Big Bucks Barbie

Hello Dear Readers!  For those of you who just woke up from a coma, congratulations!  You’re just in time for Christmas!!  Don’t worry if you haven’t got your shopping done yet.  I haven’t either and I haven’t even been in a coma.  So while I’m out shopping, here’s a little Christmas shopping story about the year my daughter wanted a My Size Barbie!  

Big Bucks Barbie

One year my daughter asked Santa for a “My Size Barbie.”  A “My Size Barbie” is a Barbie doll that has been fed huge amounts of hormones at the factory causing her to become the size of Daryl Hannah.

Picture of My Size Barbie in a Blue Dress   Daryl Hanna on Red Carpet

To ensure that “My Size Barbie” would be in stock, I went to the toy store early.   I approached the Barbie aisle and was about to ask where I might find The Big One, when I tripped over a humongous box containing “My Size Barbie” nearly breaking “My Size Arm.”

The adrenalin rush I experienced from the fall enabled me to heft the package containing The Incredible Babs onto my cart, but not being Arnold Schwartzenegger (or even Maria Shriver), I wasn’t strong enough to maneuver the box so that I could see the price tag.

I inched my Barbie-burdened cart to the checkout stand where it took four of us to hoist The Big Gal onto the scanner, and I mentally noted that perhaps some low-fat Barbie cuisine would make an apropos stocking stuffer.

Being an alert consumer, I had estimated the price at around $40, $50 or maybe even $60.

“Do you know how much this is?” I asked the clerk.

“I’ll let you know in a sec, hon,” she said as she fired up the jaws of life to help her run Buxom Barb over the scanner.

As I waited for the price to appear, I recalled a Christmas of long ago when I had received a Barbie Dream House.  My mother had lovingly assembled it all by herself.  It had taken her the better part of the Kennedy administration.

Barbie's first dream house
Assembles in four years

That had been my favorite Christmas and I owed it all to my mother and to my Barbie.  How ironic that this Christmas I would be giving my daughter The Mother of All Barbies.

“Excuse me ma’am? The “My Size Barbie’ is $128.  Did you still want it?”

One-hundred and twenty-eight dollars!  Suddenly everything began to move in slow motion.  I could feel myself turning white . . . then red . . . then green . . . like an aluminum Christmas tree on a rotating stand.

I looked at the clerk, then back at the 20 or so people waiting in line behind me.  They were all staring at me and sighing a lot.  Maybe they were thinking that I shouldn’t let my daughter down for a few lousy bucks and that I should forget the expense because, after all, it was Christmas.  Finally, a gentleman from the back of the line offer his advice:

“Move it lady!”

Then the clerk from the neighboring checkout stand shouted over, ” My niece has one of those and they can  wear the same clothes!” And then, just to bring it on home, she added, “I think she comes with an entire wardrobe!”

The clerk and I quickly tried to figure out how many outfits were included, but that information was on the opposite side of the box and somebody else was using the forklift.

In the end, I paid with a check so big it would have made “My Size Barbie” proud.  And as the crane lowered The Ultimate Barbie onto the roof of my car, I knew in my heart I had made the right decision.

“A little to the left!”
When Christmas morning came, my little girl would open her very special present, and the wonder and joy that is Christmas would be captured again for one brief, shining moment.

I say brief because the day after Christmas, I made “My Size Barbie” go out and get a job.

Until next time . . . I love you

A Visit From the Toaster Reviewer Gal!

Welcome Dear Readers!  Today the Toaster Reviewer Gal was kind enough to drop by the blog and leave a copy of the cover letter she wrote for a Toaster Reviewer job she is hoping to get.  Let’s take a look at it, shall we?

Position Applied for:  Toaster Reviewer 

Dear Hiring Manager:

Your posting on LinkedIn for a Professional Toaster Reviewer recently caught my eyes, perked up my ears and blew my nose (jk).   I think you will find that I am an exceptional candidate for the position of Toaster Reviewer.

While I have been temporarily out of work for the last three years (don’t ask), I have still managed to stay on top of my game in the field of toaster reviewing.

You see, I currently own and operate a Hamilton Beach SmartToast Extra-Wide Slot 2 Slice Toaster with Tongs, upon which I keep my Toaster  Reviewing skills as sharp as a butter knife by making toast each morning and recording all my thoughts and feelings about my toasting adventures in my journal entitled,  “Scraping to Desired Lightness” (which is currently making the rounds at various publishing houses on the island of Guam, btw).

As an accomplished Toaster Reviewer, many of my reviews can be found on many high-level consumer review toaster websites such as:

Google Toast (www.googletoast.com)

So You’re Going to Have a Piece of Toast (www.soyou’regoingtohaveapieceoftoast.com)

Unplug the Smoke Detectors Kids!, Mommy’s Makin’ Toast! (www.goop.com).

But my accomplishments do not end there.  I also offer exceptional attention to detail and come to the position with my private list of some of the most powerful toaster-review adjectives in the Toaster-Reviewing industry today–which I have gleaned over the course of my career as an international Professional Toaster Reviewer Career Gal!

As a Professional Toaster Reviewer Career Gal, I have written these e-books, which are, unfortunately, only available on Amazon Guam, but still!

Toaster Book one

 

Toaster Gal Book two

Toaster book 3

My accomplishments and qualifications are further detailed in my hard copy resume which is on it’s way to you via the Guam postal service.  Please disregard the burned edges, frankly the Hamilton Beach SmartToast Extra-Wide Slot 2 Slice Toaster with Tongs, still has some bugs that need working out in my professional opinion as a Professional Toaster Reviewer Gal (see above).

In closing, I am as thrilled about being a part of your Professional Toaster Reviewer team as you must be at receiving this cover letter from me.  (That’s  a Haiku, btw!)

Please contact me at my earliest convenience, and I look forward to our mutual admiration.

Sincerely,

Everybody’s Favorite Toaster Reviewer Gal!

And there you have it, Dear Readers, and I don’t know about you but I think she’s got a pretty good chance. Especially if there’s an opening in Guam!

Until next time  . . . I love you

 

 

Gregory’s Bible Stories: What God Hath Whittled

Welcome Dear Readers to this week’s edition of Gregory’s Bible Stories. Today in Sunday school Gregory couldn’t wait to get home to tell everyone about what he learned about the Garden of Eden.  Let’s listen in, shall we?

Gregory's Bible StoriesWhat God Hath Whittled

When last we left God, He had just finished making Adam out of dirt.  Adam turned out great, much better than the dust bunnies God had made the previous day — which even He had to admit didn’t resemble bunnies that much.

dust bunnie or unicorn duck
“Hm . . . maybe I should call them Unicorn Ducks instead.

Then God put Adam in the Garden of Eden that God had just planted all by Himself.  He tried to elicit Adam’s help, but Adam was horrible at taking initiative. God wanted to fire Adam and replace him with someone more competent but He came to this conclusion only after He had used the last of the dirt for potting soil.

After watching Adam live in the Garden of Eden ad nasuem, it soon became apparent to God that Adam was a bit of a mess cat. It wasn’t long before Adam had overrun the pond with dirty dishes, strewn banana peels everywhere and overflowed the laundry hamper with dirty fig leafs.

Then the Lord said, “It is not good for the man to live alone.  I will make a suitable companion to help him.”  To which Adam replied, “Hallelujah!”

So God made a quick trip to the Soil-Eleven and got some more dirt and formed all the animals and birds.  Then He brought them to Adam to see what Adam would name them.  Biblical Scholars believe the conversation might have gone something like this:

God:  So, Adam, what do you want to name this really cool animal thingie I just made that has a tail like a beaver, a bill like a duck, webbed feet and this really cool spiky-thing in the back that has poison in it?

Adam:  Kitty.

God:  Kitty.  Really?  That’s it. Kitty?

Adam:  Kittypus?

God:  That’s the best you can come up with?

Adam:  Don’t you like Kittypus?

God:  Not really.

Adam:  Is it made out of  dirt?

God:  Actually I made this one out of Playdough.

Adam:  How about Playdough Pus?

God: Okay, but only if you’re sure it won’t get mangled in the translation thousands of years from now.

Adam:  I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life — except that I hate the taste of apples.

When God realized that none of the animals was going to be a suitable companion to help Adam, He decided using dirt as a construction material just wasn’t cutting it.

But hey! Speaking of cutting it . . . –why not cut a bone out of Adam and use it to make his companion? (This was way before baling wire had been invented.)

The Lord posed this question to Himself out loud but quietly so Adam wouldn’t hear Him. But Adam did hear and tried to run away by running  around and around the Tree of Knowledge.

God tried explaining to Adam that it wasn’t going to do any good to run away because the question was rhetorical, but Adam didn’t know what rhetorical meant as, up to that point, anyway, he couldn’t stand the taste apples.

Finally, God stuck His Almighty Foot out and tripped Adam and Adam fell down into a deep sleep.  Then God thought, what bone can I take out of Adam that he won’t miss?

Then God snapped His almighty Fingers. He would take out Adam’s middle ear bone, the stirrup.  But when God went to take it out, He saw that Adam had broken it when he fell — so God had to put a cast on it instead.

Then God remembered how much fun it had been making Adam’s ribs.  All He had to do was put the mud in His hands, close His fist and Voila!  All you can eat ribs!

So the Lord God decided to use Adam’s rib to make a companion for Adam. He figured Adam would never know the difference anyway, because as much as God was loath to admit it, it was beginning to look like the Tree of Knowledge was kind of a lost cause on Adam.

So God pulled out one of Adam’s ribs and began whittling away everything that wasn’t a woman . . .

Well that’s all Gregory had time for today, Dear Readers.  Please check back next week to find out what exactly it is that God hath whittled.

Until next time . . . I love you

Just us Playdough Pusses

God Removing Adam's Rib Coloring Page
God Removing Adam’s Rib Coloring Page

 

Childhood Illnesses of the 50’s that Really Sucked

Back in the 50’s, life was a lot simpler than it is now.  The only people who wore seat belts were test pilots. The only people who wore helmets were human cannon balls, and the only people who didn’t smoke like chimneys were nuns.

But when it came to illnesses, we were all pretty much screwed.

We fifties babies were issued one vaccine in the hospital for small pox, and then we were sent home to not die of smallpox. But for everything else, we babies were on our own.

We had to take our chances out there in the cold, cruel, lard-infested world with nary a helmet, a shin pad or a government-approved baby car seat to protect us. (To be fair, my baby brother did have a car seat.  It hooked to the middle of the front seat and had a steering wheel.)

Come to think of it, just making it home from the hospital alive was a miracle.  Since there were no car seats,  I suppose some babies might have bought the farm by rolling off the back seat when Dad slammed on his brakes.

But whenever that happened I think they just flipped a uey and went right back to the hospital and grabbed another baby.  After all, this was the 50’s, and there were plenty more where that came from.

Fun Fact:  Whenever anyone ordered a round for the bar back in the 50’s, they were talking about a round of babies. 

Anyway, once we made it home alive, the first thing we did was get sick with one of the following childhood illnesses:

Measles:  

Measles were little red spots that would suddenly appear all over your body. One minute you’d be pulling the string on your Chatty Cathy and then next minute,  Ping!  Ping! Ping!  You’ve got the measles! They didn’t hurt or itch or anything.  You just had to go around looking stupid.

There were two  types of measles:  The Three-day Measles and the dreaded . . .  gulp . . . Red Measles!   Everybody said you could die from the Red Measles, so you got to eat more ice cream with the Red Measles than with the Three-Day Measles because that bowl of vanilla ice cream you were enjoying just might be your last.

When I had  the Red Measles, my mother wouldn’t let me watch television because they thought that watching TV when you had the Red Measles could cause blindness. Honestly!  So I listened to soap operas on the radio. It’s the only time I ever listened to soap operas broadcast over the radio.  And on a scale of one to ten enjoyment-wise, I’d give radio soap operas a measly one, frankly.

Mumps: 

Okay, mumps were the weirdest thing ever.  First of all,  there’s the name Mumps. To me it always sounded like something you’d call the grandpa you didn’t like very well.  “Oh great here comes Grandpa Mumps!  Quick hide the pie!”

But also, if you thought you looked stupid when you had the measles,  it was nothing and I mean nothing compared to the stupid you looked when you had the Mumps.

Warning:  I’m going to stick a picture in here of someone who has the Mumps.  If you’re eating, you might want to leave the room:

Girl with Mumps

Okay, I googled mumps and this came up.  I have no idea what is going on here, but whatever it is, it doesn’t seem to be going well.

I have a feeling Grandpa Mumps is behind this!

Tonsillitis:

Back in the 50’s,  9 out of 10 kids, chose tonsillitis as their “go to” stay home from school illness.  I know I did.  And so did my brother, Peter.   Peter,  however, pulled it one too many times and suffered a fate worse than staying home everyday getting to eat ice cream.  “He had to have his tonsils pulled.”  Mind you, he could have had “a procedure to have his tonsils removed”  but they didn’t sugar coat things back in the fifties — except for every morsel of food you put in your mouth.

Having your tonsils out was a little bit better than having the Red Measles though. For one thing, you got to watch TV without the worry of  going blind(unless you had a really bad surgeon) and you got to bang on a pan with a spoon if you need more ice cream because it hurt to yell “Can I have more ice cream!”

All in all, having your tonsils out wasn’t such a bad thing.  Except you never got to use it as an excuse to stay home from school again so it definitely had it’s down-side.

Unless you were lucky enough to come down with an appendicitis — but back in the 50’s we were still using our appendix as a second stomach.  We still needed our second stomachs.

After all, we had a lot of lard to digest.

Linda’s Bedtime Stories for Grown-up Children

Kerplink!

Marlene Frappuzio –the bestselling author of “The Wind Only Blows on Thursdays” — sat at her keyboard, fingers poised, waiting for an idea.  Any idea.  Having already spent the advance for her much anticipated, but as yet unwritten, sequel to “Shut the Window!”  Marlene was desperate for an inspiration, desperate for a plot, desperate for a drink of water.  Marlene took a drink of water.  One desperation down, two to go.

“Hey, honey, I’m organizing my vitamins!” Howard Frappuzio, Marlene’s awkward husband, announced, walking into the room.  He was holding a shoebox full of vitamins and accidentally tripped –sending hundreds of vitamins flying everywhere.

Marlene stifled a scream of frustration — one that bordered on hair-raising, but stopped just short of blood-curdling.

“Sorry dear,” Howard was on his hands and knees now picking up vitamins one by one and returning them to the shoe box.  Kerplink, kerplink, kerplink  . . .

All that kerplinking suddenly inspired a revolutionary idea to pop into Marlene’s mind — an idea as welcome as a sign on a long stretch of deserted highway announcing: All you can eat buffet! Restrooms open to the public!

That’s it! Marlene would write about murder by way of vitamin overdose! Oh sure, it was only a crude notion of a plot now, but it just might work.  She’d have to try a little experiment first, however.

Kerplink . . .  “I’ll get out of your hair, honey,  just as soon as I’m done picking up these vitamins.” Howard said.

* * *

Marlene pushed her chair back from the dinner table and contemplated her dead husband, Howard, as he lay face down in his cream of mushroom soup — which had been iron-fortified to the point of death — and dialed 911.

“Hello?  Yes, I think my husband’s dead!  Send someone over!”

Marlene bent down and began picking up vitamins.  The murder she had just committed was perfect!  Perfect except for one thing.   She really should have waited until Howard was done picking up all these vitamins.   kerplink . . . kerplink . . . kerplink . . .

* * *

Linda Vernon Humor Trifect Writing Challenge

Gregory’s Vacation Bible School: Jesus and the Pool at Bethesda

Welcome Dear Readers to this Sunday’s Edition of the Gregory’s Bible Stories! This week Gregory is still away a Vacation Bible School  learning about biblical swimming pools. 

Jesus and the Pool of Bethesda

It was time for the Annual Jews and Sabbath Potluck dinner and Jesus (who always got invited to everything) decided to attend.  Nobody knows what dish Jesus typically brought to these things, but chances are he just whipped up something Johnny on the spot.

Anyway, in order to get to the potluck, Jesus had to pass by the Jerusalem Sheep Gate behind which the sheep who were going to be sacrificed lived.

In biblical days people were cruel to sheep and kept them for the express purpose of killing and sacrificing them.  Unlike today, where people only keep sheep for the express purpose of killing and eating them.

While Jesus was walking past the Jerusalem Sheep Gate, he happened to look over and right next to the sheep gate was the Bethesda Memorial Healing Pool.  The pool had five porches upon which lay a lot of unhealthy people waiting to take a dip.

Some of the people were blind, some of the people were paralyzed and some of the people had a really bad case of eczema (sometimes called Leprosy).

This might be a good time to explain that the Bethesda Memorial Pool could cure disease if (and that’s a big if) you were lucky enough to be the first person to jump in the water after a heavenly angel would pop down and stir it with a Heavenly Egg Beater.

After that, the first person to jump in would get healed and everybody else was up the Bethesda Pool without a paddle until the angel with the Heavenly Egg Beater made another visit.

One man had been waiting in line to jump in the water for 38 years.  (It’s not as bad as it sounds because he was waiting in line while lying on his bed.)  Jesus saw him he asked, “Do you want to get well?”

The man answered something to the  effect that yes he did but he was too paralyzed to be the first one in the pool after the Heavenly Egg Beating.

So Jesus just cut to the chase and said to the man, “Get up, pick up your bed and walk.”

Jesus curing my by Bathesda Pool
“Get up, pick up your bed and walk.”
“Uh . . . are you sure, that’s not going to wreck my back? I’ve been laying down for 38 years.”

Now Jesus was telling the man to pick up his bed and walk, and this was a task that was considered work which was completely against the law on the Sabbath.

And sure enough, first thing Monday morning, the cured man was in deep trouble with the authorities for aimlessly wandering around carrying his bed on the Sabbath. (After 38 years laying by the pool, he couldn’t remember where he lived).

Authorities:  Who told you to carry your bed around on the Sabbath? You’re supposed to be resting.

Cured Man:  Sorry, I don’t remember his name . . . I’m terrible with names. I never forget a face though! 

Later that day while the cured man was praying in the temple (probably for directions back home), Jesus recognized him and said:

“Listen, you are well now, so stop sinning or something worse may happen to you.”

Jesus must have been wearing his monogrammed robe because the cured man ran right to the authorities and told them the guy who cured him was named Jesus.

So the authorities hightailed it over to Jesus and demanded that Jesus explain to them why He had worked a healing on the Sabbath.

Jesus answered by saying, “My father is always working and I too must work.”

This really made the authorities mad.  Aside from thinking that Jesus and His Dad were Sabbath workaholics; they were also completely put off by the fact that Jesus said his Dad was God.

Naturally this made the authorities want to persecute and  kill Jesus even more than they already did.

And the cured man who was wandering around carrying his bed on the Sabbath?   Rumor has it he put his back out from hauling his bed around everywhere and ended up right back at the Bethesda Pool.

Robert Bateman (1836 - 1889) (Artist,
“Hey wait a minute . . . did I grab the wrong egg beater again?”

And there you have it, Dear Readers, I hope you’ll come back next week for another installment of Gregory’s Bible Stories

Until next time . . . I love you

Gregory’s Vacation Bible School: Paul Sails for Rome

Welcome Dear Readers to Gregory’s Vacation Bible School.  Today Gregory was throwing spit wads so the teacher made him get up in front of the class and tell the story of the time Paul sailed to Rome.

Let’s listen in shall we?

Paul Sails for Rome

Today, our story begins just after the Apostle Paul has been released from prison in the town of Caesarea (home of the Caesarea Salad) after a little misunderstanding between Paul and some Asian Jews or perhaps they were Jewish Asians (Some scholars believe that was the crux of the misunderstanding right there).

Anyway, Julius, a Roman Centurion, and possibly founder of  Orange Julius, was to guard Paul while they sailed to Rome where Paul was to stand trial.  Julius was kind to Paul and let him drink all the Orange Julius he wanted on their voyage.

But as biblical sailing luck would have it, there soon arose a terrible storm.  So in keeping with biblical navigational law, everyone agreed that this would be a perfect time to set sail out onto the open sea, while at the same time double-checking that all the lifeboats were left safely on shore.

Paul tried to talk them all out of it, but they failed to heed his advice — even though Paul’s info came from his special ability to accurately predict weather conditions due to his apostle status with “The Big Cheese and The Little Cheese who were one in the same Cheese.”

The next thing you know, an extraordinarily strong wind kicked up — known as the North-Easter Wind — which was much worse than it sounded.

It just kept blowing and blowing and blowing so that by the next day everybody starting throwing cargo and/or up overboard. Julius even had to dump his oranges.

Bible According to Gregory Apostle Paul
“No Paul!  Not my oranges!”
“Hey listen, I just threw an entire case of Cesearea Salad Dressing overboard, we all have to make sacrifices, Julius.”

But that didn’t help, so they decided to throw the ship’s cutting-edge, navigational devices overboard, which, in those days, consisted of an anchor, a sun-dial and a magical goat purported to know right from left.

Finally, they  gave up and lowered the sail and let the ship be carried off by the wind, and that’s when Paul decided it would be the perfect time to get up and make a speech starting with “I hate to say I told you so but . . . ”

Before anyone could get close enough to wring Paul’s neck, he quickly explained that he had been visited by an angel of The Big Cheese who said they would lose the ship but not their lives.

After that, Paul insisted everyone have a nice meal together, which they did, except for Julius who was still pouting about his oranges.  Then they threw the rest of the wheat overboard just for kicks and giggles.

Shortly thereafter,  they spotted the shoreline of Malta, the ship broke apart, and everybody swam or kick floated to shore, and they all celebrated with the Maltan natives by partaking in a three-day fire, the biblical equivalent of a Luau.

While Paul was collecting firewood, a snake bit his hand and everyone took time out from the festivities to watch Paul die.  But not only did he not die, he felt so good he went ahead and healed everyone on the island of dysentery. (They even changed the name of the Island of Malta to the Island of Dysentery but changed it back when tourism started dropping off.)

Paul did make it a point, however,  not to drink any of the water after that.

And there you have it! This week’s edition of Gregory’s Vacation Bible School.  Be sure and check back next week for more biblical adventures.

Until next time . . . I love you

Ten Reasons Why You Might Be Feeling Fat

You have a tendency to eat breakfast four times.

The only equipment you keep in your home gym are a treadmill and a chocolate pie.

Your dog leads a scrap-less life.

a sad pug
“My owner sucks!”

You’ve traded in all your P’s and Q’s for M and M’s.

Trading post sign
“But I gave you ten P’s and Q’s and you only gave me seven M and M’s.”
“Listen, bub, nobody ever said life was fair.”

Your idea of the great outdoors is standing under the air conditioning vent at Mrs. Fields.

Your bathroom scales have filed assault and battery charges against you.

lady standing on bathroom scales
“If you don’t get off me right this second, lady, I’m calling the authorities!”

You only have 34 payments left on your last McDonald’s drive-thru.

McDonald's Mcdrive
“Are you ready to order?”
“No I’m just here to make a payment.”

Whenever you get tough and declare you’re going to lick something, it always turns out to be a Tootsie Roll Pop.

You brake for cake!

woman in an cheesy auto accident
“How’d it happen?”
“She was braking for cake.”

And the number one reason why you might be feeling fat:

You are fat.

 

Until next time . . . I love you

Don’t Thank Me, Thank My Noble Metabolism

 

Don’t Thank Me, Thank My Noble Metabolism

It’s Official! My Metabolism Has Finally Reached Zilch

My metabolism has slowed down so much lately that not only will I gain weight if I even look at a piece of cheesecake — so will the person standing next to me.

Metabolism Heaven

Some people complain of a sluggish metabolism. If I could get my metabolism up to sluggish, well . . . I’d be in metabolism heaven, that’s all.

Not the real Metabolism Heaven, but a darn good likeness

I’ve Got a Metabolism That Punches Out at Noon

I’m starting to get the feeling my metabolism goes home early everyday. I think it’s getting bored with its job. And who could blame it, really. Talk about a backlog of work! Poor Dear.

I would imagine the piles of cheesecake in its In-Basket alone is enough to make even the most dedicated of metabolisms want to call in sick.

What’s a Food Consumer to Do?

Still, even though my heart goes out to my metabolism, it would be nice if it could step up the pace just a little. I’m doing my part by carefully monitoring what I eat. I read all the food labels and whatnot; but it isn’t easy finding a food whose first ingredient is air.

My Life as an Air Fern

I think Mother Nature rigged so it so a woman of my advanced years can live indefinitely on air to keep mankind from going extinct.

My Metabolism Theory

As far as I can tell, Our Family of Humans evolved so that Grandma could keep the cave clean, do all the cooking plus watch the grandkids without having to eat any actual food — which meant Yippee!! Extra helpings of Kentucky-Fried Mammoth for everyone! (Except you know who.)

Me and My Metabolism, Where Would Mankind Be Without Us?

So I suppose one could say, the more sluggish my metabolism, the more I am actually contributing to the survival of the human race. Each and every time I manage to push away a piece of cheesecake without eating it, I am sacrificing that piece of cheesecake for the global good of my fellow Homo sapiens — because now there is just that much more cheesecake for them to eat.

Thus ensuring the survival of our species.

Who knew something operating at zilch could be so noble?

Until next time . . . I love you

The Lord’s Big Box of Disasters

Welcome Dear Readers to this Sunday’s edition of Gregory’s Bible Stories. Today Gregory learned about what the Lord planned to do to Egypt if the Egyptian Pharaoh refused to free the slaves.  Let’s listen in as he tells us about it.

The Lord’s Big Box of Disasters

After Aaron and Moses’s  presentation to the Pharaoh — Bringing Down Your Overhead Costs by Replacing Slave Labor with Levers and Pulleys —  had completely fallen flat as far as freeing the slaves was concerned, it was time for Aaron and Moses to make the pharaoh an offer he couldn’t refuse.

It was time to pull out all the stops by utilizing:  The Lord’s Big Box of Disasters.

The next morning at the Cheops Holiday Inn Express breakfast bar:

Aaron:  I’m going back for more figs, you want anything else, Moses?

Moses:  Yeah, toast me some more unleavened bread will ya?

Aaron:  I don’t think we have time.  Their unleavened bread torch takes forever, and we’ll be late for our appointment with the pharaoh.  There’s still plenty of millet though.

Moses: There always is . . . just bring me some more goat bacon.

Later on the banks of the Nile:

Moses:  Well, hello Pharaoh!  Hi there priests! Thank you so much for meeting us down here on the banks of the Nile.  I realize it’s rather unorthodox, but we have a little demonstration for you.  Observe!

Moses opens The Lord’s Big Box of Disasters and pulls out a walking stick then waves it over the Nile river turning it into blood.

Pharaoh:  Uh huh.

Moses:  Well you don’t seem very impressed — you’re stifling a yawn.

Pharaoh:  Uh huh.  I didn’t sleep very good last night.

Aaron:  Me neither. No offense, Pharaoh, but those wooden pillows you guys use are super uncomfortable.

Pharaoh:  Uh huh.  What other disasters you got in the box, Moses?

Moses opens the box again and millions of frogs jumped out.

Moses:  And these frogs are going to get into everything.  Your baking pans, your ovens,  you beds, your little skirts . . . .

Pharaoh:  Uh huh.  Big Hairy Deal.  What else you got in the box?

Moses:  Okaaaay . . . um . . . lets see here . . . how do you feel about gnats?  Really mean gnats!

Pharaoh:  Uh huh.   You’re kidding right?

Moses:  Okay, maybe not gnats.   But flies!  What about flies!!

Pharaoh:  Uh huh.  You’re threatening me with flies?  Seriously?

Moses:  Uh . . . oh!  Here’s something . . . how about a disease to kill all your animals!! Bwahahaha!

Pharaoh:   Uh huh.  I’ve never been big on animals. What else?

Moses:  Boils?

Pharaoh:  Uh huh.  Everybody’s already got boils.

Moses:  Okay how about hail then?  Hail that will hit the boils and sting!

Pharaoh:  Uh huh. Whoopty friggin’ doo.   What else?

Moses: How do you feel about locusts and being in darkness 24/7?

Pharaoh:  Uh huh.  Actually, I enjoy both.  Is that it?

Moses:  There’s just one last thing.  A little something the Lord likes to call Passover wherein all the first-born sons will be killed and whatnot.  It’s a little more complicated to explain and, frankly, I’d really like to break for lunch.

Pharaoh:  Uh huh.  Okay, well if it’s as lame as the rest of The Lord’s Big Box of Disasters, I’m totally unfazed, and  I’m not letting the slaves go anytime soon and that’s all there is to it.

With that, the pharaoh and his priests walked back to the pyramid.  Aaron and Moses could hear them laughing  and making jokes about how many gnats it would take to free the slaves.

Moses:  Come on Aaron.  Let’s go tell the Lord to put plan Passover into action.

Aaron:  Okay, but can we stay at a different hotel tonight?  Somewhere where they don’t have wooden pillows?

Moses:  What? And miss out on the complimentary breakfast bar?  Are you out of your mind Aaron?

Horus the egyptian god

Pigeons

Gregory’s Bible Stories: Abel’s First-born Lamb Feed

Welcome Dear Readers to this week’s edition of Gregory’s Bible Stories.  Let’s listen in and see what he learned about Adam and Eve’s two boys, Cain and Abel.

Gregory's Bible StoriesAbel’s All You Can Eat First-Born Lamb Feed

After the “incident” with Adam and Eve, the Lord gave each of them hoes as lovely parting gifts and sent them to cultivate the soil just outside the Garden of Eden which they unofficially named Little Eden.  (Luckily, Adam and Eve had eaten enough of the fruit from the Tree of Knowledge to know how to farm,  but were still several bites shy of an Agricultural Sciences degree.)

Eve soon gave birth to two boys.  The first one she named Cain because she had always liked that name.  The second one she named Abel because she wasn’t able to think of any other name she liked.

Cain became a farmer and grew lots of boring broccoli, while Abel became a shepherd and herded lots of  mouth-watering sheep.

One day, Cain gathered up a big bowl of broccoli  and offered it to the Lord while Abel killed a first-born lamb, sautéed the best parts in clarified butter, and offered it to the Lord along with a glass of His favorite chardonnay.

The Lord breezed by Cain’s alter and sat down at Abel’s table.   Just as Abel was tying the Lord’s First-Born Lamb Feed bib onCain came over with his bowl of broccoli.

Cain:  Hi Lord.  I grew this bowl of broccoli for you.    I think it will make a nice accompaniment to Abel’s Seared Petite First-Born Lamb Chops with Rosemary Balsamic Reduction, don’t you?

The Lord:  Take it away. I am rejecting it.

Cain:  Ah come on.  Don’t be that way.  Couldn’t you take one teeny-weeny bite?

The Lord:  No, I reject you and your broccoli, Cain. But I will have me some more of your brother’s delightful mouthwatering first-born lamb!  Hey . . .what’s the matter, Cain, you look angry.  Why are you scowling?

Cain:  I’m just feeling a little killingish that’s all.

Abel:  You’re stupid Cain!

Cain:  Hey, Abel.  Can I see you out in the field for a minute?

Abel:  I guess.  You want to come too, Lord?

The Lord:  No you guys go ahead.  I’m just going to polish off  the rest of these First-Born Lamb Sliders.

When they were in the field, Cain took the stalk of broccoli he’d won first place for at the Little Eden County Fair, removed the pin from it and stabbed Abel repeatedly with the pointy end — killing him, if not instantly, eventually.

Cain killing abel

When Cain came back, the Lord was just finishing the last of the first-born lamb Jello and was once again congratulating Himself on having had the wherewithal to have always made room for it when he was creating everything.

The Lord:  This Jello set up perfectly, Abel!

Cain:  I’m not Abel, I’m Cain.

The Lord:  Where’s Abel?

Cain:  I do not know.   Am I my brother’s keeper?

The Lord:  That’s rhetorical, isn’t it?   Wait a minute . . . Listen:  I hear your brother’s blood crying out from the soil.

Cain:  Are you sure?  Maybe that’s just your stomach growling again.

The Lord:  No, by Golly, that was blood crying out from the soil, alright.  There’s a fine line, but I know the difference.

Cain:  Gulp.

The Lord:  Okay, Buster, no more tilling the soil for you.  From now on, consider yourself a restless wanderer.

Cain:  You mean the kind of restless wanderer that anyone may kill on sight?

The Lord:  Not so!  If anyone kills Cain, Cain shall be avenged seven-fold!

Cain:  Why are you suddenly talking in third person?

The Lord:  I get so bored with omniscient.

Cain:  But why will they be avenged seven-fold?

The Lord:  Seven is my lucky fold.

Cain:  I knew that.

The Lord:  No you didn’t.

Cain:  More first-born lamb shank, Lord?

The Lord:  Thank you.  Don’t mind if I do.

And there you have it, Dear Readers, what Gregory learned in Sunday School, please check back next Sunday to see what will happen next to Adam and Eve and the gang.

Until next time . . . I love you

First Born Lamb Feed

Big Bucks Barbie

Hello Dear Readers!  For those of you who just woke up from a coma, congratulations!  You’re just in time for Christmas!!  Don’t worry if you haven’t got your shopping done yet.  I haven’t either and I haven’t even been in a coma.  So while I’m out shopping, here’s a little Christmas shopping story about the year my daughter wanted a My Size Barbie!  

Big Bucks Barbie

One year my daughter asked Santa for a “My Size Barbie.”  A “My Size Barbie” is a Barbie doll that has been fed huge amounts of hormones at the factory causing her to become the size of Daryl Hannah.

Picture of My Size Barbie in a Blue Dress   Daryl Hanna on Red Carpet

To ensure that “My Size Barbie” would be in stock, I went to the toy store early.   I approached the Barbie aisle and was about to ask where I might find The Big One, when I tripped over a humongous box containing “My Size Barbie” nearly breaking “My Size Arm.”

The adrenalin rush I experienced from the fall enabled me to heft the package containing The Incredible Babs onto my cart, but not being Arnold Schwartzenegger (or even Maria Shriver), I wasn’t strong enough to maneuver the box so that I could see the price tag.

I inched my Barbie-burdened cart to the checkout stand where it took four of us to hoist The Big Gal onto the scanner, and I mentally noted that perhaps some low-fat Barbie cuisine would make an apropos stocking stuffer.

Being an alert consumer, I had estimated the price at around $40, $50 or maybe even $60.

“Do you know how much this is?” I asked the clerk.

“I’ll let you know in a sec, hon,” she said as she fired up the jaws of life to help her run Buxom Barb over the scanner.

As I waited for the price to appear, I recalled a Christmas of long ago when I had received a Barbie Dream House.  My mother had lovingly assembled it all by herself.  It had taken her the better part of the Kennedy administration.

Barbie's first dream house
Assembles in four years

That had been my favorite Christmas and I owed it all to my mother and to my Barbie.  How ironic that this Christmas I would be giving my daughter The Mother of All Barbies.

“Excuse me ma’am? The “My Size Barbie’ is $128.  Did you still want it?”

One-hundred and twenty-eight dollars!  Suddenly everything began to move in slow motion.  I could feel myself turning white . . . then red . . . then green . . . like an aluminum Christmas tree on a rotating stand.

I looked at the clerk, then back at the 20 or so people waiting in line behind me.  They were all staring at me and sighing a lot.  Maybe they were thinking that I shouldn’t let my daughter down for a few lousy bucks and that I should forget the expense because, after all, it was Christmas.  Finally, a gentleman from the back of the line offer his advice:

“Move it lady!”

Then the clerk from the neighboring checkout stand shouted over, ” My niece has one of those and they can  wear the same clothes!” And then, just to bring it on home, she added, “I think she comes with an entire wardrobe!”

The clerk and I quickly tried to figure out how many outfits were included, but that information was on the opposite side of the box and somebody else was using the forklift.

In the end, I paid with a check so big it would have made “My Size Barbie” proud.  And as the crane lowered The Ultimate Barbie onto the roof of my car, I knew in my heart I had made the right decision.

“A little to the left!”
When Christmas morning came, my little girl would open her very special present, and the wonder and joy that is Christmas would be captured again for one brief, shining moment.

I say brief because the day after Christmas, I made “My Size Barbie” go out and get a job.

Until next time . . . I love you

Ten Ways to Tell if You’re Overdoing Thanksgiving

Hello Dear Readers!  I love Thanksgiving!  It’s one of my favorite holidays.  Every year I cook for my family and every year I look forward to it with great pleasure.  Maybe a little too much pleasure.  That’s why I’ve come up with this list of warning signs on how to tell if you are going to overdo Thanksgiving.

How to Tell if You’re Going to Overdo Thanksgiving
Woman looking pensive with leaves on her head

You’ve replaced the phrase “I love you” with the phrase “Olive you”.

You just got back from Potato Mashing Immersion Camp.

You’ve instructed your surgeon to break ground on that new stomach addition.

Architect looking at plans
“So the way I see it, we can knock out a wall between the belly and the button, and we should have room for an entire bowl of mashed potatoes and gravy.

In preparation for the big feast, you’ve managed to diet down to a size bite.

Even if you were to carry out pi to a million decimals, all forms of pi will be polished off by Friday.

“Of course I didn’t eat all the pumpkin pie! I ‘m an apple guy.”

You’ve taken to sleeping on a pillow of mini marshmallows.

Thanks to you and your voluminous Yam Stockpile the earth will be taking 6 days longer to orbit the sun.

Earth orbiting sun
“Gosh this week is really dragging by. What day is it?”
“Yamsday.”
“Still?”

You made an appointment with your dentist to get your teeth sharpened.

Your new gravy boat sleeps six.

“Move over!”
“No you!”

Your husband, Tom, is slightly worried about you because his name is Bill.

You’ve been preheating your oven since the 4th of July.

You refuse to read, watch or listen to  anything that isn’t about Jello.

“Honey! Come quick! Look!  There’s Bigfoot!”
“Is he in the form of a Jello mold?”
“No.”
“Is he carrying Jello?”
“No.”
“Then I’m not going to look.”

And the most obvious way to tell if you’re going to overdo Thanksgiving:

Your appendix has been officially called back into active duty for the stomach reserves.

“Ten Hut!”

 

Until next time . . . Olive you

Whatnot Wednesday: Boy-Like-Being Gets Girl-Like-Being

Welcome Dear Readers to Biff Sock Pow’s Whatnot Wednesday writing challenge post.  Today I’ve taken the liberty of posting a Science Fiction story about love and whatnot on different planets and whatnot in keeping with Whatnot Wednesday and whatnot.

Whatnot Wednesday:  Boy-Like-Being Gets Girl-Like-Being

Zing bellied up to the bar at the Intergalactic Space Station and ordered a human-being’s drink called a Zombie. If he understood it correctly, the rational for naming an alcoholic beverage a Zombie was that if one drank enough Zombies one took on the characteristics of a reanimated dead body.

Zing sipped his drink and thought about how weird humans were while scoping out the bar.

“You can put those antennae away, the Space Gals haven’t arrived yet,”   The bartender slid a fresh Zombie Zing’s way.  The bartender was a tall drink of water named, Mu, a feline sapien from planet Mumeria.  A fine pair of yellow eyes and a well-developed gift for witty banter made the Space Gals mad for him.

“How do you do it, Mu?”  Zing asked.  “How do you manage to juggle so many Space Gal friends?  Don’t you ever want to settle down?”

“You mean settle down with a Space Gal like Sally? “  Mu stifled a purr thinking about Sally.

“Sally does love cats.”

Mu’s back arched ever so slightly.  “I’m not a cat!”

“I didn’t say you were. I just said Sally loves cats.  Two totally unrelated statements.”

Mu reached out and gave Zing a whack. “Where I’m from we eat things like you.”

“Hello fellas.” Sally took off her coat and sat down.  “Am I interrupting something?”

“No, we were just talking about where I was going to take you tonight after work, Sally.” Mu said quickly. “We’re drinking Zombies.  Here, I made one for you.”

“I’ll go anywhere with you, Mu!”  Sally giggled.

Zing took a catnip ball and rolled it down the bar.  He could see Mu’s yellow eyes pick up the motion. “I’ll be right back,” Mu announced.

“How about a movie tonight, Sally?” Zing asked.

Sally looked down the bar.  “What’s wrong with Mu? “He’s acting weird.”

“I don’t know. Maybe too many Zombies.” Zing tenderly reached for Sally’s claw, and they sipped their Zombies and gazed into each other’s antennae.

"Love is a many splendored thing . . . emphasis on "many".

“I love you .  Most ardently.  Please do me the honor of accepting my hand my claw my whatnot in marriage.”

 

 

How To Play Whatnot Wednesday

  1. Write a blog post entitled “Whatnot Wednesday” (it can be about anything)
  2. Add these guidelines to the bottom of your post
  3. Add a link to this post in your post
  4. Add the tag #WhatnotWednesday to your post
  5. Post your post
  6. In the comments below in my post, leave a link to your Whatnot Wednesday blog post
  7. See how many bullet points you an end with the word “post”
  8. Most of all …. HAVE FUN!  (post)

 

R.I.P. Taffy May

When I was a little girl, the pot of gold at the end of my rainbow was a horse.

I really only voiced the question of my getting a horse to my parents a couple of times, knowing full well that the answer would be no, and, as a matter of pride,  I’d ultimately have to run away from home or, at the very least, stage a run away as in the following true scenario:

“Look at this Janey,” my father remarked to my mother, “I found Linda’s pajamas in this little 45-record case in the bushes just outside her window when I was mowing the lawn.”

Oh I was going to run away alright . . . eventually.

Ok, fine . . . if I wasn’t going to get a horse, at least I could try for a kitten.  This is how I went about it.  Step 1:  Convince my parents that I was head over heals in love with cats.  So I colored umpteen pictures of kittens and scotch taped them to my circa 1959 pink wall.  Step 2 wasn’t even needed because Step 1 worked like a charm.  Next thing I knew I was picking out my very own gray, long-haired kitten from a batch of 5 or 6.

In my excitement, I failed to notice that this particular kitten had issues.  It suffered from the world’s lowest kitty IQ.   Maybe that’s why the name I chose, Taffy May, seemed to fit her so well.

Taffy May was the perfect cat for a little girl to bond with.  Being nearly brain-dead, she allowed me to pick her up and carry her around without protest.  She slept with me all night under the covers which I thought was because she loved me so —  but more likely she just couldn’t figure a way out.

I loved stupid little Taffy May with all the passion of my nine-year-old heart and soul.  She failed to grow to full size due to the fact that while she was checking to see if there were any predators around to eat her cat food, the dog would wolf  it down.

She had one batch of kittens – if three can be considered a batch.  But being the little dummy that she was, she managed to lie on all three of them during the night and  in the morning the only one left breathing was my beloved, Taffy May.

Perhaps it was Karma (I know there was a car involved) the day Taffy May shuffled (or rolled) off this mortal world.  I was on my way home from school without a care in the world.  When I rounded the corner, there stood our across-the-street neighbor, Mr. Huey, holding a lifeless Taffy May up by the tail.

I don’t know how many times Taffy May had been run over, but judging from the fact that she was literally as flat as a pancake, it would be safe to assume more than once.  I screamed and ran into the house where I was inconsolable well into the night.  I never got another cat of my very own, out of respect for Taffy May, who will always have a place in my heart . . . about two feet wide and one and one-half inches deep.

Until next time . . . I love you