1) have nothing to do
2) own a sharp knife
3) have a large lime
4) own a patient cat
5) drink too much tequila
6) and it’s football season?
Categories: Jokes
August 30, 2005
Posted by Marti @ August 26, 2005
The Un-Martha
I am not Martha Stewart, and I couldn’t be happier.
Been seein’ a lot about her on TV again, I guess she is going to be hosting her own reality show soon.
We were both born with the same first name, and double X chromosomes, but the similarities end there.
Many women turn to Martha Stewart as the epitome of perfection and stylish living.
(This quote is directly from the food network bio)
When America wants to learn how to make the perfect pie crust, plant an herb garden or fix a broken windowpane, it turns to Martha Stewart
But geez, she always manages to make people feel bad about themselves in comparison.
I make them feel better. Women look to me and say, “Oh hallelujah, there is someone here who”:
*Isn’t a size six
*Has unruly children
*Is licking her fingers to smooth her hair down
*Uses Vaseline for lip gloss
Ms. Stewart’s home was Nutley, N.J.
Mine is more like Nuthouse.
We lose things, break things, (including bones), get cranky, get even, and love each other fiercely.
Continuing with the Food Network description:
Inspiration surrounded Martha at an early age. Raised in Nutley, N.J., in a family with six children. Martha developed her passion for stylish living, cooking, gardening and homekeeping in her childhood home on Elm Place.
My childhood was……ummm……less inspirational. My parents weren’t bad people; they didn’t beat me or anything like that. But we come from hillbilly stock in the Mazoorah Ozarks.
Stylish living was getting running water. (Honest……the house I lived in as a child had a PUMP in the kitchen, and an outhouse. It was horrible in the winter, because I would always wait until the last minute to go out there in the cold, and if it was slick, I would run, fall, and……well, the trip would be a moot point. (Hey I was only four)
She got married during her sophomore year, and upon graduating became a successful
stockbroker on Wall Street, where she gained her early business training.
Around our parts, “stock” meant the cows. Cows are cool though. I used to ride a cow like a horse and thought it was the neatest thing in the universe. (Hey I was only four)
Her unique visual presentation of food and the elegant recipes she created for her catered
events were the basis for her first book.
“Elegant recipes” for us meant pigs in a blanket. Unique visual presentation meant putting a toothpick in them.
Martha Stewart was named one of the “50 Most Powerful Women” by Fortune magazine
in October 1998.
Somewhere along the way, I think we may have had a family member on the 50 Most Wanted List……LOL!
Categories: Humor
August 23, 2005
Trench Warfare In Our Driveway
We have a gravel driveway that is a thousand feet long and ten miles deep. It is paved with gravel. That is until the Great Rock Eating Phantom that lives underground wants a midnight snack.
We’ll get a new load of rock spread on it, and soon, the gravel is disappearing into the ground. Irregularly of course, so that the lovely white, smooth surface becomes lumpy and pitted.
We’ve been feeding the GREP for 20 years now, and there is no indication of his appetite diminishing.
The first few years, we thought, “Well, sooner or later the gravel will have been shoved into the earth completely to the bedrock, and THEN we won’t have to dump so much on so often.”
It didn’t happen sooner, we’re still waiting for later.
In between loads of gravel, dips and bumps appear. Husband related this story to me the other day, and it gave me a chuckle so I thought I’d share.
Since we are out in the sticks, there is a plethora of wildlife out here. Deer roam freely. Raccoons mosey up onto the porch and eat the cat food. Squirrels taunt the cats, dashing from tree limb to tree limb. Skunks, possums, moles, field mice and the rare mountain lion or coyote wander through.
The cats have little interest in them. But the rabbits! There is something about the rabbits that enthrall the felines. A cottontail, hoppin’ down the bunny trail, will catch the attention of even the laziest cat.
Rabbits are very quick though, and can easily spot an approaching cat, and hop away to safety.
The cats have realized that to give the rabbits a run for their money, they would need to be more devious.
They have adopted trench warfare tactics.
Because husband departs for work very early in the morning, he witnesses some of the nocturnal chicanery by the light of the silvery moon (and dual beam halogen headlights). Seems the cats have learned to flatten their bodies out in a dip in the driveway, and become one with the gravel. And wait.
Husband will pull out slowly, look down the driveway, and see nothing but ears.
Ears that are twitching with anticipation.
Wait, wait…Ah! Here comes Mr. Bunny. Twitch, twitch…bunny pauses, glances around, feels secure and begins nibbling on the clover.
ATTACK!
Fur flying, feet pounding, the chase is on!
Don’t panic, the rabbits are still faster, but…the cats have taken up a collection among themselves and are paying the fox a consulting fee, so who knows what Fate holds for Mr. Bunny.
August 20, 2005
LOUISIANA GHOST STORY
This story happened recently in a little town in Louisiana, and while it sounds like an Alfred Hitchcock tale, locals swear it’s real.
Read to the end.
This guy was on the side of the road hitch hiking on a very dark night in the middle of a storm. The night passed slowly and no cars went by. The storm was so strong he could hardly see a few feet ahead of him.
Suddenly he saw a car slowly looming, ghostlike, out of the gloom. It slowly crept toward him and stopped.
Reflexively, the guy got into the car and closed the door, then realized that there was nobody behind the wheel. The car slowly started moving again.
The guy was terrified, too scared to think of jumping out and running. He saw that the car was slowly approaching a sharp curve. He started to pray, begging for his life! He was sure the ghost car would go off the road and he would plunge to his death, when just before the curve, a hand appeared through the window and turned the steering wheel, guiding the car safely around the bend.
Paralyzed with terror, the guy watched the hand reappear every time they reached a curve. Finally, the guy gathered his wits, leapt from the car and ran to the nearest town.
Wet and in shock, he went into a bar and voice quivering, ordered two shots of tequila, and told everybody about his horrible, supernatural experience. A silence enveloped everybody when they realized he was apparently sane and not drunk.
About half an hour later two guys walked into the same bar. One says to the other, “Look Boudreaux, Dats dat idiot what rode in our car when we was pushin it in the rain.”
Categories: Jokes
August 17, 2005
Tick Tock Tick
School starts tomorrow.
That means today is Crazy Busy Day.
Although I had a “to do” list a mile ling, there were not a lot of the tasks that could be accomplished at 6:30 AM.
I had filled my belly with a Monster Energy Drink, wrapped several orders from online sales, written a shopping list, answered some mail and laughed at the local news of a crocodile discovered in the Kansas City metro area.
This isn’t exactly ‘gator country.
Post office wasn’t open yet, and the girl-who-wants-to-go-shopping was still sleeping.
I took some food out to the critters, and noticed how unruly the lawn had become.
Cloud cover had dropped the temperature, so I figured I could give it a quick buzz cut. (Just ’cause a lawnmower amputated one of my fingers, they don’t scare me.)
It is really quite a pleasant task. There are immediate, visible results of the effort. The smell is pure heaven. The delicious thrill I got from executing several hundred grasshoppers in a hideously torturous way will set my karma back a notch or two though, I bet.
(I really dislike bugs.)
The quicker ones leapt out of the way at the sound of approaching death-on-a-blade. But those who are slow, weak, or not limber enough to do the lawnmower limbo became fertilizer.
Apparently a few of them sent out a clarion call to their insect brethren moments before their demise, to avenge their execution. I do not speak bug though, so I was unaware, until retribution was exacted.
When I was finished, I stepped back and admired the freshly-shorn grass. It was lovely.
I came in and showered, and by now, the girl-who-wants-to-go-shopping was awake. And nagging.
“Come on, Mom,” she moaned outside the bathroom door.
“OK, OK, I’m just washing my hair……what’s this?”
I felt something on my head, which was neither scalp nor hair.
“M-ahhhhh-m.”
“Just a minute, I’ve got…..ack! I’ve got shampoo in my eyes and something on my head.”
“Can I at least come in and go?”
Trying to retain my eyesight, I am drenching my face with water. “Glurp, glub.” She took this to be an affirmative, and entered.
De-sudsed, I step out, still feeling around on my head for the not-hair-not-scalp lump.
I see a momentary shiver cross sweet-sixteen’s face at the vision of her dripping 52 year-old gene donor.
“Can we go? Your hair will dry in the car. There’s a sale at the mall that is only good for the first hour.
Come o-o-o-o-n.”
I temporarily postpone the head hunt and get dressed to placate her. I know she is nervous about the first day of school and wants to find just the right thing to wear.
Brushing my hair, I feel a snag, and poke around with my fingers again. Ah-ha! I grasp with fingernails and tug. Then tug harder. Release! I lower my hand to see a fat, wriggling tick.
(A moment for all you city folk to go “ewwww!” Out here on the farm, it is commonplace, and one of those things you just get used to after a while. Did I mention how much I dislike bugs?)
“M-ahhhhh-m. Come on, I want to oh my God you’re bleeding!”
Indeed.
Dislodging a tick that has sucked all of the blood in your head to the surface to gorge on, causes quite a gusher.
Especially with blond hair.
I looked like an extra in a Wes Craven movie.
Still holding the tick firmly between my fingernails, I turned on the hot water spigot full volume.
(I can just hear my karma bucket emptying).
Down the drain it went, a steamy trip to the septic tank. There is probably a mutant batch of bugs living in there, plotting to take over the world.
Meanwhile Daughter had gone to the medicine cabinet and retrieved gauze. I have a vision of us marching into the mall looking like Revolutionary War soldiers, with her playing her flute and me with my head swathed in bandages, determined not to shoot the credit card out of my purse until we saw the whites of the sale tags.
Fortunately, I am a quick clotter, and soon the spot was daubed and dried.
We were determined to proceed, succeed and not bleed.
Daughter is now also shorn, her hair cropped in a snappy new ‘do, and we found a spectacular outfit.
I mailed out many packages, answered questions, and sent out notices.
Tomorrow a new day dawns.
Please Lord, let it be bug-free.
