A Visit from the Patronizing Noodle Lady

Welcome Dear Reader!  Well,  guess what?  The Patronizing Noodle Lady has decided to pay a visit to the blog.

 The Patronizing Noodle Lady first showed up in this picture in one of my old cookbooks.

These are Noodles!
“No!  You’re not listening. These here . . . the ones I’m touching, these long skinny things are called noodles. And the noodles go here, where  my index finger is tapping.  My index finger is the finger you would use  if you wanted  to point at something.

 Since then she seems to have wiggled her way out of the photo to become:

The Patronizing Noodle Lady, Linda Vernon Humor

The Patronizing Noodle Lady

Today the Patronizing Noodle Lady will set us straight about How to Use Spices by reviewing with us this booklet from the 1958 American Spice Association, a pamphlet written by none other than the The Patronizing Noodle Lady!

Deemed the most condescending "How-to" of 1958!
Deemed the most wonderfully condescending “How-to” Pamphlet  of 1958 by the National Association of Professional Patronizers!

What’s that Patronizing Noodle Lady? You want us to open to the first page by opening the cover and then flipping to the page #1. Uh. Okay we’ll try!

Paragraph one - How to use spices

Patronizing Noodle Lady please rest assured that even though our interest in spices developed somewhere  . . . somehow . . . we had absolutely no idea what  was going on and just totally lucked into whatever interest we’ve shown.  We  were more than likely hallucinating when we saw ourselves as truly glamorous cooks!

Paragraph two

Believe us when we tell you, Noodle Lady,  that there is absolutely no “mysterious” and difficult feeling we’ve ever had (with the possible exception of getting sucked into a jet engine or falling into a pit of snakes) that is worse than not handling each spice correctly!

Paragraph  hot

Patronizing Noodle Lady you must believe us when we say that we have been trying our whole lives not to confuse the word “spice” with the word “hot’  but it’s just so difficult.  We’re always getting them mixed up which is probably why Aunt Martha died from that stomach ache we tried to help her with last week when we suggest she add four pounds of cayenne pepper to her oatmeal.  Darn!  That’s what we get for guessing!

feel free to experiment

Patronizing Noodle Lady!  Please!  Tamper with the basic ingredients!  We would never dream of such a thing even if it is according to the dictates of our own imaginations. (As you have so generously allowed us!  Thank you btw!)  In fact, we will be happy to swear on a stack of cookbooks that we will never — under any circumstances — tamper with basic ingredients or we will swallow an entire tin of cinnamon with an Oregano chaser so help us Julia Child!

feel free

Relax?  How can we relax with all this pressure we’re under.  You wouldn’t happen to have any spices that would help us relax would you Patronizing Noodle Lady?  Oh and just one quick question:  Do we have to have a college degree to become an expert in the use of spices?

college degree

Alright!!! If we start right now using spices with only our high school diplomas, how long will it be before spices will not have any secrets from us?   . . . Hello?  Patronizing Noodle Lady?  Did you hear us?  Patronizing Noodle Lady?

Well, Dear Readers, it looks like the Patronizing Noodle Lady has quit answering us because she no doubt has more important people to see and better blogs to visit. But don’t worry, I’m sure she’ll come back soon as there are plenty of things we still need to be set straight on.

Until next time . . . I love you

My Little Loch Ness Monster

My Little Loch Ness Monster

Lock Ness Monster by Linda VernonI have a Loch Ness monster who follows me around

He slaps his feet and quacks his beak but I don’t hear a sound

(I  keep a roll of cotton in my ears to tone it down)

 

My little Loch Ness Monster is hardly ever sick

Oh sure,  he’ll fake a stomach ache  —  but that is just his shtick

And that time he ate my neighbor? It was just a nervous tic

 

Oh my little Loch Ness Monster,  I ride him everywhere

Except for under bridges so he doesn’t mess his hair

And we stay away from bumpy roads—just too much wear and tear

 

My little Loch Ness Monster, he loves People Magazine

He eats those little cards he finds on pages in-between

(I think he does this mostly cause it’s healthy for his spleen)

 

My little Loch Ness Monster is fat and round and blue

He’d tie his own shoe laces but he cannot find his shoe

Just like  Marlon Brando, Orson Welles and Mister Depardieu

Orson Wells Marlon Brando Gerard Depardieu
‘Oh yeah Little Loch Ness Monster?   We don’t even wear shoes, so there!

 Until next time . . . I love you

My Brain Peanuts Presents: The World in a Nutshell

Welcome Dear Readers to  “The World in a Nutshell”  where my brain, Peanuts, will attempt to recreate a map of the world drawing on nothing but hearsay, vague general impressions and a third-rate education.

Today’s Map:  South America

A map of South American based entirely on my brain, Peanuts, vague impressions
A map of South American based entirely on Peanuts vague impressions

Please study the map above.  Are you done studying it?  Great!

POP QUIZ TIME!

This concludes  “The World in a Nutshell” lesson for today, Dear Readers.   Please drop in next time when Peanuts thinks up some different stuff about a different part of the world!

Until next time . . . I love you

The Smears of a Clown

Welcome to Wednesday (again)!  It ‘s time for Friday Fictioneers.

Here’s this weeks 100-word story inspiration picture by Janet Webb over at  This, That and the Other Thing:

janet-webbs-sangria
Copyright Janet Webb

The Smears of a Clown

Penelope Snoots was the talk of the town

When she married a man from the circus (a clown)

Who thought himself clever at messing around

With oil paints, charcoals and color crans (brown)

 

His  pockets were empty – he was really quite vain

(Though his face was Picasso on drugs when it rained)

Yet Penelope loved him in ways unexplained

Cause her wine limit was . . . shall we say . . .  unconstrained?

 

One day he took fruit and chopped it up nicely

Combined strawberries, wine and cantaloupes thricely

He killed her and placed her on ice cubes concisely

Then he painted Penelope’s portrait precisely

 

"See how much better I can paint you when you hold still, Penelope?"
“See how much better I can paint you when you hold still, Penelope?  I know you can’t answer that.  It was rhetorical.”

Of course Wednesday means it’s time for 100-words of fun hosted every week by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields-Addicted to Purple.  Pop over and join us.  The more the merrier!

Until next time . . . I love you

Our Hamsters Ourselves

Hello Dear Readers! Every once in a while it’s good to remember our fine furry friends, the hamsters.  Here’s a story about one such little guy.

Our Hamsters, Ourselves

I’ll never forget our first hamster. He (or possibly she) was a cute little ball of white fur or maybe it was brown. I guess when I say I’ll never forget our first hamster, what I mean is I’ll never forget what happened to our first hamster, Snickers.

We knew Snickers was special the moment we saw him in the huge glass hamster case at the pet shop. I reached in to pick him up and he reared on his hind legs and tried to swat my finger away with powerful albeit tiny paws. This hamster had spunk. Plus he was only $5.99.

Snickers, the hamster
SOLD!

We took him to the cash register and the clerk suggested a few accessories we would need in order to properly care for a hamster. The total came to $213.17.

Holy Habitat!

Our hamster would need this habitat, she assured us, if he was ever going to thrive.

We bought this story hook, line and sinker, not to mention water bottle, bedding and food (ten-pound bag). We headed home with Snickers safely enclosed in a cardboard carrying case with handle ($3.99), and his habitat securely tied to the luggage rack of the car (twine $.99).

Official Twine of the National Hamstermen's Association
Official Twine of the National Hamstermen’s Association

After several hours of intense concentration (and some dazzling duct-tape wizardry), we plopped Snickers into his newly assembled habitat where he quickly began chewing his way out.

Occasionally, we would take Snickers out of his habitat and try to pet him while he ran full throttle over our hands, up our arms and down our legs.  Oh what fun we had with the little guy or gal!

Partay!!
Snickers Partay! Wooo-hoooo!

But little did we know then what tragic circumstances lay ahead for our beloved Snickers – a tragic circumstance by the name of Lucy, our dog.

We thought Lucy was a pretty nice dog until the day we discovered that underneath her sweetness-and-light exterior lurked the primitive brain of a hunter/killer.

Lucy, the manifestation of pure evil.

Her prey? Let’s just say Lucy enjoyed munching a Snickers now and then and I’m not referring to candy bars.

. . . gulp! . . .

I still blame myself for Snickers’ death, which is why I am relating this story in the hope that others will learn the lesson for which our precious Snickers gave his (or her) life.

And that lesson is this: Never leave a child who is holding a hamster alone in the same room with a dog who likes to eat them (hamsters, not children).

Or better yet, don’t leave the room at all, ever!   In this case, I was gone only seconds when I heard a terrible commotion followed by the bloodcurdling scream of a child and the rodent-like heart-wrenching squeak of . . . a rodent.

It seems the worst had happened. Left to the supervision of a child, Lucy and Snickers had gotten into a deadly altercation. I ran back to the room to find the child dazed and in shock, Lucy cowering in shame and Snickers resting in peace.

“Bury my heart at wounded knee, fellas!”

It took us awhile to recover from the incident. We had to read When Bad Things Happen to Good Hamsters twice before we had the heart to make another trip to the pet shop to pick out Snickers #2.

Update:

Ironically, Lucy has just returned home from the animal hospital after a close brush with death because of an acute case of pancreatitis.

The vet said Lucy would have to stick to a strict diet of chicken and rice. Anything else could kill her.

We can only hope Snickers #2 has the good sense to stay out of her way — for both their sakes.

Snickers #2. He tries harder.

Until next time . . . I love you

The Sound of Rod McKuen’s Solitude

Good news Dear Reaers!  I was milling around my favorite thrift store yesterday when I found this poetry book written by slighty-creepy-seventies poet extraordinaire, Rod McKuen — world renowned for his random-carriage-return, arbitrary-space-bar poetry!       

The Sound of Solitude by Rod McKuen
The Sound of Solitude by Rod McKuen. The inside jacket tells us it’s the most moving, private and essential collection he’s been willing to share  with his millions of readers (at only $9.95 per share)

I looked up the price of  The Sound of Solitude on Abe Books.  It’s worth a dollar.  And I got it for 50-cents! Ha ha!  Suckers! 

Okay, let’s get serious now and open to a poem at random from The Sound of Solitude by Rod McKuen: 

 After-Hours Acrobatics

I light one candle

With another’s flame

And getting up to leak

I look across at you

First of all, Rod, it is very dangerous to sleep with candles lit.  You really need to blow them out!  For heaven sakes, you’re going to burn the house down!  

Secondly, I’m a little concerned that you are leaking. I’m assuming you are referring to a shrapnel injury incurred while in the war, but at least you seem to be aware that leaking while lying down only makes things worse.  Okay, keep going Rod.

Still curled and sleeping

Coming back I start to pass

a mirror

I stop. Stand back and see me

naked in the candlelight

See? What did I tell you?  If you would have blown out those candles like you should have, you wouldn’t have that problem now would you?

Was I ever beautiful,

ever young or wise

deserving of your arms or other’s?

Tiny suggestion Rod,  Don’t you think saying: “deserving of your arms or, failing that, other’s would be kinder to whomever you are referring to? They might read this poem, you now.

Head-on is even harsh by candleglow

love handles bulge on either side.

 Just a thought . . . could it be that it’s your love handles that are leaking?  (I know a good Love-Handle specialist you might want to consult.)

Of what was once an unfilled frame that I hung hopes on,

never excess flesh

Oh I know what you mean! I always put excess flesh in dryer.

I look at you a second time

hoping I can dive beneath the covers

before you catch my silhouette

against the wall.

My pulse thumps loud enough

to blunt the metronome of cicada

calling to cicada,

OMG Rod!  How did you ever get yourself into such a poetic pickle?  See how complicated life gets when you don’t blow out the candles?

Now you’re going to have to call the exterminators to get rid of the cicada infestion.  I hope you’ve learned your lesson!  

(Oh and be sure to get that pulse thump checked out when you go see the Love-Handle specialist.)

Safe. I hit third base

and slide to home.

You only turn and grumble in your sleep

I do not go back to sleep

Well, maybe all you need is a few hours at the batting cages . . .

All life is spent erecting barricades

that none of us can get through

when love finally comes

And none of this would have even been an issue, Rod, if you would have just taken the time to blow out the candles.  I hate to say I told you so, but . . . well I wont’ say it, I wouldn’t want to upset you.  You might start leaking again.

Until next time . . . I love (handle specialist) you

Friday Fictioneers: Let There Be Loot

Welcome Dear Readers to Friday Fictioneers hosted most graciously every week  by Rochelle at Wisoff-Fields-Addicted to Purple.  

This week we are writing a 100-word story for a picture taken by Dawn  at Lingering Visions who has some  beautiful pictures on her blog for your viewing pleasure.

Copyright Dawn M. Miler
Copyright Dawn M. Miler

Let There Be Loot

Pendleton! Round up these lamps and return them immediately!

I can’t.

Why?

They were on sale — buy one, get 37  half off.

I’m not buying it, Pendleton.

Funny you should mention not buying.

Pendleton you didn’t rob–

Just Lamps?  Yes I did actually.

But you just got released from prison for robbing—

Just Toast Ovens.  I know.

Will you be going on the lam now, Pendleton?

Yes, but I have one stop to make first.

Where Pendleton? Just Shades?

No.

Just Bulbs?  Just Cords?

I’m leaving now dear.

Just On/Off Switches?

Take care of yourself!

Just Sockets?

I’ll write.

* * *

Until next time . . . I love you