nobody has to see me in person--at least that's what I'm counting on! Cuz I've got serious social phobias. (Hey! Another blog post idea!) And as long the ideas pop into my head, and it's still fun then there's no reason to stop. Yet."

Tenth Stage: To Be Determined aka Can I Write A Novel?

"Uh-oh. Here we go again."






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

Rick Rolling Is Soooo Yesterday...

Anybody gotten Rick-Rolled lately?

*yawn*

Can you say boring?

Rick-Rolling is soooo yesterday.

Surely you have heard about the latest and greatest cyber tom-fooleries and thank goodness Rick Astley is no where to be found amongst them.

Thankfully, you all have ME to clue you in.





The Top Ten Cyber Monkey Mischiefs!

10. Ray-Wrunged. When you search for a new food recipe, you might be hit with this terrifying video. Rachael Ray appears complete with creepy joker smile and she yells: "Delish."


9. Bieber-Bowled. Yes, of course, Justin Beiber hits this list. This is when you get a bad (bowl) hair cut and Justin appears singing, "Baby, baby, baby, eewww!" lamenting your new "do" in your latest skype video to Grandma.


8. Qadafi-Mafiaed. (Pronounced kadafee-mawfeed.) Careful whilst searching for international news items. If you click on a link with the name "Qadafi," you  might be redirected to an audio file containing rapid machine fire with a faint "kill, kill, kill, kill, kill" background chant.


7. Idol-Clawed. Type in "Ryan Secrest is hawt," and a video of Julianne Hough appears with her claw extended screaming, "He's mine Beyotch! Go find yourself your own Sugar Daddy. Back off or I will 'dip' your dancing head onto the concrete dance floor!" (Would anyone ever type that about Ryan Seacrest? Seriously?)


6. Tyler-Tongued.  Be careful while perusing iTunes. You might (luckily) inadvertently get Steven Tyler deliciously appearing on your screen, screeching his ever so famous "scream on" riff then complimenting you on your "plethora of passion." rrrRRRrrr *wags eyebrows* (Leave me alone! I can lust whomever I want!)


5. Palin-Piled. Want to know what's going on with America's Favorite Unwed Teen Mother? Type in Bristol Palin and watch Sarah appear complete with rifles and ammo while she poo-poohs you to leave her daughter alone "you old has-been wannabe comedienne."


4. Lo-Loot. Searching for jewelry online? An image of a dressed-to-kill Lindsay Lohan could appear with her teeth all blinged out with the warning: "Don't let yourself get Lo-Looted." She's not as innocent as she doesn't appear. And we all know diamonds are Lindsay's bff.


3. Griffin-Razed. Type anything negative about gays/lesbians or Anderson Cooper and risk receiving an image of Kathy spewing, "I hate everything about you... allegedly." If you search for "Oprah" be prepared to have Kathy scream at you in her best Oprah-esque voice, "I wanna get vaJAZZLED!"


2. Quirky-Phial. Type in the word "quirky" and images of Diet Dr. Pepper cans will immediately fill your screen. *cheesy grin*


1. Sheen-Reamed. Yes, type in the word Sheen or click on a Sheen link and immediately a video will start with Charlie Sheen lambasting you until you are well-done with a generous serving of bacon on the side. A "winning" combination.

So there you have it, the latest and greatest cyber high-jinks.

And now?

I feel like eating some breakfast.

Mmm.

Maybe a cinnamon roll?

(Much, much better than a Rick-Roll!)






B.S. No PCs or Macs were infected with viruses or harmed during the production of this post.

Who Wants To Stink?

I do! I do!

My seven-yr-old son and I were watching, "Who Wants To Be A Millionaire." I'm not a regular viewer of the show, however it's exciting and good fun to watch other people win the big bucks.

At least it is for me.

Albeit, there might be one teensy weensy iota of my psyche that kind of, sort of, wishes it was me winning the big bucks.

Just kind of.

And maybe a little sort of.

I was surprised by my 7-yr-old's interest in the show, but I went with it, because I'm a flexible Mom. In other words, he was watching what I wanted to watch instead of the other way around.

But as the minutes passed, I could see the formation of dollar signs in his eyes and he began to answer the questions. And he answered many of them correctly! Good elementary school teaching. Good.

I said, "Hey, we should send YOU on the show!"

"Oh yeah! I can't believe I knew those answers Mom. You, a big-person Mom, who knows everything didn't EVEN know the answers."

He did a little happy dance.

(Aw, too bad, so sad, no video for you!)

The dollar signs started growing so large that I could no longer see his irises. One more nansecond and the transformation was complete. And the whites of his eyes had disappeared as well.

Then the unthinkable happened. The contestant answered one little measly question wrong and was sent home with one thousand dollars.

My son was beside himself.

"I even knew the answer! I can't believe it!"

He pondered the situation a few more moments and then asked me a million dollar question:

"Mom, what if you or I went on the show and we won 20 million dollars?"

"I'd be happy!"

"What if we won 100 million million million dollars!"

He was salivating by this time.

"Oh, we don't need that much, 20 million dollars would be more than enough."

(See? I'm not so stingy after all.)

But my son wasn't done yet.

"What if we won 100 thousand million million million MILLION dollars?!"

"Well, I dunno, that's an awful lot of..."

"We'd be STINKIN' rich!"

Stinkin'?

Kids! Where do they learn these things? At school, of course. In his case: elementary school.  Because he didn't learn it from me.

*innocent eyes*

On the other hand, he does have a point.  And now I'm thinking maybe stinkin' is not so bad after all.

Yeah, I'll take stinkin' for 100 thousand million million million MILLION dollars, Alex.

Woops!

Wrong show.

And I'm sure that annoying Watson would have to show me up.

Because it's all...

Stinkin' elementary, m'dear.






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

Obnoxious Much?

I never thought I would love the obnoxiousness (or should that be obnoxiousality) of my 13-yr-old son.

But boy howdy he is making me laugh.

A lot.

And I'm not sure what that says about me.

Actually, I do know. "Immaturity? Thine name is Quirkyloon."

So this is his latest dealio.

He utters a long drawn out guttural "uuuuuuuuuuhhhhhhh" at unsuspecting victims, erm, I mean people.

It makes him sound weird.

I guess it helps that he makes himself look weird too during the "uuuuuuhhhh" verbal spew. To get into the character of obnoxiousness? I dunno. I think it comes rather naturally. (Ahem.) You be the judge.

He opens his mouth to an "o" shape. His eyes glaze over. He flares his nostrils once in awhile. (And whoo-wee that right nostril flare is mighty impressive.) And I believe he allows some drool to collect, then gently suspend from the right corner of his mouth. Loopy spit is where it's at.

I try not to look too closely.

The sound is more than enough.

I was driving him and his buddy to a skate boarding location. While my 7-yr-old and I were singing Taio Cruz's "Dy-no-mite" (again), suddenly I heard the whizz of the window rolling down and then my 13-yr-old started "uuuuuuhing" at people sitting innocently at bus stops or walking along the sidewalk.

And when I say he "uuuuuuhed," I mean in screaming fashion. He even "uuuuuuhed" at a couple of teens whose knee-jerk reactions caused howls of laughter within the confines of our metallic car cave. It's amazing how sound bounces around in a car, making the laughter seem much more maniacal.

"Mom, Mom, Mom! Driiiiive away! Let's go! Let's go! Let's goooooo!"

What? He thinks they're going to come after us?

Would you?

I'd be running the other way.

Anyuuuh, his "uuuuuuhing" came in quite handy the other day.

Two teens approached our security door. I love this security door. I can see out, but they can't see in. It's a technological wonder of engineering. So these two teens were obviously selling something.

*sigh*

I would gladly give tons of moolah to anybody and everybody who comes to the door or calls me soliciting for money, but it's a funny thing...my bank account does not have infinite funds (unlike our national debt, I'm still trying to figure out how they do that thing...what is it? Oh yeah. Print more money. I need that app!).

So my son was right behind me craning his neck around the corner to see who was at the door. He was probably expecting another friend.  I whispered to him, "Son, go ahead and do your 'uuuuuuhh' thing until they leave."

He stood there and started "uuuuuuhing" at the teens in a friendly, but loud voice. He went at it for a good minute or two. I was impressed at his stamina.

And...

It worked like buttah.

The teens looked shocked. Gave each other a "what the..."  look and then started laughing. Then they walked away.

Ah yes! Everything went according to plan!

I reaped what my son sowed.

Suuuhhh-weet!






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

Thanks Dr. Oz...Not

(Note: Three of the four were taken directly from www.realage.com. I'll let you guess which ones.)

Calendar age: 32.6

RealAge: 28.4

Difference -4.2 years

--Never been married

--Walks her dog every day

--Goes to dinner with friends every weekend

--Eats 4 servings of fruits and vegetables daily

--Follows doctor's instructions carefully to help manage her asthma

--Does not not stress about life's little problems

Calendar age: 60.2

RealAge: 67.5

Difference: +7.3 years

--Eats red meat 3 times a week

--Stresses over paying bills on time

--Does light exercise twice a week

--Spends most of her time alone

--Fails to take medication for high blood pressure

--Does not take Vitamin D

Calendar age: 43.1
RealAge: 37.4
Difference: -5.7 years

--Happily married father of 3

--Never smoked

--Recently laid off from his job

--Jogs for half hour 3 days a week

--Eats breakfast every morning

--Parents passed away in their late 40s




Calendar age: 47.6
RealAge: 92.4

Difference: +44.8 years

--Married for 16. 5 years

--Kicks her dog everyday

--Eats red meat 8 days a week

--Stresses over what to blog about

--Hates fruits and vegetables, except bananas

--Diagnosed with two types of cancer, one cancer spread to the bones, but is "manageable"

--Hates following doctor's orders

--Hates going to the doctor

--Craves a doughnut for breakfast every morning

--Ingests Diet Dr. Pepper by the gallons daily

--Has a persistent eye-twitch thanks to 13-year-old son

--Has a Zombie fetish

--Watches 20 hours of Criminal Minds/Law & Order episodes a day. Thank-you cable.

--Suffers from depression and low synapse activity

--Enjoys thinking up her epitaph and after analyzing "real age," this apparently is a good thing.

B.S. No dogs or Dr. Oz were harmed during the production of this post.

A Great Idea!

For a blog post.

In fact, it was so fantabulous that I immediately started writing the post. Then...well...I was rudely interrupted by one of my son's needs, but I knew I could always return and continue the post.

That's the beauty of the SAVE NOW button.

It stays there until you're ready to finish.



Title: Plea! (It's kinda fuzzy and I was having resizing issues.)

 Apparently, I'm not ready to finish this post.

Yet.

But I'm positive it's going to be hilarious, pee-in-your pants kind of funny. Right?

Ahem.

So I know you're hoping with me that I remember WHAT ON EARTH this funny blog post was supposed to be about.

Or maybe not.

Ideas?

Anyone?

Anyone?

Plea?

Erm, I mean please?






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

I'm In A Tizzy!

I've been up all night.

I've lost precious zzz's!

I'm in a major tizzy!

And it ain't pretty.

(Hey, I rhymed!)

What do people do who were born on February 29th? What do they do the other three years when there is NO February 29th?

This upsets me.

Terribly.

I mean technically they have a February birthday, but they weren't born on the "regular" last day of February, the 28th. On the other hand, you could say they have a March 1st birthday, because that is the day after February 28th, every three out of four years. (See how smart I am? Pfft to ye...and ye and ye over there.)

But, but, but... they weren't born in March!

When they fill out an application whether it be to an Ivy League University or unemployment, their birthday month number is the number TWO meaning Feb-brew-nary! Not THREE, meaning [Alien He-Men are from] March.

My brain is about to implode. I need answers people. And satisfying ones, not any lame ones.

No lame allowed.

I can't believe I haven't pondered this before, but now?

I wish I hadn't.

Ever.

Ignorance is bliss.

When you've got a quirky mind.





B.S. No planets, planetoids, meteorites, asteroids, or hemorrhoids were harmed during the production of this post.