Good news! I finally found out why the chicken crossed the road but I’ll tell you later.
I went grocery shopping yesterday to pick up a few items.
I didn’t have a list. I haven’t made a grocery list for 30 years. I used to religiously make a list when I first started out my career as a semi-professional food gatherer, but then one day, I overheard a mom say she never made a list, just went to the store and winged it using nothing but her ordinary, everyday memory.
Never made a grocery list?
Could it actually be possible to go to the grocery store and not make a list and still come home with everything one needed? This was a revelation! I don’t remember the lady’s name who uttered these words that changed my life (a tiny bit), but I do remember her daughter’s name was Astrid. I volunteered that year to help out in the kindergarten gym class. And I’ll tell you what; it was well worth the two-hour weekly commitment just to hear the gym teacher call her Asteroid.
Anyway, I never made a list again which explains why I currently have four cartons of eggs in my refrigerator for just the two of us.
You see, one of the downsides of not making a list is buying too much of one thing. Peanuts, my brain, gets fixated on a certain food stuff and every time we go to the store, Peanuts reminds me that we need it. Currently Peanut is on an egg kick.
Peanuts is quite convincing, I must say. After much bandying about, a decision is finally made that it’s better to err on the side of too many eggs than not enough.
Awhile back, Peanuts was on a salt fixation. Suffice it to say, we now have enough salt to last until Armageddon.
But getting back to why the chicken crossed the road, have you noticed what’s going on with eggs lately?
It’s like the Ritz Carlton competing with The Four Seasons. Egg brands are making bigger and better claims about how wonderfully their hens are being treated as they go about the business of laying those eggs.
Case in point:
Emma’s Comfort Coup is the less expensive brand. “Our hens live in more spacious accommodations” is their motto. They’re not actually letting the hens out of their cages, sure, but they are giving them a king-sized nest with a roomy sitting area, their own bathroom, no doubt, and breathtaking vista of the other coups, plus room service for every meal, I’ll bet. So these hens are doing alright. Oh, and they have an official looking seal that says they are American Humane Certified –which actually means a lot to me considering I don’t actually know what it means.
Ok, but Emma’s little Comfort Coop operation is the slums compared to these guys:
In the world of chickens, these are the lucky ducks!
Cages? Forget about it. These hens don’t need no stinkin’ cages because the whole world is their stinkin’ cage. Sure these eggs are going to cost you a little more but that’s because Egg Lands Best Luxury Hotel and Spa offers their chicken clientele the run of the entire poultry estate. And what an estate it is. Swimming pools! Movie stars! They are running free in the sunshine; a gentle breeze blowing softly through their fine feathered faces! Here there are no worries. The chickens that live and lay here have obviously done something right in a previous life.
Plus, these hens of the upper echelons are vegetarian fed. No grinding up of things that aren’t vegetables for them. No siree! They’ll get some form of vegetables or they’ll get nothing at all.
All that is required of these birds is that they lay and lay around!
So why did the chicken cross the road? Why to get to the better accommodations of course!
If behavioral scientists haven’t concluded that one’s personal success in life is directly linked to one’s ability to fake laugh, they should.
While I don’t pretend to call myself a behavioral scientist (except at high school reunions), I must admit that I am a rather poor joke teller and consequently have been on the receiving end of many a fake laugh.
Recognizing Fake Laughter a Mile Away
As a result, I have come to know simulated laughter as well as I have come to know the back of my hand or the bottom of my foot (thought not quite as much).
For your fake laughing convenience, I have compiled a list of the different types of fake laughs that you might want to consider incorporating into your public persona.
The Machine Gun Kelly Ann
This phony guffaw requires the laugher attempt a series of short, rapid-fire vocal releases pitched well above middle C — but not so high as to break an eardrum, glassware or into a sweat. This particular form of fake laughing has been elevated to an art form by the girlfriends of both Hugh Hefner and Donald Trump which would explain why Hugh Hefner is deaf and Donald Trump wishes he was.
Machine Gun Kelly Ann
The Waiting to Exhale
This is one of the more popular fake laughs as it is easily performed without having to come to a full smile. The laugher simply inhales a huge breath and slowly releases it while making the sound of an excited chimpanzee. Volume is used as a sliding scale of appreciation, but volume is a matter of feel and cannot really be taught. You’ll just have to play around with it on people who aren’t very funny until you get the hang of it.
Fake Laugher attempting the tricky “Waiting to Exhale”
The Sound of Silence
This is basically just the act of pantomiming laughter and is the most relaxing of all the fake laughs because you don’t have to come up with any noises (wheezing is optional). But in order to be convincing, it’s a good idea to bare all the teeth while slightly shaking the shoulders. Be sure to place one or both hands on the abdomen. This laugh is highly recommended for burning off cheesecake.
Fake laugher laughing AND burning off cheesecake!
The That’s Hilarious!
This laugh is reserved for the truly lazy among us who have no discernible sense of humor. All that is required is a deadpan expression while saying the words “that’s hilarious.” This is the most economical of fake laughs as it requires the least amount of energy. It is especially prized by those who haven’t listened to a work you just said.
“That’s Hilarious!”
The Combination
This should be reserved for people who you would dearly love to please, such as your neighborhood used car salesman or the Pope. Once you are told why the chicken crossed the road, you should be ready with a Machine-Gun-Kelly-Ann- followed by a Sound- of- Silence Chuckler and winding up with a “That’s Hilarious” thrown in at the end. If that doesn’t get you into the Pearly Gates, well . . . how would you feel about 10 percent below Blue Book?
“How would you feel about 10% off Blue Book my son?”
I drove through MacDonald’s yesterday to buy lunch and take it over to my daughter Nikki and her husband, Matt. I was the one who suggested Macdonald’s for lunch having completely forgotten how much food Matt, being a 21-year-old guy, is likely to consume at any given drive-thru.
And even though Matt is as slim as the Pink Panther, he is 6′ 4″ and he is a chip off the old block when it comes to having a big appetite — which apparently runs in his family.
Penchant for Pancakes
The legend goes that his father once set the establishment record for eating the most pancakes in a single sitting in a Canadian eatery while on a road trip. This story is even more impressive when you take into account that “Pancake Dan” wasn’t even aware he was competing. He was just hungry.
An Invitation to Murder
Anyway, once the order was filled and sitting on the front seat of my car, I got a little apprehensive. And the thought crossed my mind that all that delicious MacDonald-ness wafting from the window of my car was an invitation to murder.
Serial Smeller Killer
I began to think that if a serial killer were to walk by at that exact moment and smell the irresistible aroma of $5000 worth of Chicken Selects coming from the front seat of my car — which was being guarded only by defenseless little ol’ me — what’s to stop him from whacking me over the head with the nearest sack of Big Macs and absconding with the goods?
Sure I might not actually die from that kind of head trauma, but that doesn’t mean he wasn’t trying to kill me.
Panick Attack on Deck
As I was waiting to pull out onto the street, I could feel the hairs on the back on my neck spell out “sitting duck!” and I was just beginning to begin to panick when finally I arrived at Nikki and Matt’s.
As we were eating, Nikki remarked how the Chicken Selects were “to die for.”
And all I could think was “How right you are, dear Nikki, how right you are.
In 1956 Betty Crocker Cookbooks not only cared deeply about 1956 Mom’s cooking; they cared deeply about her life. As proof, here’s some hints from the “Special Helps” section.
Let’s start with this little gem of a helpful hint:
Apparently in 1956, it was perfectly acceptable for Mom to lie down on the kitchen floor to relax and/or fall asleep for as long as 3 to 5 minutes without anyone thinking she was completely out of her gourd.It’s not clear if this odd form of “relaxation” was reserved only for the kitchen floor or if one might come across 1956 Mom relaxing on, say, the floor of the Post Office or while waiting in line at the bank.But a wise 1956 Mom would have kept this handy little tip bookmarked should she ever need to explain to dinner guests why they found her lying down on the kitchen floor after sampling, god forbid, one too many Brandy Alexanders.
1956 Mom gets all her thoughts from Betty Crocker!
Not only does Betty Crocker want 1956 Mom to harbor pleasant thoughts while scrubbing the kitchen floor so clean she’ll be able to lie down on it for 3 to 5 minutes, she is even giving 1956 Mom some suggestions about what these thoughts might be.Such as relaxing on a tropical island for instance. Or dancing one-legged with a guy whose center of gravity is somewhere around his knees.Or maybe 1956 Mom could distract herself from her work by thinking about a sailboat with a dangerous starboard list that perhaps the guy with the low center of gravity just happens to be sailing on.But chances are what 1956 Mom thought was the pleasantest of all these suggestions was thinking about her husband holding her golf bag waist-high for her while she leisurely takes thousands and thousands and thousands of practice swings.
If only 1956 Mom could find a kitten in a tree . . . it would be hilarious!
This tip is a little more tricky, however. Betty Crocker is only suggesting 1956 Mom find a kitten in a tree so that 1956 Mom will have something — anything totalk about — besides relaxing on the kitchen floor and thinking about cookbook-suggested topics.This is just a suggestion because searching for a kitten could be dangerous to 1956 Mom’s health. Obviously, it took 1956 Mom hours and hours of uninterrupted hiking to happen upon a kitten in a tree.Which means by the time 1956 Mom found the kitten in the tree, she was horribly emaciated and her waist had dwindled from its normal circumference of 7 inches to a measly 5 and 3/4 inches.Of course, maybe it was well worth it because, in the end, 1956 Mom did have a wonderful story in her brain about finding a kitten in a tree to tell to her family at dinnertime and — when the time was right — she managed to tell her story with good humor and aplomb.It was a story that her family would have found uproariously funny too had they not already left the room.
No we are not strapping him into the electric chair, he's getting his first haircut!
First the Good News!
My grandson, Mr. Clayton D. Kaiser, got his first haircut yesterday and everything came off just as it was supposed to except for one minor incident hardly worth mentioning. But more about that later.
The Hair Cut
It only took three of us to hold him down (he being the ticklish type) but we are happy to report that not only does his haircut look fabulous, he also managed to retain both ears in the process — and, except for one slight nick in the back, looks downright dapper!
Even though you can't see them in this picture, his ears are still there . . . I think.
Unfortunately, there was one teensy-weensy complication during the course of “The Haircut”
It was an incident involving a little dog who happens to belong to the Kaiser Family. A little dog who seems lovable enough outwardly, but who, it turns out, has the heart and soul of a Radical!
Voted Most Adorable Terrorist Alive!Apparently, Trudy — left to ponder the meaning of life while all alone in a big back yard — took it upon herself to finally show some initiative and dig her way to freedom whereupon she began “terrorizing the neighborhood.”
That’s the way the landlady described it anyway in an emergency phone call during “the Haircut.”
The landlady wanted us to return to home base immediately and “DO SOMETHING!”
Talk about a Captain Kirk Decision-Making Moment!
A dilemma of epic proportions had presented itself:
Finish the haircut? Or stop mid-cut and rush home to save the neighbors?
In the end, we opted to continue with the haircut — but implored the hairstylist, Christine, to utilize the photon-torpedo scissors and go at it at warp speed!
Take us Home Scotty!
When we returned home, Trudy was back in her proper area, all the neighbors had returned to their living quarters and the Landlady, who lives across the way, was nowhere to be found.
And although there were no signs of violence or blood or anything like that, god only knows the toll that Trudy inflicted on the psyche of the entire neighborhood.
But hey! Mr. Clayton D. Kaiser’s hair looks GREAT, so who cares!
Until next time . . . I love you
Get your grandbaby a onesie that says: “Some things money can’t buy, for every thing else. . . Grandma” Get it here:
I check Facebook occasionally just to see if one of my friends got married or is in jail or got married in jail.
But now that I have access to everyone I’ve ever known in my entire life — real or imaged — via Facebook; I’m just not that big on communicating.
It’s not that I don’t love my friends, but now that I can finally contact anybody in the world anytime I want for free, the thrill is gone.
It’s like when you have a few extra dollars laying around (like maybe you robbed a 7-11 or something)
And you think, well, I should buy something with this money since I already paid the electricity bill. So you decide to go shopping for a new outfit. But unfortunately, every single thing in every single store is gut-wrenchingly hideous. And then when you DON’T have any money, everything is SUPER DUPER TERRIFIC!
The same is true about communicating with one’s friends on Facebook for free.
Back in the day when I was cooped up at home with three little kids under foot, my greatest joy in the world was to chat for hours to my best friend in another state, long distance to the tune of $.17 a minute.
Oh how the hours flew by! Never at a loss for words was I!
"What's that? You want to read me War and Peace? Sure, I've got time!"
Then Facebook came along making communicating with one’s out-of-state friends totally free.
All we have to do now is sign onto Facebook for 20 seconds and PRESTO! We’re completely updated in the minutest details of our every waking moments from soup to nuts including the soup we ate for lunch and the amount of nuts our husbands are driving us.
Frankly, the thrill is gone.
Conversation was just so much more exciting when it was costing us $.17 a minute.
So let’s make a pact everybody. Let’s put the pizzaz back into conversation, shall we? Let’s only update our Facebook accounts when something really impressive happens.
Like if one of us gets married (to somebody different from who we are already married to) or if one of us goes to jail, or one of us gets married in jail.
Linda Vernon Humor 