My Internally Grateful Organs

I haven’t got anything against my brain (who insists on calling itself, Peanuts, btw).  It’s just that when Peanuts tries to take over for me, it sometimes gets ahead of itself and does the dumbest things.

Yesterday, I attempted to write an essay about how comical it was that my crooked tooth is now the new beauty trend in Japan.  Japanese women are paying for crooked teeth to make themselves appear more approachable.

I know it’s funny, right?  And since I have a this humorous crooked tooth that sticks out in front, I thought it would make a hilarious essay!

Little did I know that my brain, Peanuts, unbeknownst to me, didn’t think it was funny at all because when I went to edit the crooked-tooth essay  this morning, Peanuts hit the “trash” button instead of the “edit” button before I even realized what was going on!

Oh I get it!  Obviously, Peanuts feels a little self-conscious about the whole subject of “our” crooked tooth  Well, who knew?

So then I thought, well if my brain, Peanuts, feels that way about “our” crooked tooth, how do my other organs feel about it?  So I decided to survey my organs.

My Heart

As for my heart liking my crooked-t00th essay, well it feels like my heart didn’t like the fact that I was pointing out “our” flaws to the world. But it tends to be a softy so I can’t really take its opinion all that seriously.

My Spleen

Frankly, I have no idea what my spleen’s opinion is about the crooked tooth essay, but does it really matter what a spleen thinks?  I mean, sure, the spleen is in there chuggin’ away day after day, but don’t you get the feeling it’s just performing busy work?  If my spleen went away tomorrow, I doubt I’d even notice. No offense to my spleen, of course.

My Stomach

Oddly — even though my stomach is the most demanding organ in my body — it could care less about my crooked tooth. But it’s a self-centered little thing that just sits there waiting for the world to come to it.  In fact, sometimes my stomach makes me sick.

My Liver

My liver doesn’t have time to even have an opinion about anything as it’s been backed up with work since the 70’s and I hate to bother it with trivial matters.

My Kidneys

Well, they’re just a couple of snooty twins who think they’re god’s gift just because they are always in such high demand transplant-wise.  I’m sure they disapprove of my poking fun at any parts of the body that they are affiliated with. I have a good mind to tell them they’re just a couple of glorified garbage sifters, and knock them off their high horses!

My Appendix

My poor pathetic appendix.  How can you have any respect for the opinion of an organ whose sole purpose is to sit there and be quiet in case anybody wants to remove it.    I assure you,  if I could think of some way to boost the self-esteem of my appendix, I would.  But until people start needing appendix transplants, my lowly appendix’s opinion about anything is totally inconsequential — sorry to say.

In Conclusion

I’d have to say that perhaps my brain, Peanuts, isn’t so dumb.  After taking the above survey, it seems Peanuts threw itself over a grenade in the form of a crooked-tooth essay that would have done serious damage to the self-esteem of most of my internal organs had it been published.

It’s funny the way life turns out sometimes.  Isn’t it?

Until next time . . . I love you

The Clerk That Kind of Hates You

I was at the self-check register at the grocery store when something went wrong and the screen told me to ask for assistance.

I looked over at the clerk whose sole job it is to stand there and help people.  She was about ten feet away from me so I just looked at her — trying to catch her eye.   But she wouldn’t look at me.

So I said, “Excuse me can you help me?”  But instead of responding, she picked up the phone and busied herself looking busy. (I swear she was pretending to talk!)

Excuse me? Can I get some help over here?

No response.

Excuse me?

I’ll be there in a minute!

OK.   So she leaves me standing there within an inch of my patience and finally when she can’t think of any other way she can stall, she saunters over.

What’s the problem?

The scanner doesn’t recognize these bananas.  What am I doing wrong here?

(I sincerely want to know the answer to this question because I don’t ever want to do it again so I won’t have to stand there trying to get her attention and looking and feeling like a jack ass.)

“Well, there are several things you’re doing wrong, that depends.” She says this implying with her tone that it’s WAY too complicated for my little pea brain to comprehend, and she doesn’t have time to give me the complicated particulars which I probably wouldn’t understand  anyway — so she takes out here special key and fixes it and walks away.

And there you have it.  I’ve just been flamed by The Clerk Who Kind of Hates You.

Oh they make me so mad! Yet I have never developed a strategy for how to deal with them.  I’ll leave the store fuming and saying to myself I’ll never shop there again but, in the end, I don’t want to drive miles out of my way so, of course, I keep coming back.

On the plus side, I have developed a good comeback for the administrative type of The Clerk Who Kind of Hates You.

The ones who usually sit behind a window of some kind.  You know the type of clerk I mean, the one who when asked a question has this curt, pat answer:

“Well it’s all in the instructions online.   Didn’t you read the instructions online?”

To which I proudly respond:

Yes I read them but I didn’t memorize them! 

Isn’t that the greatest comeback ever, Dear Reader?   I just love it and actually get to use it a couple of times a year.  And I have never, ever had a clerk one-up me on it.

Sometimes the littlest things bring the biggest rewards!

Until next time  . . . I love you

My Butler’s Toupee or Dreaming of Hotsy Totsy Land

The view from my Morning Room.

This, Dear Reader,  is the view from my Morning Room.

Ok, I don’t really have a Morning Room, as such, it’s actually just a fancy way of saying a chair by the window in the bedroom.

But I like to refer to it as my Morning Room whenever I am giving instructions to my Butler.

Ok, I don’t really have a Butler, as such, it’s just a fancy way of referring to my little dog who looks like a really bad toupee that a Butler might wear.

Picture of a yorkshire terrier
My Butler's Toupee

So this morning, Dear Reader, whist sitting in my Morning Room admiring the view, I soon found myself ringing for the Butler with the Butler Bell.  Which is to say,  I called at the very tip-top of my very best lung,

“Here Chancey!  Here Chancy!”

. . . because what I refer to as my Butler’s Bell isn’t really a Butler’s Bell, as such, but just a fancy way of saying ‘calling the dog’.

To which my Butler responded by running over and jumping onto my lap —  or at least his toupee did.

Twas shortly after that,  I instructed my Lady-in-Waiting to bring my breakfast to the Morning Room for my Butler and I — that we might dine whilst partaking of the View of the Estate from the Window of the Morning Room,

Ok, it isn’t really an Estate, as such, it’s just a fancy way of saying ‘tree’.  But a pretty one it is.  I would even go so far as to say that my Butler’s Toupee and I think it very grand indeed!

But alas, all good things must come to an end.

It seems my Lady-in-Waiting refused to serve us our breakfast due to the fact that she isn’t really a Lady-in-Waiting, as such, but just a fancy way in which I sometimes refer to myself.

And I never make breakfast.


Until next time . . . I love you

How to tell if you’ve got what it takes to be a Wall Street Protester

Stupid Fat Guy Protesting

Your soulful version of Nobody Knows The Trouble I’ve Seen will sound really rad utilizing  jail cell acoustics.

You’re girlfriend is cute enough to get you a ride from the west coast to the east coast like that!

You’re pretty sure you know the difference between a wall and a street, but you plan on boning up the night before.

You, personally,  put the TWIT in Twitter.

You never let the fact that you’re not exactly sure what’s going on get in the way of your passion!

Nobody jumps over barriers, pushes police or blocks traffic like you do. Nobody!

You never pass up an opportunity to get your face painted for reals.

What protest? You’re just waiting for Country Joe and the Fish to show.

And, finally,  you’ve definitely got what it takes to be a Wall Street Protester if . . .

You’ve always been angry that the Wall Street moguls have been bleeding your parents pocketbooks dry for 25 years but NOW it’s starting to affect your allowance!

Death Be Not Nice

"You wouldn't happen to know the time, would you?"

In ten years I’ll be pushing 70, and when I say pushing 70 — I mean all 70 has to do is step a little to the side and I’m over the edge.

Sometimes it feels like Father Time is stalking me.

I mean, when you think about how old you will be  ten years from this very day, well, it’s downright shocking, depressing and/or scary!  It makes you feel like you want to get a move on. 

 And I’m all for things that make me want to get a move on because I secretly suspect my default button is set on “lazy” or at the very least “putter”.

Frankly, you’d be shocked to know how much time I’ve spent over the course of my life just milling around.

Of course, I’ve always felt I was accomplishing something, but when I actually look back on it;- what?

Luckily, I’ve got my brain, Peanuts, to blame everything on which is a great comfort to me.  I’m not the lazy one, Peanuts is by gum!

Still I’m not really working very hard on my biggest goal which is to write a book.

You see, sometimes my brain, Peanuts, bubbles over like a pot with too much macaroni left on high.  Peanuts is trying its darndest to cook something up, but the results are often questionable and somewhat messy.

Case in point, I once wrote ten chapters into a murder mystery entitled Book Clubbed to Death, but when I took it to a writer’s group and read an excerpt from it, the writing instructor asked for a display of hands on how many people thought it sucked — and almost everyone raised their hands.

I made a promise to myself right  and there, that if I ever wrote another murder mystery that particular instructor was going to be the murder victim.

So on that happy note, dear reader, I am now going to go takes some vitamins, check on my maccaroni, and then get busy writing that murder mystery.  I’ve already got the title:

Who  Stabbed the Writing Instructor? (and then poisoned him and electrocuted him) 


 Linda Vernon

Until next time . . . I love you

My Brain Peanuts Turns Pro

Hello my fine feathery friends!  It’s been a very busy day here at the blog.  I’ve hardly had time to turn on my computer let alone type a complete word.  But that’s the way it goes in the terrifically, fast-paced life of a  Full-time Professional Bloggist® such as myself.

Finger of a Full-time Professional Bloggist® such as myself as represented by a finger model.

Things are moving so quickly here at the blog that the Full Time Professional Blog Hubbub® is deafening, blinding and crippling!

Which makes it hard to hear, see and type.   But that will never stop me, dear reader.

For rest assured I shall never let my courage fail me. I shall get this blog into your eyes before the morrow or I shall die trying — for I am a Full-time Professional Bloggist®.

Just take a look at my to-do list and tell me the life of a Full-time Professional Bloggist® such as myself isn’t important and somewhat adorable. 

5:00 am  to 6:00 am:  Lie in bed and decide whether or not the new words and phrases my brain, Peanuts, dreamed last night are worth getting out of bed to write down.

6:01 am to 7:45 a.m:  Wander around house in pajamas looking for a pencil and paper.

7:45 am to 7:46 am:   Write down  “plep” and “I love you Hearth Burl.” and silently thank Peanuts.

7:46 am. to 9:30 am:  Resume lying in bed strategizing how to incorporate “plep” and “I love you Hearth Burl” into  blog.

9:30am to 11:30 am:  Prepare to write blog by pensively staring out window pensively.

11:30 am to 4:45 pm:   Lunch

4:46 pm – 8:20 pm:  Supper

8:20 pm to 8:30 pm:  Finally experience a creative  breakthrough by thinking up an ingenious method for incorporating “plep” and “I love you Hearth Burl” into the following sentence:

“I love you Hearth Burl,” said Plep.

8:30 pm to 8:31 pm:  Post on blog.

 8:31 pm to 9:30 am:  Put Peanuts to work thinking up new words for tomorrow’s blog post by going back to bed.

And there you have it, dear reader.  The important and somewhat adorable, fast-paced  life of a Full-time Professional Bloggist® such as myself.

Until next time . . . I love you