comedy

Embarrassing Valentine Please Don’t! I Beg of You!

Linda Vernon Holidays , , , , , , , , , , , ,

Bobby

a picture of a nerd

Having missed the last train to Dorkville, Bobby decided to hang out with me at the coffee shop where I worked — until the next train arrived.

Well not really hang out officially.  More like send me imagined hugs and kisses and god only knows what else from upon the stool he spent a lot of time occupying at the lunch counter.

Bobby was 35, and I was 19.  He was married to a 15-year-old (which was apparently legal in some states back then) but worst of all, Bobby had fallen hopelessly, helplessly in love with me after having misinterpreted my statement, may I take your order?  to mean  I love you Bobby!

From that point forward Bobby was in dorky-stalker Love with a capital L.

Bobby’s personality consisted entirely of him saying no way shape or form after everything.

He’d say:  Do you know what time it is?

I’d say:  2:30

He’d say:  No way shape or form! (only he’d draw out the word form like this:  fo-ho-ho-horm!)

Or he’d say,  “Can I get a cup of coffee?”

I’d say:  “Do you take cream?”

He’d say:  “No way shape or fo-ho-ho-horm.”

“I want to get you something for Valentines Day.” Bobby said to me one day.

“No please!  BOBBY!! Listen to me!” I pleaded,  “You’re married!  It’s completely inappropriate! Please I beg of you.  DO NOT GET ME ANYTHING FOR VALENTINES DAY!”

“No way shape or fo-ho-ho-horm.” Bobby sing-songed.  “I’m getting you something anywho!”

Well sure enough, on Valentines day, during the busiest part of the lunch hour when the coffee shop was full,  here comes Bobby waltzing through the restaurant making a beeline straight for me, his eyes shining brightly with dorky-stalker love, his thick coke-bottle glasses slightly askew in his excitement, carrying a two-and-a-half pound box of chocolates that had a huge story-book doll glued to the top of it.

picture of doll on box of chocolates
Bobby’s secret Valentines Day heart-winning weapon!

All eyes and ears were ratcheted our way listening to the conversation that ensued:

Bobby:  I brought you something, Sweetie!  Happy Valentines day!

I said, “No I can’t take this Bobby!  No!   You need to give it to your wife.”

Bobby: “No way shape or fo-ho-ho-horm.”  I already gave her one just like it!”

Embarrassed and defeated,  I took the world’s largest box of chocolates from Bobby’s grubby little hands — but only because I was starting to hear some  “oh how sweet ooh-ing and ahh-ing” coming from  the lunch crowd.   And I stuck it out of sight as quickly as I could before dissolving into a perfect puddle of Valentines Day humiliation.

I don’t remember what finally happened to Bobby.  Maybe somebody shot him.

If so,  we all know what his last words were.

Happy Valentine’s Day, Dear Readers, and may today and all your Valentines Days be Bobby-free!

Until next time  . . . I love you (No . . no!  Not you Bobby!)

My Brain, Peanuts, Has Four Eyes

Linda Vernon The Daily Routine , , , , , , ,

I broke my glasses because my brain, Peanuts, placed them directly underneath where my foot was supposed to go.

My Brain, Peanuts
My Brain, Peanuts

Peanuts and I have been wearing glasses now for 20 years due to adult onset blurriness, and you’d think my brain, Peanuts, would have figured out a way to not step on them.

But no, every once in a while Peanuts has to test me to see if I’m still paying attention (and I never am).

I don’t get it because there’s nothing Peanuts and I hate doing more than having to get new glasses.  What was Peanuts thinking?

So I got my husband, 37, to tape them back together for me, because he’s an engineer so he knows about things like that.

Except that I didn’t trust his taping judgment once he was done and added more tape myself.

So now I’m officially a nerd.

I’d take a picture to show you but I think it might be too early in the morning for that. Oh what the heck, let’s live dangerously shall we?

Me in my new nerdy glasses:

Well, wait a minute . . . let me see if I can take the picture from a better angle:

Oh that’s better.  I like this of me in my nerdy glasses a little better because you can’t really see the tape all that much.

Anyway, what were we talking about?  Oh yeah, the careless behavior of my brain, Peanuts.

So now Peanuts and I will have to stumble down to the glasses store and get those nasty drops put in.  Then once we are legally blind, we will be guided out front to pick out frames from the two or three thousand styles displayed right in front of our eyes somewhere.

The conversation with the professional four-eyes care specialist will go something like this:

Me:  How do these look on me?

Her:  Oh those look good on you.

Me:  Really?  Well how about these?

Her:  Oh!!! Those look good on you!

Me.  Really?  What about these?

Her:  Oh those!!! Look good on you.

Me:  How about these?

Her:  Oh those, look!!!  Good on you!!

Me:  And these?

Her:  Oh those look good!!! On you!!

Me:   Oh but what about these?

Her:  Oh those look good on!!!  You!!!!!

Me:  Oh, yeah, what about these?

Her:  Oh those look good on you.

Of course, we all know how this story ends.  Peanuts and I will finally decide on frames, then go back to pick them up three weeks later because their motto is ready in about an hour give or take three weeks.

Me Picking Up My Glasses:  Are you sure these are my glasses because they look horrible and I can’t see a thing.

Her:  OH!!! THOSE!!! LOOK!!! GOOD!!! ON!!! YOU!!!

Then Peanuts and I will go home and while I’m crying my eyes out, Peanuts will be eating a 1000 grams of sugar.

Until next time . . . I love you

Flipping Through The Slightly-Creepy Seventies

Linda Vernon Slighty Creepy Seventies, The Daily Routine , , , , , , , , , ,

Welcome Dear Readers!  Today, if you’re not feeling a little nauseous already, I thought it might be fun to flip through this House Beautiful Magazine from everyone’s favorite icky decade:  The Slightly Creepy Seventies!

House Beautiful 1975
Isn’t this bedroom eye-crossingly wonderful? But it needs something more, don’t you think?  To really give it that Slightly Creepy Seventies flair? Like a focal point of some kind . . . 

But what kind of a focal point?  Hm. . . .

img228
Okay! That’s what the Slightly Creepy Seventies is talking about! Because there’s nothing like the addition of a weird, eerie male bedspread model to give any 70’s decor that much needed splash of slightly creepy!

Now let’s turn to the next page shall we?  Ready?  (I’ll wait if you want to pop a Pepto Bismal.)

Overly Cheerful Family Room slightly creepy seventies
Whoa! Obviously, the Slightly Creepy Seventies had the highest tolerance for decorative cheerfulness than all the other decades put together.

Now, this room is a good example of what happened back in the 70’s when your Slightly-Creepy Seventies Interior Decorator scarfed down a big bowl of yellow chrysanthemums and washed it down with a great big pitcher of ice-cold LSD for breakfast and then rushed over and redecorated your family room while in the throws of a cheerfulness overdose.

Actually, Cheerfulness Overdose was a common problem in the Slightly Creepy Seventies.  In fact, more interior decorators were buried with huge grins on their faces in the Slightly Creepy Seventies than any other decade in history!

So I guess you could say there’s an upside to everything.

Hey!  Look what awaits us on the next page . . . 

img232
  Yes, you’re seeing that correctly.  It’s a rocking chair on the beach. And why not?  After all, life in the Slightly Creepy Seventies was stranger than it’s ever been before or since.

And speaking of rocking chairs on the beach, I think I vaguely remember a Brady Bunch Episode involving a rocking chair/beach incident: I’ll try to retell it as best I can from memory:

Mike Brady: MarshaMarshaMarsha!  Peter! Greg! Cindy! and Whatever the rest of your names are!  We’ve driven 87 hours and we are finally at the beach!

MarshaMarshMarsha:  But Dad, we live somewhere in LA.  Why did it take us 87 hours to get here?  The Pacific Ocean is just down the street.

Mike Brady:  What? 

Carol Brady:  Oh Mike, you did it again. Hahahahahaha!  You turned left when you should have turned right!  Hahahahaha! We’re not at the Pacific Ocean, children, we’re at the Atlantic Ocean! Hahahahahaha!

Mike Brady:  Hahahahahahahahahaha!

Alice:  Hahahahahaha!  I’ll lug the rocking chair down to the beach while you Bradys wait in the car and laugh.

Carol Brady:  Hahahhahaha—

Alice:  Wait a minute!  Hold the landphone! The rocking chair’s not here!  Somebody forgot it!  I’m not one to point fingers but I think it was MarshaMarshaMarsha.

Mike Brady:  Well, kids, it looks like we’re turning around and driving 87 hours home to get it.  Hahahhahaha.

Carol Brady:  But wait Mike, you left MarshaMarshaMarsha at the Atlantic Ocean.

Mike Brady:  Hahahahhahahaha!

Carol Brady:  Hahahahahahaha!

Say now, this next item looks interesting. 

img235

Her name was Betty Knowles and she lost 4 pounds and 6 inches off her waist in only eight days back in the Slightly Creepy Seventies using this lever and pulley exercise contraption. Unfortunately, once  Betty got it all set up and herself situated inside of it, she could never figure out how to get out.   Eight days later Betty was not only  much, much slimmer, but also, she wasn’t wasting valuable time breathing or having a pulse anymore. Unfortunately she wasn’t found until last week about a quarter to five.

Sure, it was a sad Slightly Creepy Seventies demise for poor Betty Knowles, but the good news is she has been chosen as the main attraction at the Smithsonian Institute’s much anticipated upcoming exhibit:  Mummified Peoples of the Slightly Creepy Seventies.

Proving once again there’s an upside to everything!

Well, Dear Readers, that’s it for today.  If you need me I’ll be down at the Pacific Ocean.  I’ll be the one sitting in the rocking chair eating a big bowl of yellow chrysanthemums.

Until next time . . . I love you

British Empire Atrocities or Happy Fourth of July!

Linda Vernon Holidays, The Daily Routine , , , , , , , , , ,

Hello Dear Readers.  It seems the cold, cruel calendar will be ushering in the  Fourth of July tomorrow and before I’ll even have time to get out of bed!  The calendar is such a tyrant.

Which  brings us to another kind of tyranny. One that we Americans had foisted upon us on the Fourth of July  200- odd years ago by the British Empire — resulting in the Declaration of Independence!

I’d look up exactly how many years ago it was,  but I think google’s closed today. . . okay, okay I’ll try . . .

Hmm. . . As it turns out google is open but judging from the answers it’s given me, everybody went home early to light firecrackers.  They must have the temps working because I asked google the following question:

Hi Google, Happy 4th! Which reminds me, what were the atrocities the British Empire inflicted on the American Colonists that resulted in the Declaration of Independence?

And here’s the answers it gave me (as far as you know anyway).

1.  The British Empire kept messing with the price of crumpets causing the colonists all kinds of unpleasant menu-planning issues.

Linda Vernon Humor Thanksgiving Pic on the Fourth of July
“You no likee potatoes?”
“No we likee them, they’re a wonderful tuber. It’s just that we are going to have to hold off on the potato trading until we can ascertain what the crumpet situation going to be. Sorry.”

2.  The Colonists did not want to be bullied into memorizing a list of all of England’s past kings and queens in American public schools.

3.  If the Colonists hadn’t declared their independence, they would have had to wake up from their siestas early (see Spanish-American War) for tea time (see Atrocities of the British Empire)

4.  The Colonists had a premonition they weren’t going to appreciate the humor of Monty Python.

5.  The Colonists picked up on the fact that the British Empire thought they wore lame clothes and were borderline dirty.

6.  The British Empire imposed a tax on Nursery Rhymes which infuriated the colonists due to the fact that none of them even rhymed very well.

7.  American Colonists were vehemently opposed to using the word “row” instead of the word “fight” like the British Empire kept nagging them to do.

Fourth of July Essay Linda Vernon Humor
“Who never did him any harm but killed the mice in father’s barn?  I hate to break it to you, Redcoat, but harm and barn do not rhyme!”
“Oh yeah, you want to row about it?”
“You mean do I want to fight about it.”
“Uh . . it’s called row, not fight.”
“Oh yeah? Well I hate you.”
“Well I hate you too.”
‘Let’s row about it.”
“You mean fight about it?”
“Shut up!”
“You shut up!”

 

Well, Dear Readers, that about does it for the Fourth of July post.  I don’t know about you, but I’m already 4th-ed out!

Until next time . . . I love you

Things That Got Flushed That Hadn’t Oughta

Quote Linda Vernon The Daily Routine , , , , , , ,

Toilet with flowers Linda Vernon Humor

I don’t mean to brag, but I have been using “the facilities” on my own now for over fifty years, and I know, firsthand, some crazy things that got flushed that hadn’t oughta.

Once, when I was four, my mother bought a batch of the most beautiful red apples you ever saw and displayed them on the table.  I asked for one, and my mother gave it to me.

I was an apple lover from the get go!

I took one bite and spit it out.

That’s because this apple was a deceitful type of apple, the kind that looks like it’s going to be delicious but, instead, tastes like dry, sandy-mush.

A couple of days later, I must have forgotten how horrible the apple tasted because I asked my mother for another one.  And she agreed, but only if I promised I wouldn’t take just one bite and spit it out. Who me?  Heavens no! Mother! Please! Don’t be ridiculous! She handed me an apple.

I took one bite and spit it out.

Even Eve didn’t have so much trouble with an apple.

Later in the week, I happened to walk by the beautiful red apples that were still sitting on the table (now we know why) and asked for another one. My mother wisely said no because there wasn’t any questions in her mind, by now, what I was going to do.

Well for some reason, I was set on it.  I began begging dramatically.  “Please Mother! Please!  I won’t spit it out! For the love of God,  I beg of you! I must have an apple if I am ever going to thrive!”

My mother acquiesced, handed me yet another apple along with a stern warning that she better not find this one in the garbage with one bite out of it.

I took one bite and spit it out.

Ok, now I had a big problem on my hands.  Where to dispose of a big, beautiful red, sandy-mushy apple with one bite out of it.  I had to think, think! And quickly before my mother discovered the truth!

I made an emergency executive decision to flush it. So I went into the bathroom, looked both ways, threw the apple with one bite out of it into the toilet and pushed down the handle.

I was amazed when it actually went down!  Fabulous!  I dusted off my four-year-old hands and resumed playing.

Later that day I happened to walk by the bathroom just as my father was lifting the entire toilet off the floor.  I was flabbergasted!  I had no idea it would “do that!”

I still hadn’t put two and two together until I saw him reach his hand down the pipe and pull out a big beautiful red apple with one bite out of it.

Uh oh . . .

Shame quickly set it.  I couldn’t have felt worse if I would have gunned down Santa. But that’s another story for another day.

Suffice it to say, I’ve been privy to lots of things that got flushed that hadn’t outta — but it all started with that beautiful red apple with one bit out of it.

Until next time . . . I love you

Ezekiel’s Weight Problem

Linda Vernon Gregorys Bible Stories, The Daily Routine , , , , , , , , ,

Welcome Dear Readers to this Sunday’s edition of Gregory’s Bible Stories. Today in Sunday School, Gregory learned about the day Ezekiel had an unusual experience.  Let’s listen in as he recounts the story for us.

Ezekiel’s Weight Problem

One day the prophet Ezekiel was relaxing down by the Chebar river in Babylonia where he was hanging out with some of his exiled Jewish  buddies enjoying some Chebar cheese when, suddenly, there was a tremendous rumble.

At first he thought it was just his stomach rumbling from eating too much Chebar cheese, but he soon realized the noise was coming from the sky.

He looked up and was amazed to see a UFBO (unidentified flying biblical object).

He fell face down and heard a voice calling him.

God:  Mortal Man stand up I want to talk to you.

Ezekiel:  Do I have to get up?  I’m really comfortable right now.

God:  I am sending you to the people of Israel.

Ezekiel:  May I ask why?

God:  They have rebelled against me and turned against me and are still rebels just as their ancestors were. So I am sending you to tell them what I, the sovereign lord, am saying to them.

Ezekiel:  Wouldn’t it be easier to just fly over there in your UFBO and tell them Yourself?

God: They are stubborn and do not respect me so I am sending you instead.

Ezekiel:  Okay let me get this straight. You, the sovereign lord, who is flying around the holy land in Your UFBO can’t get the Israelites to listen to you or respect you so you’re sending me instead, a guy who is currently unemployed, slightly overweight and living down by the river?  Do you really think I’m up to the job?

God: Just tell the people of Israel whatever I tell you to tell them. But don’t be afraid of them even though they will despise you and even though it will feel like you are living among scorpions.

Ezekiel:  Well okay,  but scorpions are my least favorite insect.

God:  Scorpions really?  That’s refreshing. Most people say spiders.  Anyway, open your mouth and eat this.

Ezekiel:  What is it?

God:    A scroll upon which cries of grief, wails and moans are written on both sides.

Ezekiel:  No thanks I’m allergic to papyrus.

God:   It’s chocolate covered . . . .

Ezekiel:  Oh in that case, don’t mind if I do!

Ezekiel ate the scroll. (It gave him hives but God pretended not to notice.) Then God’s spirit lifted Ezekiel and carried him to another spot by the Chebar River where Ezekiel resumed eating Chebar cheese and hanging out with different group of his exiled Jewish buddies.

Seven days later God showed up again

God: Okay, here’s the deal.  If I announce that an evil man is going to die, it’s going to be your job to warn him.  If you don’t warn him to change his ways and he dies a sinner, I will hold you responsible for his death but if you do warn him and he doesn’t stop sinning he’ll die a sinner but your life will be spared. Got that?

Ezekiel:  Uh . . .well . . .  uh . . .

God:  Now get up and go into the valley and I will talk to you there.

Ezekiel:  But I just got comfortable.

God:   . . . ahem . . .

Ezekiel :  Okay okay but can I at least bring my Chebar cheese with?

God:  If you must.

Ezekiel:  Say you wouldn’t happen to have anymore of those delicious chocolate-covered scrolls  would you?

God: Yes but you can’t have any.

Ezekiel:  Why?

God:  They’re too fattening.

Ezekiel:  What are you implying?  I’ve been eating too much Chebar Cheese?

God: All I can say is that last statement of yours needs no question mark.

Eziekiel:  Well!  I’ve never been so insulted in my whole life!

God:  That robe of yours is getting awfully tight . . . just sayin’.  So anyway, next I’m going to want you to  go home and shut yourself up in the house and I’ll tie you up with ropes so you won’t be able to go out in public then I’m going to paralyze your tongue.

Eziekiel:   Wait . . . is this some sort of new-fangled diet?

God:  I’ll tell you next week in Part II.

And there you have it, Dear Readers, what Gregory learned in Sunday School.  Please check back next week to find out  what God asks of Ezekiel next and whether or not Ezekiel will lose weight and overcome his papyrus allergy.

Until next time . . . I love you

 

Ezekiel's_visionWhat? You want me to eat that? Well, I’d much prefer some Chebar cheese.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Uh. . . no offense, but that chocolate kinda looks like water stains.Uh. . . no offense, but that chocolate kinda looks like water stains.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

How to be a Professional Gluey Paste Salesman in Ten (or maybe eleven) Easy Steps!

Linda Vernon Thrift Store Finds , , , , , , , , , ,

Hello Dear Readers.  As you may remember earlier this week, we were discussing some ads that appeared in an 81-year-old Saturday Evening Post such as this one for Gluey Paste:

I am happy to report, that I have done some extensive research this week into the exciting, fast-paced Gluey Paste industry and needless to say did not come up empty handed.

Have you often dreamed of living the glamorous life of a Gluey Paste Professional Salesman or woman but cried yourself to sleep each night thinking it would be impossible?

Well, Dear Reader, you can now turn those tears of sorrow into tears of joy in ten (or maybe eleven) easy steps!

How to Be A Successful Gluey Paste Salesman in Ten (or maybe eleven) Easy Steps!

Step One:

As a  Gluey Paste Professional Salesman, you will begin any successful sales call by shaking the hand of the potential Gluey Paste customer and greet him by saying, “How do you do, Mr. Smith.”

Step Two

The salutation should be immediately followed by noticing a smudge on Mr. Smith’s elbow and offering to wipe it off — the act of which will quickly bond Mr. Smith to you, the Professional Gluey Paste Salesman.

Step Three:

Uh oh.  It looks like you, as the Professional Gluey Paste Salesman, might have inadvertently bonded yourself to Mr. Smith literally.

Do not be alarmed as this happens more often than not. However, it is of the utmost importance that you, as the Professional Gluey Paste Salesmen, remain calm and under no circumstances let Mr. Smith know what has just transpired.

Step Four

Assuming a nonchalant air, casually turn around so that you and potential customer, Mr. Smith, are facing in the same direction.

This might be a good time to introduce an interesting topic of conversation, such as: “How ’bout them Yankees?”  A question that will keep Mr. Smith so busy thinking, he’ll undoubtedly fail to notice that he  is glued to you, the Professional Gluey Paste Salesman.

Step Five

Next, you must inch Mr. Smith in the direction of the washroom with the eventual outcome of washing the glue off each of you.

However, in order to get Mr. Smith to cooperate fully without being the wiser,  you simply explain that as the Professional Gluey Paste Salesman, you are very interested in the equipment in the washroom to see if it correlates with the amount of glue a potential customer such as Mr. Smith is likely to purchase.

Step Six

Should you, as the Gluey Paste Professional Salesman, suddenly trip and land in the manner pictured above, calmly explain to Mr. Smith that you are practicing your moves for an audition later in the afternoon with the Flying Wallenda’s.

Mr. Smith will not only understand-; he’s very likely to be impressed with your well-rounded personality.

Step Seven

This is the most precarious time in any successful sales call for both you, the Professional Gluey Paste Salesman, and your potential customer, Mr. Smith.

While you are struggling to get things “back on track”, it is recommended that you  belt out a rousing rendition of Camp Town Racers since it has been scientifically proven that the singing of Camp Town Racer’s puts people in the mood to buy glue.

Step Eight

Once you have managed to unstick your hand from Mr. Smith’s elbow, next stick your hand onto Mr. Smith’s knee.

Step Nine

Now, of course, it is just a matter of “walking” Mr. Smith over to a chair so that he can sit down and sign the purchase agreement for upwards of 14 cases of Gluey Paste!

Step Ten

Be careful here because this is often the critical moment in which Mr. Smith is likely to get cold feet causing you to have wasted the entire morning without getting any sales commission.  Therefore you must be prepared to put some serious sales pressure on Mr. Smith.

Step Eleven: 

( Please note this step is only to be used should steps one through ten fail to produce a sale.)

If Mr. Smith still refuses to “come around” after utilizing steps one through ten, pull out the stops by pulling out your Gluey Paste Company issued Smith and Wesson revovlver.

Not only will Mr. Smith’s status be instantly upgraded from potential customer to loyal customer, you’ll be well on your way to experiencing the exciting lifestyle of a world-class Gluey Paste Professional Salesman!

Until next time . . . I love you

Vintage Ads from the Great Depression or “Are You Gonna Eat the Rest of Your Paste?”

Linda Vernon Thrift Store Finds , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,

1931 Saturday Evening Post

Last night, I was browsing through this 81 year-old Saturday Evening Post (I’m trying to catch up on my reading), when I came across this ad:

This ad states that in 1931,  Gluey Paste was used in over half of schools in the United States.  It doesn’t say what the other half used,  I’m guessing Pastey Glue.

And since it was the Great Depression,  it’s also probably safe to assume  that whether it was Gluey Paste or Pastey Glue — it was certainly the favorite breakfast choice for United States school children everywhere.

Underneath that ad was this happy thought:

Dr. Scholl's SolvexAs the ad so carefully blurts out, if your feet (and toes) are itchy you, could have anything from Athlete’s Foot to Gym Foot — maybe even going so far as to have contracted a case of Golfer’s Itch which is apparently a subsidiary itch of the athlete or the person who frequents a gym.

The ad also mentions ringworm right after mentioning
Golfer’s Itch.  So apparently back in 1931, it was common place to contract ringworm while golfing.

Of course, it was nothing to worry about since Dr. Scholl’s Solvex could be used as a remedy and purchased for a buck.  And if that didn’t work, you could always steal some Gluey Paste or Pastey Glue off some United States School children and give that a go.

And of course, what man could hold his head up in public without:

Apparently in 1931, there were two ways to wear one’s hair.  Brushed or Well Brushed.  The pinnacle to which one could aspire hair-wise in 1931, was to have “well brushed hair all the time,” in addition to a “healthy scalp” (Apparently a healthy scalp wasn’t a given and there were a profusion of unhealthy scalps to be encountered at every turn that one must politely ignore.) 

The ad goes on to imply that in order to get both well brushed hair all the time AND a healthy scalp simultaneously, one must pour liquid hair dressing on one’s head taking great care to smell it first. 

If it was unscented it went on the head-; if  it was scented it went on the head of lettuce.

It goes without saying, of course, that said wearer should thoroughly saturate the hair and scalp in order to get that freshly applied “oily glow” hence the catchy name: Glo-co! 

So there you have it, Dear Reader!  And what did we learn today?  Let’s review in case you suddenly find yourself whisked away to the Great Depression:

  1. We learned that in 1931, Pastey Glue and Gluey Paste were an important part of every child’s breakfast.
  2. We learned that in 1931, if you didn’t have ringworm, you probably weren’t a very good golfer.
  3. We learned that in 1931, men with oil dripping down the back of their necks had healthy scalps.

Until next time . . . I love you

Vintage Foods from Nineteen Eighty-ewww!

Linda Vernon Edible Tales , , , , , , , ,

Hello Dear Readers.  Hey!  Look what I found from 1982! 

In an effort to include everybody on the face of the earth, this 1982 Time Saver’s Cook Book bills itself as “A People’s Friend Special” with more than 300  money-stretching recipes not to be confused with more than 300 stomach-stretching recipes.

Today we are taking a little trip back in time to the year 1982.  A time when it was considered attractive to wear football shoulder pads underneath all your dresses and a time when every wishbone wish in America was to wake up with cowlicks covering 90 percent of your head.

“Hey, How’d you get your hair to go so good?”
“I wished for cowlicks.”

Let’s take a closer look at the 80’s through the pages of  A People’s Friend Special, Time Saver’s Cook Book and see what people considered edible back in 1982 or as it is sometimes referred to by Food Historians 198eww.

Super Waffles 198eww Style

Now here’s a real 80’s treat!  Waffles covered with things that don’t go with waffles at all. Like tomatoes!  And kidneys! And whatnot!

The recipe says:
Sausage and Tomato and waffles . . .okay
Spicy Bacon and waffles . . . okay
Savory Kidney and waffles . . . uh well, I prefer savory pancreas on my waffles but maybe that’s just me.

Let’s take a closer look at the 198eww deliciousness:

“Dear God! It’s moving!”

Although this looks a bit suspicious, the recipe absolutely insists this is a waffle and not a shingle!  Therefore, what is on it is not what you’re thinking is on it even though it looks exactly like what you’re thinking is on it.

But please don’t think about what’s on it anymore, Dear Readers, because you wouldn’t want to ruin your appetite for:

Whatever This Is

Here’s a chicken recipe that calls for Kellogg’s Bran Flakes. I know you’re  probably thinking the same thing I am right now which is : K E Double L O Double Good! But let’s not be too hasty, Puddin’ (a little cookbook humor, hope you don’t mind) This 198eww recipe is called Crunchy Chicken. But whatever happens when you bite into it, try to remember above all else that it is supposed to be crunchy.

And finally our Pièce de résistance  from 198eww:

Speghetti O Noooooooooo! Pie.  Among other strange items, the recipe calls for one pound of puff pastry thawed.  So at least it’s got thawed pastry going for it!  The recipe also cries out for frankfurters, mushrooms and one beaten (within inches of its life I’ll bet) egg.

Unfortunately there is nothing in the ingredients that would account for the unidentified miscellaneous chunks floating around at large (and small).  Well, we must remember that in the 198eww, absolutely nothing made sense.  Even though we loved pretending it did!

And on that thought, I leave you with:

“Smile.”
“I am smiling.”

Until next time . . . I love you

Picture credits: Detox Zebra.com http://www.zebradetox.com/funny-pictures/extreme-80s-haircuts/
Michael Jackson and E.T.:  The twilight zone of Google

Big Bucks Barbie

Linda Vernon The Daily Routine , , , , , ,

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!

Linda Vernon The Daily Routine , , , , , , , , , ,

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

Linda Vernon Gregorys Bible Stories, Sunday School Dropout Bible Stories, The Daily Routine , , , , , , , , , ,

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

Linda Vernon 1950's , , , ,

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

Linda Vernon The Daily Routine, Trifecta Writing Challenges , , , , , ,

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

Linda Vernon Gregorys Bible Stories, Sunday School Dropout Bible Stories, The Daily Routine , , , , , ,

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