Baby Eating and Whatnot

Off the wall and out of the box

Trying to Explain the Inexplicable World of Metropolitan Home Magazine

Linda Vernon Baby Eating and Whatnot, Modern Living Decor , , , , , , , , ,

Today Dear Reader, we will be taking a stab at trying to explain the inexplicable world of Metropolitan Home Magazine.

Mommy, where’s my milk?

I put it in the elegantly expressed living room that is a mélange of diverse elements put together with a very sure hand.

Can I go get it?

No. you’ll mess up the mélange!

But I’m thirsty!

Too bad! Suck it in.

Mommy, may I go upstairs now?

No.

Why not?

Because we live in a one-story Metropolitan house.

But isn’t that a staircase behind me?

No, it’s a painting!  Ha ha!  You just fell for the oldest trick in the designer book, Bobby!

Bobby don’t cry.  I was just kidding!  I love you, Bobby!  Hey I know!  Why don’t you roll the coffee table outside and ride it down a steep hill?

But won’t I mess up the mélange of diverse elements put together with a very sure hand?

Oh yeah, never mind!

Gosh, I don’t think life gets anymore perfect than sitting among this unabashed celebration of modern living as I thumb through a Metropolitan Home Magazine in which I am featured sitting among this unabashed celebration of modern living thumbing through a copy of Metropolitan Home Magazine!

Mommy, where’s my hotdog?

It’s in a bed suspended by ropes dangling over a cliff to showcase a mélange of diverse elements put together with a very sure hand..  What a silly question!

Can I go get it?

No. you’ll mess up the mélange!

But I’m hungry!

Too bad! Suck it in.

Meet Vanessa Victoria Splatums. She’s old enough to have white hair, but she’s young enough and hip enough to hate her kitchen because it’s not mélang-y enough.  Well, sorry to have to be the one to break the news to you Vanessa Victoria Splatums, but your kitchen hates you too!

Mommy can I get the kitty out and pet her?

Shh . . . we’re trying to look at our mélange of diverse elements put together with a very sure hand.

Mommy, I think the kitty’s thirsty, can I get her out?

No you’ll  mess up the mélange.

But she’s thirsty!

Too bad, she’ll just have to suck it in like everyone else in this world.

* * *

And there you have it, Dear Reader, our stab at trying to explain the inexplicable world of Metropolitan Home Magazine.

Until next time . . . I love you

Answering the Questions From Lesson 32

Linda Vernon Baby Eating and Whatnot , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,

Hello Dear Readers!  Join me now won’t you as we answer  Questions from Lesson 32:

Just to briefly bring you up to speed on Lesson 31 first, it apparently involved auxiliary verbs and forming negatives in the past tense.  Well, don’t even think about Lesson 31.  Because Lesson 31 is the kind of lesson that makes a person hate school with all their heart and soul and the kind of a lesson that sucks every molecule of fun out of life.  So we will think no more of it and simply go to the Lesson 32 where we are asked to answer some questions.

Ok, first of all, your question sounds a bit accusatory to me.  Are you accusing me of making the teacher sick?  I wasn’t even there the day the teacher got sick. But oh no, the minute something happens to a teacher every one points a finger at the Voodoo Practitioner!  Typical! Just because I own and operate Stick a Needle in YOUR Eye, Voodoo Sales and Service– everybody blames me for every little mysterious ache and pain.   Besides the teacher isn’t sick, the teacher is lying on an army cot in the back room in a catatonic state with a Tootsie Roll Pop in his mouth.  So stop jumping to conclusions and use your common sense for once!

Of course we saw some wild animals when we went to the park yesterday!  What are you, nuts?  In fact, there were some children going down the slide when  a huge orangutan pushed them all off and slid down himself! Ha ha!  Then little Johnny almost got gored by that charging rhino, but a miss is as good as a mile, and we all got a good laugh out of that one! (You should have seen the funny expression on both Little Johnny’s face and the charging rhino’s — it will be a long time coming deciding which one was funnier!)  So in answer to your silly question of did we see some wild animals at the park yesterday?  Duh, hello!?!  Earth to Lesson 32!

Maybe you didn’t hear. . . John was fatally injured trying to catch a toaster yesterday, and it was just too hot to drag him along.

How should I know?  I was at the zoo, remember?  You haven’t been listening to a single word, have you?

What are you stalker or something?  You seem a little obsessed with Helen.  I don’t know Helen, personally, but I bet you anything she wants you to go away and never darken her door again! (And don’t be surprised if you suddenly start experiencing some mysterious aches and pains.) If you’re not Helen’s stalker, the answers are:  yes, down the street, and about 45 minutes.

And there you have it,  Dear Readers, the answers to Lesson 32!  And here you thought you didn’t like school!
Until next time . . . I love you

Shhh . . . Stop Interrupting and Listen to the Warm!

Linda Vernon Baby Eating and Whatnot, The Daily Routine, Thrift Store Finds , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,

Foraging around the falderal at my local thrift store,  (I am starting to feel like they stock it just for me!) I found this wonderful gem:

“Listen to the Warm”  Written and performed by Rod McKuen

On the back of the album is his historic poem, A Cat Name Sloopy — in three parts. It’s a poem Rod Mckuen penned during an unprecedented burst of love for his cat, Sloopy.  And a poem, I might add, that catapulted Rod McKuen to superstar poetic status back in the halcyon days of unflinchingly serious, popular poetry.

Here are some excerpts from that historic poem with a few observations of my own.

“For a while the only earth that Sloopy knew was in her sandbox”

Just a quick heads up, Rod, kitty litter works better.

Every night she’d sit in the window among the avocado plants waiting for me to come home (my arms full of canned liver and love)

Excuse me . . .Rob?  . . . you dropped a whole bunch of love coming up the stairs. (By the way, I hope you didn’t buy avocados, the grove in the window sill is finally producing!)

We talked into the night then, contented but missing something

Uh . . . could it have been Sloopy’s side of the conversation?

She the earth she never knew,  and me the hills I ran while growing bent

Oh that . . . well, I hear calcium can help that.

Sloopy should have been a cowboy’s cat with prairies to run not linoleum

Good call Rod!  And that’s why linoleum should be banned once and for all!

I never told her, but in my mind, I was a midnight cowboy even then. Riding my imaginary horse down Forty-second Street . . .

What?  You love doing that?  Me too! OMG!

Going off with strangers to live an hour-long cowboy’s life but always coming home to Sloopy, who loved me best.

Wait. . . what? . . . hold the phone . . . Rod . . . Rod!  No more beer for you.  Why don’t you go to bed now and see if you can’t sleep it off.  What’s  that?  You can’t sleep because Sloopy keeps slapping her paws walking around on the linoleum?  Well, just listen to the warm . . Rod  . . .that’s right . . .  listen to the warm . . . .

Meanwhile, I’ll see if I can get a call into the president so he can do something about the linoleum.  And tomorrow you can start working on your next album.  What are you going to call it?  What’s that, Rod?  You’re going to call it, Smell the Humidity? 

I love it!

Until next time . . . I love you

Aliens Secretly Study Humanity Under the Guise of a 1960’s Sandwich Cookbook.

Linda Vernon Aliens, Baby Eating and Whatnot, Edible Tales, Thrift Store Finds , , , , , , , , , , , , ,

Innocent cookbook or alien agenda?

I know it’s hard to believe, but after carefully examining the above peculiarly worded cookbook from the 1960’s — it quickly became apparent to me that this is not a cookbook at all, but, in actuality, is a scientific study of the human race conducted by aliens from the planet Zorin! 

Shall we turn to the first page? 

Sandwiches for the Small Fry

As you can see by this heading, the aliens are going to great pains to make us believe that they have full command of English language idioms.  Apparently they think these children are idioms.  Apparently they think the entire human race are idioms!

The aliens go on to explain to their fellow Zorinians that sandwiches in the small fry’s  “carried lunch”  should be “made of bread” and that fruit should be eaten out of  the small fry’s “hands” and that “milk should be sent from home in a small vacuum bottle”. 

The aliens stressed that Zorinians should not confuse  “Small Frys”  with “small order of fries” even though both are equally delicious.

Let us move on (quickly!):

 Taste Tempters for Teens

After much concentrated  study, the aliens have ascertained that this is a fair representation of  the typical eating behavior of the human “teen”.  And they go on to state that “teen-agers are a mystery”  — adding that “boy or girl their appetites are immense” even “staggering.”   The report emphasizes that  human “teenagers” have a “bottomless appetite” and an “endless thirst.”  Information that probably raised a Zorinian eyebrow or two (or seven).

The aliens were careful not to get too close.

Next the aliens attempt to enlighten Zorinians about the mystifying behavior of:

Picnic Packables:

As you can see from this heading, when  it comes to alliteration, the aliens are definitely on-board the human-language train!  Even going so far as to use the word, “packables”.  Well they aren’t billions of years more advanced than us for nothin’!

At first, the aliens were in total disarray as to what the father figure pictured above was doing.  But after intensified study,  the aliens came to the conclusion that this particular human being’s lower appendages had collapsed by a whopping fifty percent (perhaps from carting around Picnic Packables?) and when that happens, human beings must squeeze a circular object with their “hands” for prolonged periods of time in order to restore proper appendage positioning.

The aliens got a good laugh out of this one!

Well that’s all we have time for today, Dear Reader, but rest assured there are plenty more Secret Studies by Zorinians about the Human Race hiding within the pages of 1960 cookbooks and I plan to expose every single one of them or be abducted trying!

That is my pledge to you.

Until next time . . . I love you

Signs Your Body Has Been Taken Over by an Alien

Linda Vernon Aliens, Baby Eating and Whatnot, Lists , , , , , , , , ,

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.

“DEAR GOD! IT”S ALIVE!”

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!

And:

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!

Linda Vernon Baby Eating and Whatnot, Things I Have Trouble With, Writing life , , , , , , , , , ,

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

Flipping Through Science Magazines of An Afternoon

Linda Vernon Baby Eating and Whatnot, What the Scientiests are Thinking About , , , , , , , , , ,

From the Editor of  Scientificate Magazine:

“What makes some of us smarter than others?  Or put another way, why am I smarter than you?”  Barbara Buh, Co-founder of the Applied Large Brain Institute and Science Sincerely Yours Foundation Advisor took me by surprise with this question while we were setting up our display table at the Compass, Watch and Eggtimer Scientific Summit in Uppenappen Switzerland.

I momentarily stopped lining up the eggtimers so that I could give her question some focused thought.

Before I had a chance to answer, Barbara Buh, also Professor of Neuropsuedoscience and Director of Big Brain Institute at Mensa Medical Center in Nome Alaska pulled her rhesus monkey, Pieces, from beneath her top hat and began asking it rapid-fire questions to prove her point.

“What is the square root of seven?”

“What is the formula for gum?”

“If a train is traveling at 60 mph and another train is traveling at 40 mph going the opposite direction, what time is it now?”

Pieces just sat there looking glum.  After four minutes and 13 seconds of silence, I suddenly realized that Dr. Buh, also Chief Board Adviser for Test-tube Science and Welding Technology at the Goggles Institute in Anchorage Alaska was directing these questions towards me and not her Rhesus, Pieces.

I tried to nonchalantly keep winding watches but I could feel her piercing gaze penetrating me like tiny daggers or, failing that, very large needles.

“Am I allowed to google?” I finally asked and was instantly angry at myself for detecting a quiver of fear in my voice.

“If you must.” Dr. Buh, who was also Senior Research Analyst at the University for Internet Surfing for the Ketchasketchcan Scientific Center in Alaska, replied.

In that case the answers are:

“Minus 27.”

“HC3–>2HOCI”

“And about a quarter past eight.”

But Dr. Buh didn’t respond. She was too busy performing the Heimlich Maneuver on Pieces who had managed to choke on one of the egg timers while I was googling.

Which seemed like as good a time as any to break for lunch.

You’re Gonna Be Rich, Baby!

Linda Vernon Baby Eating and Whatnot , , , , , , , , ,

Today at Linda Vernon Humor, we are proud to offer you three Super-Sizzling, Blistering-Hot, Ouchie-Mama, Home Business Ideas that you can get up and running faster than you can mix up a pitcher of martinis and inquire if anyone has change for a one-hundred dollar bill!

Road to Riches Idea Number One

The Business:  JUST Q’S AND NOTHING BUT

The Claim:   This beauty of a business is the hottest craze to hit the States and; simultaneously, the English alphabet in over 400 years!

The Concept:  Shockingly simple.  Are you familiar with a little thing called the letter “Q”?   Sell it.   Period.   End of story. (Except for the visionary idea of offering them in every color!)

The Strategy:  Sit by the pool and shout over your neighbor’s fence, “Hey! do you wanna buy a Q?”  Get other people to do it too, then sit back and watch the money roll in as you sip several martinis in quick succession.  You might not feel so good later but who cares!  YOU’RE GONNA BE RICH, BABY!

Two men in wading pool
"Q's for sale! Get 'em while they're hot!"

Road to Riches Idea Number Two

The Business:  CHUMP CHANGE COMPUTER SITTING SERVICES!

The Claim:  Hey, Bill!  Don’t let the Gates hit you when you leave!  Work in the fast-paced, challenging field of high-tech with your very own Computer Sitting Service!

The Concept:  Get kids to babysit computers and fork over the proceeds to you.   Period.   Case closed.   Leave.

The Strategy:  Sit by the pool and swill a couple of pitchers of martinis as you wait for the money to roll in.  All that money and all that booze might cause you to act a tad bit inappropriate and your spouse might have to call the police and have you hauled away to the pokey, but who cares?  YOU’RE GONNA BE RICH, BABY!

"Anybody here interested in a bribe? I've got chump change."

Road to Riches Idea Number Three

The Business:  ACCURATE CHAIN YANKERS

The claim:  Stop being a 40-hour a week sap.  People are always yanking your chain.  Why not yank theirs?  For a fee, that is!

The Concept: Yanking people’s chains for a fee.   Genius.  Slam dunk.   End of story.  (Except for the part where you get some kids to go around town yanking people’s chains for a fee which they immediately hand over to you!)

The Strategy:  Sit by the pool and drink upwards of three pitchers of martinis followed by a pint of Jack Daniels and washed down with a gallon of Gallo until you put on a blonde wig and wander around the neighborhood reciting the Gettysburg Address at the top of your lungs and are eventually whisked away to a retreat at an undisclosed location.

Man wearing blonde wig
"FOUR SCORE AND SEVEN YEARS AGO!"

Oh sure, a situation like this is going to cost you money, initially, but who cares?  YOU’RE GONNA BE RICH, BABY!

Until next time . . . I love you!

The Gravity Situation

Linda Vernon Baby Eating and Whatnot, Mathematics, What the Scientiests are Thinking About , , , , , ,

When it comes to our feet meeting the ground, there’s more than meets the eye. 

That’s because, frankly, I don’t think they’ve got the law of gravity completely right.

When it comes to the natural laws of the universe, there seems to be a lot of perforated lines.

You always hear scientists talking about tears in the ripple of time, somehow making it possible to suddenly travel backwards or forwards in the timeline.

But what, pray tell, if there was a way to put a tear in the ripple of gravity, somehow making it possible for every single thing in the universe to suddenly drop those last ten pounds.

Now that’s what I call a natural law with some legs!

Allow me to get a tad theoretical here, if you will be so kind. 

Let’s suppose I weigh 500 pounds.  Or better yet let’s suppose YOU weight 500 pounds . . . alright!  Now we’re getting somewhere.

Question Number One:

What we want to know is how can a person, such as yourself, who weighs a whopping 500 pounds coerce gravity in such a way that it would allow you to instantaneously go from a 500-pound Tub-of-Lard to a 115-pound Tub-of-Vegetable-Oil in a matter of nano-seconds?

The Answer to Question Number One:

The Answer is:  fool around with some equations until you find a frayed edge in the ripple of gravity, give it a good yank and hello skinny jeans.

Question Number Two:

Oh, rest assured, I can hear your little voice in my head asking, “How can an ordinary layperson, such as myself –someone who is still shaky on the multiplication tables — go from being a Mathematic Ne’er-do-well to a Mathematic Nerd-do-well with nothing to work with but  a dream, a hand-held calculator and a 500-pound friend-in-need, such as yourself?  Good question!  In fact, I am officially making it Question Number Three!

Question Number Three:

See above.

Let’s Talk Specifics

To figure out how to tear gravity using mathematics, the first order of the day is, of course, a large pepperoni pizza with olives.  Then settle down to some serious ciphering and re-ciphering  by deciphering the numbers and letters previously scribbled on a blackboard during a deep sleep.  This is a challenge if ever there was one.

But keep at it until you are able to find a loose thread either in the ripple of gravity, or failing that, in the cable- knit sweater you’re wearing.  Then pull the thread gingerly at first, then saltly and pepperly after that.

Before you know it, you’ll have a tear in the ripple of gravity as big as the great outdoors!

After that,  it’s just a matter of finding a sale on skinny jeans.  And to that noble end, I heartily wish you the best of luck!

Until next time . . . I love you

Do You Suffer from Skin Jogging Syndrome?

Linda Vernon Baby Eating and Whatnot, Health and Beauty , , , , , , ,

An Advertisement from the makers of Plathamath

Like millions of Americans, Sharon was unaware that she suffered 24/7 from a skin disorder so debilitating she didn’t even know she had it.

Then one day Sharon read about Skin Jogging Syndrome (SJS).  SJS is a syndrome so insidious, so sneaky, and so downright underhanded that there is absolutely no way to tell if you have it.

“I feel somethin’ WEIRD!
 

Sharon closed her eyes and thought about what it would feel like if her skin was jogging.  And guess what?  The longer she thought about it, the more she thought she could feel her skin jogging; just a little at first . . . and then – yes!  She was sure of it.  Her skin was definitely jogging.  Well no wonder her life was such a mess!

So imagine Sharon’s joy when she found out there was a pill for that!

The Pill for That!
 

It’s called PLATHAMATH!

The makers of Plathamath believe that no one should suffer from Skin Jogging Syndrome simply because they don’t know they have it.

Plathamath taken just twice in the morning, twice at lunch, twice in the afternoon, twice after dinner and then every five minutes until bedtime – will prevent your skin from jogging for a full six hours!

Just this many for SIX FULL HOURS of relief
 

Taken as directed, Plathamath will not only relieve you of your annoying skin jogging sensations, it will relieve you of ALL your sensations!

“I feel absolutely sensational-less!”

Now millions of people are enjoying life again just like they did before they ever heard of Skin Jogging Syndrome.

“Thank you Plathamath for giving me back my life.”

 

So talk to your doctor about Plathamath. (Go ahead and call him right now . . . It’s not that late . . . he won’t mind, really!)

Important Safety Information for Plathamath 

Stop taking Plathamath if you suddenly experience difficulty warbling, sneezing or churning butter. 

Plathamath is not recommended for people who have a history of uncontrollable whittling, elbows that bend both ways, or who are overly interested in France.

Tell your doctor immediately should you slip into a coma lasting longer than seven or eight months.

If you have a tendency to explode without warning, talk to your doctor about whether Plathamath is right for you.

 Studies have shown that combining Plathamath with certain types of other medications such as Cyanide Capsules or Lethal Injections could lead to death and, therefore, is not recommended.

If this happens and you’re not saluting the flag, or singing Ava Maria.

Call 911!

Discontinue Plathamath altogether if you experience an uncontrollable urge to pull over to the side of the road before getting out of bed in the morning.

“Aren’t you going to put on your blinker?”   

“No, I thought you were driving.”

 

In rare cases Plathamath has been known to severely affect judgment concerning lint or lint-related issues.

“This is lint is it not?”

 

If this happens, go to the emergency room immediately and please, PLEASE do not operate any heavy machinery on the way there.

Plathamath . . .  

 . . . Giving you back the quality of life you never knew was missing.

Until next time . . . I love you

Revenge of the Phonebots

Linda Vernon Baby Eating and Whatnot , , , , ,

Thank you for calling. We appreciate your business. This call may be monitored or recorded for quality assurance. Please hold for one of our Quality Assurance Customer Care Representatives.

Our Quality Assurance Customer Care Team

There will be a short survey at the end of this call for quality assurance purposes. There is currently a 2-minute wait for your Quality Assurance Care Representative. In order to properly route your call to better serve you, please enter your account number followed by the pound key.

We’re sorry we didn’t get that. Please enter your account number followed by the pound key.

"Please we're asking you nicely."

A bit of an attitude has been detected in the way you entered your account number followed by the pound key.

We are only asking for your account number for quality assurance purposes so that we may better serve you.

Please, it's for your own good."

For quality assurance purposes, please hold while we transfer you to a short survey about why you had an attitude when entering your account number followed by the pound key.

If you do not wish to take the short survey, please press 1 followed by the pound key.

You will be asked to take a short survey for quality assurance purposes about your pressing 1 just now.

If you didn’t want to take the short survey, you should have said so sooner. We have already wasted precious minutes that could have been used in pursuit of quality assurance so that we may better serve you.

"We are just trying to do our quality assurance duties."

We must insist that you press 0 followed by the pound key immediately.

Our systems have detected a serious problem with the way you pressed 0 followed by the pound key.

Perhaps this would be a good time to remind you that this call is being monitored AND recorded. Hold for a supervisor.

"Just. Want. To. Better. Serve. You."

There is currently a 2-minute wait for a supervisor. While you are holding for a supervisor, you will be asked to take a short survey about your 2 minutes on hold — which you will take if you know what’s good for you — for quality assurance purposes.

We are currently experiencing a large volume of swearing on your part.

"Quality Assurance Care Specialists are not amused."

 

Please keep in mind that the short survey we are asking you to take is designed to better serve you and in return we are receiving a higher than normal volume of attitude.

Since you insist on pushing all the keys on your phone at once, it has become clear that you will be requiring a visit to the address listed on your billing statement from our Quality Assurance Customer Care Specialist, Paulie.

"You're gonna like me, I'm a goodfella."

Rest assured that we are absolutely certain you will be filling out a short survey about your visit from Paulie for quality assurance purposes in order to better serve you once you have regained feeling in your arms.

Thank you for calling. You may hang up now

Until next time . . . I love you

Rewriting the Story of My Life

Linda Vernon Baby Eating and Whatnot, Who am I? , , ,

Hello my fine feathered whippersnappers!  Lately I’ve been bingeing on pre-20th century English movies and have decided that the story of my life just won’t do.  And so I have decided to change it thusly:

Linda Vernon was born Linda Cathleen Carlotta Loretta Pansy Rose Petunia Hollandaise Sauce sometime in March or April around or near the Year of Our Lord 1536(ish).  Linda (who went by the nickname of Linda) suffered early psychological trauma  due to the fact that she was told by her parents that she was the youngest of 14 children, but later found out that she was instead  the oldest of 14 children (quite by accident). Plus the fact that her mother died in childbirth from consumption vexed her greatly.

This so upset young Linda that she became a recluse.  She took all her meals in her room and refused to come out even on Reformation Day.  Many people thought this is where she honed her writing, but once, when she left her room momentarily, her family rushed in to read what she had written but found only the largest collection of sharpened pencils in the Moors.

It wasn’t until her pet leopard died of consumption that she roused herself out of her pencil sharpening stupor and made her debut in the village of which the family estate was located next to.  Unfortunately all the villagers had just that morning died of consumption.

Linda was briefly engaged in the position of Chief Wig Powderer at Drowning Downs Hall until Lord Drowning drowned down the hall when a careless servant left the window open during an unseasonable monsoon season. Lord Drowning’s wife (or mistress–they were never sure which) died later that afternoon of consumption.

"Love your wig! Who powdered it?"
This left Linda quite shilling less.  She packed her pencil collection in her trunk and summoned a chaise and four to take her to London where she planned to obtain a position as a governess.  She waved goodbye to her family from the Barouche Box in which she rode, but they didn’t wave back having all succumbed to consumption moments earlier.

Soon after she arrived in London her destiny took a little turn when she was hobbling over the cobblestones and  got the toe of her foot stuck betwixt a cobble and a stone which caused her to fall down in front of polite society.  Indeed, her reputation was completely ruined to the extent that no one would have anything to do with her except for people who pronounced governor “overnor”.

Undaunted because she was a feisty, independent woman who didn’t care what polite society or even rude society thought of her, she managed to obtain a position as a seamstress for the Duchess of Pid.

The Duchess of Pid with Her Kid
She saved up her money and later bought Drowning Downs Hall. She was also able to revive Lord Drowning somehow by drawing on her feisty independence.  When someone asked her how she managed to revive a man who drowned none too recently, she scribbled down the instructions which were later published by Snussington, Hughhee and Flebberhower-hower, Inc. and the book enjoyed worldwide success until she keeled over into her porridge from consumption.

Her last words were believed to be:  “If I’m not famous after I die, shoot me.”  Which was weird because she is still alive to this day.

Until next time, I love you . . . .

Rain on the Brain

Linda Vernon Baby Eating and Whatnot , , , , , ,

Rainy Reminiscences:

Things look pretty when it rains.  The grass is a true-blue green.  The flowers are gorgeous; the trees sublime.  Let’s face it, everything looks better through waterlogged eyes the way Cybil Sheppard looks better through gauze.

Taken during the worst gauze shortage in over 20 years

Once about a trillion years ago, give or take a week, it rained oceans.  Really.  I remember it well.  I was an amoeba at the time.  Me and my amoeba buddies were just hanging around trying to figure out how to evolve when it started to rain.  You should have seen it.  It was like Seattle!

Seattle Space Needle

A couple oceans later, the sun finally came out. First thing we did was put on sunglasses.  (But amoebas don’t wear sunglasses, you’re thinking.  Oh yeah? . . . by then we had evolved into dinosaurs –so there!)

“Fo’shizzle!”

Next thing you know, it started snowing – the biggest snowflakes we ever saw.  Somebody said each one was unique and we tried to verify that, but by the time we got two flakes positioned on the slide and the microscope in focus, they were a drink of water.

Not so freshly fallen snow

Then it was cold for a really long time.  The world was quiet.  Nobody went out except for this one guy who kept insisting on hiking over the Alps in his shorts.  One day he got lost, and they found him thousands of years later perfectly preserved in a perfectly round puddle of perfectly melted snow.

From studying the clothes he wore, and the items he was carrying in a crudely fashioned satchel, scientists were able to conclude the following:

a) He was a hunter/gatherer.

b) He was born sometime before the Bronze Age

c) He wasn’t very good at crudely fashioning satchels.

Died hailing a cab

As exciting as the Ice Age wasn’t, I still preferred it to the rain.  Part of the reason is because nobody had the wherewithal to invent an umbrella until the seventeenth century when it was simultaneously invented by an English Aristocrat named William Shakespeare and, clear across the great Atlantic Ocean in America, by a man named Thomas Edison — both of whom have since drowned. (I know your thinking this sounds a little fishy and you’re wondering if I have my facts straight and, just between you and me, so am I.)

Thomas Edison (or possibly William Shakespeare)

I’m not exactly sure what the gang and I had evolved into by this time.  My memory is hazy.  We were either peasants in France or pheasants in pants.

Until the French government releases the classified Pheasants in Pants photos -- this one will have to suffice

I do remember that by the time we had evolved opposable thumbs, France was heavily into a revolution.  You see, the French Revolution was established as just a fun way to teach French nobility how to divide.  What would be the size of the fraction, they wondered, if they were to divide, say, Henry the VIII by Louie the XIV’s guillotine? They might have found out too if that dimwitted Marie Antoinette wouldn’t have wandered into the way of the experiment.

Say what you will about the lady, but she did have a head for fractions!

Until next time . . . I love you

The Real(ish) Story of St. Patrick’s Day

Linda Vernon Baby Eating and Whatnot, Holidays , , ,

Of course everyone knows that St. Patrick is the patron saint of four-leaf clovers because he was partial to the color green.  But there are other little known facts about St. Patrick that the average person might not know.

For instance, back in the days when St. Patrick was alive, they had a lot of snakes slithering around Ireland.  It was really gross.  The whole place just gave you the heebie-jeebies.  As a matter of fact, that is why the Irish Jig was invented – to keep from stepping on them. But that’s another story I haven’t made up yet.

Irish Jig Dancers performing the "Get a load of the size of that one!" twirling leap
Anyway, St. Patrick, who happened to not like snakes very well, decided to take it upon himself to rid the entire continent of Ireland of them. He set about doing this by writing down some goals and sticking them up on the village mirror and by repeating them over and over whenever he had some spare time.

"Six slippery snakes slid slowly seawards . . . six slippery snakes slid slowly seawards . . . "

It must have worked because St. Patrick is credited, history-wise, with getting the entire population of Ireland totally onboard with Christianity, foods that are magically delicious, red hair, and snake ridding.

But it was the snake ridding that really got his name in print. The story goes somewhat but not very much like this:

You see, St. Patrick was nothing if not charming. He had it all, looks, a winning personality and a flashy carriage to cruise around in.  This is a guy who had powers of persuasion up the yin and/or yang.  In fact, when it came to getting his way, St. Patrick would have made Donald Trump look like a fat guy with funny hair — if he hadn’t already been one.

So St. Patrick, being a man of the cloth, (he had a huge and impressive cloth collection) decided that everyone hopping around all the time trying to side step snakes was depleting the citizenry of their usual vim.  (Vigor hadn’t been invented yet.)

It was obvious something needed to be done, post-haste.  And so he decided to “charm” the snakes out of Ireland.  He started by inviting them all over to his house, under the guise of celebrating St. Patrick’s Day and began charming the pants off them (in those days Irish snakes wore plaid pants with little matching berets).  He did this by slathering the blarney on pretty thick and following up with a plethora of pandering and topped off with a prodigious pitcher of empty promises.  Pat was pretty proud.

Then, when he realized he was running low on straws for the rum and cokes, he quickly herded his limbless revelers outside and managed to lure them over the White Cliffs of Dover where they toppled, snake-like, into the sea. Dead as doornails (albeit very large doornails).

And of course, we all know what happened next. St. Patrick painted the White Cliffs of Dover green to commemorate the occasion.

So next time you have a Happy St. Patrick’s Day, you’ll know why.

Until next time . . . I love you

Existence Anyone?

Linda Vernon Baby Eating and Whatnot, Existence and Stuff , , , , ,

Good News!  I finally found a hobby!  It’s proving to be a really easy and inexpensive hobby.  It doesn’t make a mess, you can do it anywhere and you don’t have to buy any yarn or glue or anything.  All you have to do is think up theories that would explain the mystery of existence. It’s fun. You should try it. Here’s what I’ve got so far:

The Advanced Form of Donkey Kong Theory of Existence

Could it be that we don’t really exist in this world at all?  Maybe we are actually in some cosmic Pizza Parlor playing a video game that seems like real life only when we die; it just means our pizza is ready?

There is a lot of evidence supporting this particular take on the nature of reality.  For instance, when your pizza is ready they “call your number”.   And we sometimes refer to someone’s dying as “his (or her) number was up.”  So you see it’s practically a scientific given, that life as we know it, could be simply a more complicated version of Donkey Kong that we’re playing while waiting for a medium pepperoni, sausage pizza with extra olives.

The I Say Congealed You Say Cajoled Theory of the Universe

This one goes like this. Life is merely a humongous glob of uncongealed matter put here to cajole us into thinking that matter matters.

The Great Uncongealed

This conglomeration of The Great Uncongealed is designed to keep us so busy we won’t even notice that we don’t know who we are — what we are — where we came from — where we are going – or what we’re supposed to be doing. If true, it seems to be working pretty good so far.

The Life is Simply a Figment of One’s Imagination Theory

This is the theory where upon the question of existence comes into question (and vice versa).  In other words (because I’m getting tired of using the words I just used), everything exists because and only because you “think” it exists.  It goes something like this:

You’re brain concentrates only on the things you want to have in your life.  It does this by directing a beam of energy out of your eyes and into, say, your living room, where whatever it is you just thought about is materialized just seconds before you sit down in that chair that wasn’t there seconds earlier. (The Universe thinks this is hilarious, by the way, so just pretend you don’t notice or you will only encourage it.)

I know it’s a little confusing.  Perhaps if I tried explaining it in a different way . . .

Let’s say you are out in the forest when a tree suddenly falls just as you are entering the cottage of the three bears.  And as far as you know there is nobody else in the forest.  Well, except maybe for Goldilocks but just for the sake of argument, let’s pretend she’s deaf.

Did  the tree make any noise when it fell?  If you answered no, did it ever occur to you that you might have been slurping your porridge so loudly you couldn’t have heard a nuclear explosion?

My point is – and I assure you I have one . . . I think . . . well, now you’ve got me so upset about poor little deaf Goldilocks, I forgot what my point was . . . I hope you’re happy.

"Say what?"

Until next time . . . I love you