Signs Your Body Has Been Taken Over by an Alien

Well it’s re-run Friday again.  And I know if you’re anything like me, you don’t like to head into the weekend not knowing whether or not your body has been taken over by an alien.  So here are the signs:

You don’t get why you can’t order Panda at Panda Express.

You often sink into a depression over having just the one head.

Oh sure you’re a cat lover, but only because they drink their milk out of  s a u c e r s .

While everybody else is drinking Margaritas, you’re drinking Margarita.

“Wait . . where’s Margarita?”

When you introduce yourself to others, you feel compelled to add that you’re “just your typical human being.”

You can’t believe you went so long never realizing how superfluous pupils were.

When nobody’s looking you turn into a writhing platter of arroz con pollo.


You’re worried about how much longer you’ll get away with passing off the suction cup on forehead as a high-definition tattoo.

You’ve got your own way of describing the face on Mars:  MOMMY!

And the number one way to tell if your body has been taken over by an alien?

Your blood sugar plummets if you go too long without eating a puppy.

“Mmmmmmm . . . .PUPPY!”
Until next time . . . I love you

Just a quick note to all my Wonderful Blogging Buddies:

I just want to say that I have met the most wonderful people since I started blogging and thanks to all of you, my life has been greatly enriched!  I love reading your blogs!


I got tagged!  I got awarded! I got milk! (Ok, I didn’t get milk!) And I want to thank you all!  I am honored and touched (in the heart as well as in the head) that you have taken the time to nominate this blog.  Your support inspires me greatly!
So thank you so much:
Until next time . . . I love you

I Can’t Explain It . . . There’s Just Something About Uranus!

It’s nice to be mature or so I’m told. Now that I am nearly old enough to collect Social Security (so I can finally be more secure socially),  and now that I am a Grandmother, and now that  AARP is positively drooling every time I walk by, well I’m pretty much hot stuff in the fast-paced world of Aging Boomerism.

That is why, Dear Readers,  I am  delighted to be nominated for an award so infantile, so juvenile, so puerile, so River Nile, that I couldn’t be more pleased if God, himself, had instructed Moses to part the Red Sea and let me hunt for sea shells for a full five minutes!

"Hey lookee this one! It's not even broken at all!"

I am speaking of course of the most coveted and the most revered award to ever grace  the Blogosphere:

The Award to END All Awards

For this nomination, I thankfully thank Lizzie Cracked (but not broken) over at Running Naked with Scissors who writes a wise, funny and a humongously creative blog about life with Bi-Polar, six kids and one grandson among a host of other eclectic always entertaining topics. 

And now let us proceed to the Nomination Hoops through which one must jump when nominated  for the Glitter E. Yaynus Award!

Name five things that would make people want to kill me:

Lagging at every greenlight for miles trying to find my lip gloss.

 Eating the last  Girl Scout Cookie (OK, make that eating all of the Girl Scout Cookies).

 Meeting up with out-of-town guests, and forgetting my cell phone.

 Talking during the most important part of everything.

 Reading the time wrong on the airplane tickets.

Next: Name five things I would take to Uranus:

(OK, this isn’t the real version. In the real version, you are supposed to name five things you would stick up your ass, if forced. I’m  doing the watered-down, old-lady, granny version because I wouldn’t want to do anything that would jeopardize my membership eligibility for AARP.) So here are the five things I would take to Uranus:

A copy of Pride and Prejudice because a little culture never hurt Uranus.

A herd of elephants because it’s rumored that Uranus is quite spacious.

Martha Stewart in case Uranus needs redecorating.

A pot of gold to place at the end of Uranus in case there’s no rainbows.

A fireworks factory because nothing spices up Uranus like firecrackers and sparklers!

Next: Run across a Freeway Blindfolded.  

Only if the freeway is blindfolded too, let’s make it fair!

Next: Pick a Prom Court:

Ok, what happened here? Things were progressing so logically until the last two questions.  I think the person who thought this up might have a touch of the ADD!  Nevertheless.  I will pick a prom court by passing the nomination on to the following bloggers who I think can really do this Prestigious Award justice and the nominees are:

Lauren’s Crazy Adventure (She’s got a new blog with a fresh perspective!)

Eldon  (A comedy alchemist who turns mascara into black streaks!)

Clipsnark (She’s a funny clip art clipper!)

A Gripping Life (She’s breaking out of her rut in a good way!)

Morristownmemos (She reads Dr. Suess, you’ll like her!)

And please Prom Court/Glitter E Yaynes Nominees,  please do not let the prestige of this award swell your ego  –it might go to Uranus!


Until next time . . . I love you

Guillotines are for Babies!

Imagining George Washington’s Sixth Birthday. 

Happy Birthday Hatchet Pie!

Our story opens when George Washington’s father comes outside and finds that the cherry tree has been chopped down:

What the?  George Washington come here right NOW!

Yes father?

Something tells me you cut down this cherry tree with the hatchet I got you for your birthday today!  I knew you were too young for a hatchet!  I knew I should have gone with your mother’s suggestion and gotten you a guillotine instead.

Father, please . . . I’m six!  All the other children in the township got hatchets when they turned three!  I mean, it’s downright embarrassing how long I had to wait to finally get a hatchet of my very own!  And, besides, everybody knows guillotines are for babies.

Well look what happens.  I finally get you a hatchet, and you haven’t even had it more than an hour and what’s the first thing you do? Cut down my prized cherry tree!

Well, I cannot tell a lie, Father.  It’s not exactly the first thing I cut down.


Well now that you’ve brought it up, and since I cannot tell a lie, this might be as good a time as any to mention that first I cut down the apple tree, then I cut down the apricot tree and, lastly, I cut down the cherry tree — in addition to hacking up a couple of rose bushes.

That does it George, march yourself to the woodshed, I’m giving you a sound whipping’!

Father, as you know, I cannot tell a lie, so this might be as good a time as any to also mention that the woodshed isn’t as much of a woodshed as it used to be . . .

 On no!  Not another “I cannot tell a lie!”

In fact, it would be more accurate, Dear Father, if we were to start thinking of the woodshed in terms of a rather large pile of kindling rather than an  actual building in and of itself.

Nothing like the thrill of killing and eating fruit!

Oh for crying out loud!  Well, I hope you at least saved the fruit so that your mother can bake us some pies . . . George?  You did save the fruit from the trees didn’t you?

Oh that . . . well . . .  I can cannot tell a lie, Father, for I surely would if it would spare you the heartache of telling you that I but finished off the last of fruit only seconds ago.

Ha ha! Well,  you might be the naughtiest boy in the world but at least you’re honest George, my boy!   I have a feeling you are going to grow up to be the very first President of the United States of America!  Now off with you!  Oh . . . and for godsakes don’t forget to brush your teeth again!

Happy Birthday George Washington!  Wherever you are!

Until next time . . . I love you

My Brain, Peanuts, Decides to Bake

Hey everybody!  Welcome to Digging-Up-Old-Posts-and-Rerunning-Them Friday! 

Your Total Presence is Required 

Just finished reading the Power of Now.  Now I’m reading Practicing the Power of Now.  And I really have been practicing too.  I’m working diligently at keeping my attention on what I’m doing.

It’s hard on Peanuts (my brain who insisted on being nicknamed Peanuts).  Peanuts has rules now.

Self-portrait drawn by my brain, Peanuts. (Peanuts not pictured.)

Peanuts doesn’t like rules.  Peanuts has to stay focused on the task at hand or go away. Peanuts hates this. Peanuts wants to do what Peanuts wants to do.

Turns out Peanuts is a big, fat, spoiled brat!

Take yesterday for instance.  After a long day of making Peanuts Ten Hut! to the task at hand and not letting Peanuts ruminate about the past or frolic in the future, Peanuts was exhausted.

Still, that didn’t stop Peanuts from deciding to bake a cake at 8:00 last night.  It’s sugarless, Peanuts kept throwing out there — so what’s the big deal?

Bake that cake, Peanuts implored.  “Cake! Cake! Cake! Cake! Cake!” Well, OK fine, Peanuts, if it will shut you up!

So Peanuts and I decided to bake a cake, and I decided to let Peanuts take over the whole operation.  First of all, here’s the recipe:

  Linda’s Slightly Weird Orange Bundt Cake

One box of Pillsbury Yellow Cake Mix Sugar-free

One box instant vanilla pudding Sugar-free

Put both ingredients in a mixing bowl.


1 cup water

3 eggs (use fake eggs if you want to eat dough — never eat real eggs because they can carry salmonella)

1/2 cup of canned pumpkin

Juice from one orange and put in orange zest from peeling

(you just use a little grater and grate the skin –  you don’t need much) or you could use a lemon instead

Mix it all up, eat generous amount of dough, and pour remainder into bunt cake pan

Bake at 350 degrees for approximately 35 to 40 minutes.

So Peanuts gets the cake into the oven and goes back to reading The Power of Now.

When the timer goes off, Peanuts goes to remove the cake from the oven and accidentally bumps the pan on the top rack of the oven which causes the cake to flip out of the pan and land upside down on the over rack.

Then the cake starts to crumble and hits the oven elements and smoke starts pouring out.

Peanuts panics and tries to pick cake off the oven rack wearing a big fat oven mitt which causes cake to crumble more.  Peanuts takes oven mitt off and grabs bunt cake pan with bare hands burning four fingers.

Peanut’s screams can almost be heard over the blare of the smoke detector.

Peanuts finally manages to get some of the cake onto the  plate and scrapes the remains onto the floor — but instead of going on the floor they are actually go in the drawer below the oven.

Peanut’s version of Orange Bunt Cake

Through the whole experience Peanuts keeps reminding me to surrender to the present moment to which I respond by telling Peanuts to shut up already.

The cake was  good though.

Until next time . . . I love you

Pottery Barn Might Be People But They’re Not Like You and Me!

Browsing through the latest Pottery Barn catalog reminds me of the I Love Lucy episode where Fred, Ethel and Lucy are in Hollywood dining at the Brown Derby to spot movie stars:

Eating at the Brown Derby
Announcer:  Telephone call for Ava Gardner.

Fred: Where? Where?

Ethel:  Fred, remember,  she’s just people like you and me.

Fred:  She might be people but she’s not like you and me!

Well the same goes for Pottery Barn.

Pottery Barn might be People but they’re not like you and me!

Pottery Barn catalog page 54

For instance,  Pottery Barn tells us this is a “Family Home”.  How do we know this?  Because it says FAMILY HOME in great big letters.  Underneath that it says:

 “A home is where a family lives together.” Pottery Barn Catalog,   (January 2012) Page: 54

The Pottery Barn Catalog goes on to platitude-ize, “For your family home makes every room a place to catch up and reconnect.”

And in that vein may I present:

The Pottery Barn People Pizza Fantasy:

I would imagine when the Pottery Barn People were creating this space, they were imagining the following family scenario:

Off camera we hear a daughter’s voice answering a cell phone call from her mom:

“Hello?  Oh hello, Mummy!  What’s that?  Oh yes, rest assured Dearest Mother that I have just this very moment removed the fresh-fig pizzas from the open flames of our very own Pizza Oven and tastefully set them upon the two-teared pizza serving platter.  What’s that?   Yes Mother! Of course it’s the platter that is crafted from sustainable wood with an exclusive Signature Whiskey Finish, I’m not an idiot!  What’s that Mummy?  Oh yes, I’d say  everything is ready, and it’s time to round up Father, Brother and Sister from within the walls of our home where our family lives together!  What’s that?  Yes, Mother!  I know we need to  reconnect with one another by gathering round our casual, yet  boldly-scaled table made entirely from reclaimed pine for which we paid $1,999  and dig in!   I am not an idiot!”

The Real People Pizza Reality:

“Hey Everybody!  Pizza’s here!   Grab your sodas and turn on Seinfeld!

Until next time . . . I love you

I Got a Kiss from Bill Murray!

I thought I’d rerun this post since this week is the AT&T Pebble Beach National Pro-Am Golf Tournament and one year when I went, I somehow ended up getting a kiss from Bill Murray himself!

I’m not usually a lucky person. The slot machines I play are sure to be clinkety-clank-less, the numbers on my raffle tickets go unannounced, and, truth be told, I’ve never even had an opportunity to shout the word “Bingo” . . . unless, of course, it was his name-o.

“Bingo. Yeah, that’s my name, don’t wear it out.”

So when I got kissed by Bill Murray at the AT&T Pebble Beach Pro-am Golf Tournament, they had to call the fire department to get me down from Cloud 9.

“No, you idiot, that’s Cloud 8!”

Of course, the whole thing would have never happened had I not stepped on the toes of a good-natured, somewhat tipsy Englishman while trying to get a glimpse of Clint Eastwood at the fifth hole at Spyglass -; breaking the ice between the Englishman and I, while simultaneously breaking most of his toes.

Clint proceeded to hit a ball that landed squarely on the green. Now, for secretive, humorous reasons known only to the British, this sent my new Broken Toed Buddy into a fit of laughter and ear-splitting wise-crack-ery; the likes of which can only be achieved after enjoying a hearty three-martini breakfast.

Take a Mulligan, Clint!” The English One advised and began to chant. “Mulli! Mulli! Mulli!” Finally, Clint turned to him and assuming his famous Dirty Harry persona (at least that’s what I assumed he was assuming) replied,

Dirty Harry Cleaned Up

“Yeah, OK,” a comment to which the gallery responded with an explosion of laughter so uproarious, I was left to conclude that everybody there was British.

But then . . . suddenly . . . like a Cinderella story out of nowhere – weaving his way through the throngs to the tee — appeared The Great and Powerfully Funny, Bill Murray, himself.

Bill Murray signing autographs at the AT&T Pro Am Pebble Golf Tournment

A hush fell over the crowd

“Look! It’s Bill Murray!” I observed with all the subtlety of Lucy Ricardo spotting William Holden at the Brown Derby.

My English Buddy didn’t miss a beat. “Hey Bill!” He screamed over the crowd. “This lady would like a kiss!”

Bill Murray responded by slowly turning around like he was Moe Fine hearing the dreaded phrase “Niagara Falls!” As he headed my way, the crowd was giddy with anticipation.

Now, I know it’s weird, and maybe I’ve been watching too much I Love Lucy, but what was running through my head at that exact moment was, “Wait until Ethel hears about this!”

Then, Bill Murray positioned himself in front of me and politely waited for the crowd to get their cameras ready and when the time was right . . .

Getting a kiss from Bill MurrayBingo!

. . . suddenly the AT&T golf tournament faded away, and it was just me and my lips and Bill Murray kissing me . . . with his lips.

I don’t know how long we kissed. It could have been an instant or it could have been an hour or possibly four or five hours (but I doubt it) that I was surreally suspended in the bliss of Bill Murray’s kiss.

On the drive home, I suddenly realized it was February 2nd which meant – that’s right – I got kissed by Bill Murray on Groundhog’s day!

And in the immortal the words of Carl the Greens keeper — after he was granted total consciousness on his deathbed by the Dali Lama –I thought:

So I got that going for me . . . which is nice.”

Bill Murray as Carl the Greens Keeper

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And thank you everyone for your entries for the Slightly Strange Romantic Clip Art Caption Contest!  Winners will be announced on Friday and Cyber Prizes will be awarded so be sure to check back.   Here’s the picture — leave a caption if you haven’t already!

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Slightly Strange Romantic Clipart

They shoot horses don't they?Oh Goodie!  Slightly Strange Romantic Clip art!

Guess where I’ve been?  Yup. Rummaging around my favorite thrift store again!  And guess what I bought?  Yup. A book of slightly strange romantic clip art! 

Well somebody had to buy it. 

Besides, it said on the cover there were “hundreds of uses” for this kind of clip art.  Unfortunately, they forgot to mention what they were.  

So I’ve decided to put them to use thusly:

Grecian Lovers“No offense, but you looked better on Facebook.    “No offense but so did you.”

Romantic clip art

“What’s the matter, my darling?”   “My scoliosis is acting up again!”

“Now remember!  Levi’s 501’s, regular fit and hurry!”

“Peek-a-boo!   . . . no wait . . .  I say Peek-a . .  and then you . . . I don’t think we’re doing this right.”

“You look so hot in that pup tent!”

“Ow! Ow! Ow!”   “What did you say dear?”    “Nothing!  Ow! Ow! Ow!”

“Did Popeye’s spinach taste funny to you?”

“Dear Helen:  Don’t look now, but your boyfriend is turning into a cat.”

So what did we learn today?  That it is possible to waste far too much of one’s life trying to think up captions for slightly strange romantic clip art, that’s what!

And if that isn’t a good lesson, Dear Reader . . .  I’ll try to think of a better one tomorrow!

Until next time . . . I love you