September 29, 2005

KIDS - GOTTA LOVE ‘EM

A kindergarten pupil told his teacher he’d found a cat, but it was dead. “How do you know that the cat was dead?” she asked her pupil.
“Because I pissed in its ear and it didn’t move,” answered the child innocently.
“You did WHAT ? ! ?” the teacher exclaimed in surprise.
“You know,” explained the boy, “I leaned over and went ‘Pssst!’ and it didn’t move.”

***

One summer evening during a violent thunderstorm a mother was tucking her son into bed. She was about to turn off the light when he asked with a tremor in his voice, “Mommy, will you sleep with me tonight?”

The mother smiled and gave him a reassuring hug. “I can’t dear,” she said.
“I have to sleep in Daddy’s room.”
A long silence was broken at last by his shaky little voice: “The big sissy.”

***

It was that time, during the Sunday morning service, for the children’s sermon. All the children were invited to come forward. One little girl was wearing a particularly pretty dress and as she sat down, the pastor leaned over and said, “That is a very pretty dress. Is it your Easter Dress?”

The little girl replied, directly into the pastor’s clip-on microphone, “Yes, and my Mom says it’s a bitch to iron.”

***

When I was six months pregnant with my third child, my three-year-old came into the room when I was just getting ready to get into the shower.

She said, “Mommy, you are getting fat!”
I replied, “Yes, honey, remember Mommy has a baby growing in her tummy.”
“I know,” she replied, “but what’s growing in your butt?”

***

One day the first grade teacher was reading the story of Chicken Little to her class. She came to the part of the story where Chicken Little tried to warn the farmer. She read, “…. and so Chicken Little went up to the farmer and said, “The sky is falling, the sky is falling!”

The teacher paused then asked the class, “And what do you think that farmer said?”
One little girl raised her hand and said, “I think he said: ‘Holy Shit! A talking chicken!’ ”

***

A certain little girl, when asked her name, would reply, “I’m Mr. Sugarbrown’s daughter.”
Her mother told her this was wrong, she must say, “I’m Jane Sugarbrown.”
The Vicar spoke to her in Sunday School, and said, “Aren’t you Mr. Sugarbrown’s daughter?”
She replied, “I thought I was, but mother says I’m not.”

***

A little girl asked her mother, “Can I go outside and play with the boys?”

Her mother replied, “No, you can’t play with the boys, they’re too rough.”
The little girl thought about it for a few moments and asked, “If I can find a smooth one, can I play with him?”

***

A little girl goes to the barber shop with her father. She stands next to the barber chair, while her dad gets his hair cut, eating a snack cake.

The barber says to her, “Sweetheart, you’re gonna get hair on your Twinkie.”
She says, “Yes, I know, and I’m gonna get boobs too.”

Categories: Jokes

September 27, 2005

Story Time

there was a boy who had a

cat named Brownie.

Brownie is a happy cat.

They live on a pumpkin farm.

There are lots of other cats to play with.

But Brownie likes to play with the boy.

One day, the boy went to play with his people friends.

He took his very big dancing pad with him.

He put it in the trunk of the car and went back in his house for a game

to play with his very big dance pad.

He went back outside and slammed the trunk shut.

Then he drove away.

He had traveled through the woods only a little ways, when he heard a noise.

“What could that be?” he wondered.

He drove back through the woods to his house.

He opened the trunk of the car.

Brownie was on his dance pad.

But Brownie was not dancing.

Brownie was not happy.

Brownie leapt out of the trunk onto the boy and held on tightly.

The boy came inside his house and made his mommy laugh.

He was wearing a cat.

His mommy is still laughing, and had to tell all of her friends.

Categories: Family, Humor

September 22, 2005

Hewwo fwiends,

Sowwy fo not whiting. Hab had bad toofache, had to hab it pulled. Oww.

((Pulling myself together enough to speak properly for a moment.}}

I am too sore and drugged up to relate the experience so I am posting a story I wrote a back in October 2002, the last time I had a tooth pulled, as this experience was nearly identical. Enjoy.

- - - - -
The tooth pain has been increasing for several days. Unfortunately, we only have one car right now, and I had already told Daughter that I would drive Husband in to work, so I would have the car to pick her up after school. I was to take her to a friend’s Halloween costume party that evening.

As soon as the office opened, I called the dentist to see if I could get an emergency appointment. They said they could work me in, but 11:30 was the only time. Husband usually leaves between 1 and 1:30 to drive to work, so I knew that would be cutting it close, but I didn’t care - my jaw was swollen up like a peach.

Examination, x-rays, explanation of abscess and required removal, then they started shooting in the novocaine.

Shoot….wait…poke with sharp dental tool while asking, “Can you feel this?” I mutter “yeth.” Shoot it again…repeat. Repeat FIVE times! Dentist says that due to the infection the novocaine is less effective, because it becomes diluted in the fluid (I won’t say “pus” that’s just so gross LOL).

At last all pokey tool jabs result in no feeling, and he begins.

Gets out a pair of pliers that could pull the Titanic out of the iceberg. Yanks firmly with one hand. Nothing happens. Yanks firmly with two hands. I think eventually he had his foot on the chair and a pulley hooked up to a truck outside, and with a mighty yank, pulled it out. Except for the root.

Ah yes, I have deep roots, apparently attached to my pelvis. It broke off. Sounded like a large tree snapping in a hurricane. I heard an audible moan from the dentist and assistant. I had visions of Husband growing a long white beard waiting in the parking lot, and Daughter graduating…..college. I knew we were gonna be here a while. It required (close your eyes if you are squeamish) something more akin to oral surgery than a simple extraction, as now the dentist had to dig and slice his way down to the broken off nub, then cut himself a wide enough swath to grab it for removal. This, of course, required even more novocaine.

The taste of blood filled my head, and the assistant was franticly trying to use the little sucker-straw fast enough to keep up. At last, the nub was removed; he applied enough gauze to cover the entire state (a la Cristo, the fabric-draping artist), and sent me on my merry way.

It was nearly 2PM. We drove to his office, and about halfway there, the novocaine began to spread throughout my face. I was the bo-tox poster child, no wrinkles at all. Unfortunately, I couldn’t blink my left eye. It was open, and I could see, except for the watering, but I could NOT blink. It was the damndest thing.

What a sight I was! Five pounds of gauze, now quite red and oozing, stuffed in my mouth, but also partially hanging out the left side, since I’d lost all control and couldn’t close my lips, unblinking left eye, tongue hanging out to the right, displaced by the massive gauze pack. By the time we reached Husband’s office, he was a little late, but one look at me and I could tell he was torn between empathy and uncontrollable laughter, so he (wisely) said nothing, and left me to drive the 55 miles back to Daughter’s school.

Drove at warp speed. Between the drugs, the watery eye, the pain and the rate of motion, looking out the windshield was akin to the scene in Star Wars where all the stars turn into little streaks of light.

Picked Daughter up, who shuddered at the sight of me. Drove her to the store to get a new pair of tights, since her pre-party try-on of the costume had ripped the original pair we purchased, and to fill the prescriptions from the dentist. Even the hardened eyes of the pharmacy clerks widened at the sight of us. . . Daughter, having changed into her costume (sans tights) and me - a mess. The elderly crowd, waiting for their flu shots, parted like the Red Sea at the sight of the swollen, oozing, unblinking creature (accompanied by a butterfly fairy wearing three-foot sequined wings), before them. (I suspect some of them reconsidered what medications THEY were on LOL)

Unable to speak, I had to hold out my driver’s license and the dentist’s card and motion to them what my intent was. Fortunately they didn’t think it was a hold-up, and rapidly filled my prescription.

I started the antibiotics, but held off taking any Vicaden since it warns against driving, and by the time I had to go pick up Husband, all of the wondrous novocaine was worn off. I could blink again, but it was painful to do so. I begged him to get us home to my awaiting drug stupor, mostly using sign language and grunts.

At last we arrived, and I started taking the pain medication, which I have taken regularly ever since. God bless the inventor of Vicaden.

Categories: Humor

September 14, 2005

For Whom the Cell Tolls

Don’t it always seem to go, that you don’t know what you’ve got ’till it’s gone…

Boy, ain’t that the truth.

Middle Son and I have been sharing my cell phone for some time now, with the understanding that if he ever damaged or destroyed it while it was in his custody, he would be responsible for replacing it.

Of course he willingly agreed to this because he is a teenager and considers himself and everything in his possession to be indestructible - LOL

Such is not the case.

Last week, while said phone was in said son’s trusteeship, (gawd bless Thesaurus LOL) he had a lil’ boo-boo. At some point in his adventures, he and said phone did meet heretofore unmentioned hard surface (possibly floor, driveway or bowling alley lane, (said son’s memory is weak on this particular detail), shattering said phone into said broken mess.

A replacement as per said agreement was then in order. More was said, but is unprintable LOL

“Replacement” sounds so simple.

I snort huffily at “simple”.

“Simple” implies going to a nearby retail outlet, handing over the broken phone, and getting a new one handed to oneself with a cheery smile.

At least we eventually got the cheery smile. {{Waves to most-magnificent “L”, the superior customer service representative who handled our incredibly complex procedure.}}

My first recourse had been to contact Eldest Son, the purveyor of fine electronic products at reasonable prices, who had handled our initial purchase and contract for cellular service.

Sadly, he is unable to offer assistance, as merger of Husband’s telecommunications company (and employer) with another telecommunications company, has throw all of the old rules up in the air like so much confetti.

Representatives at telecom company expressed their regret and sympathy that Eldest Son was no longer able handle such procedures, they must be transacted at the mothership…errr…World Headquarters, which is approximately the same distance from our home as Brazil.

So for several days, until jaunt could be arranged. I was cell-less.

I hadn’t realized my addiction to it, until it wasn’t there.

I missed it. I longed for it. I held its broken parts in my hands and cursed Fate (and in very bad-mommy fashion, the perpetrator).

At last we sallied forth and traveled to the holy land (World Headquarters). We explained the situation, with said boy and his soon-to-be-depleted savings in tow.

The procedure was complex. Husband’s phone would become my phone, he and son would get new phones. My old number would activate to husband’s old phone, husband’s old number would activate to his new phone, and son would get new phone and number. Old/broken phone contacts would be transferred, switched and given liposuction in an extreme makeover that would bedevil the gods.

Throughout it all, most-magnificent “L” was cheerful and efficient. She managed the confusing maze of changes, upgrades, rebates, transfers and purchases with such aplomb as to make mortal men weep. She smiled encouragingly, and gently accepted the payment from the trembling fingers of Middle Son, who loves the feel of cash in his hands only slightly less than life itself.

He is recovering nicely though, as the joy of having his own phone to have and to hold (and to text message his friends) increases, shoving the painful memory of the cash transaction into a dimly-lit memory spot, much the way mothers do with childbirth.

And I have a phonie all my ownie now too.

Ah, the simple pleasures.

Categories: Family, Humor

September 11, 2005

We Remember

Anyone who wishes may use this image with my blessing.

Update Monday morning 7 AM
Spent Saturday helping friend get stuff ready to send to hurricane-ravaged areas,
am exhausted LOL
You can see what we did, on her website at:
http://www.digitaldoorway.net/2ndchancebooks/kcmetro-sends-aid.html

Categories: Special Days, Charity

Next Page »