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Linda’s Activity Page for Grown Up Children

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

Welcome Dear Readers! I thought it would be fun to post the very first Activity Page for Grown Up Children!

Let’s  start with some hidden picture fun!

Activity #1:

Uh oh!  It seems Arianna Slippington slipped into a vat of syrup again!  Poor, dear, clumsy Arianna!  Now she has all sorts of things stuck to her!  Can you find them?

img038

How many things did you find hidden in Arianna’s hair and stuck to her clothes?  

Did you find 8 things?  Good for you!  What about 10 ten things? That’s just super! But if you found all 12 things then you are very very very good at finding things stuck to someone who fell into a vat of syrup and got 12  things stuck to them. Give yourself a great, big gold star!

Activity #2

Uh oh! Dear Readers!  After slipping into a vat of syrup it looks like poor, dear, clumsy Arianna Slippington got herself into another jam!  She accidentally (or maybe on purpose) ran over her hairdresser at the drive-through beauty salon!  Whoops! Poor, dear, clumsy Arianna Slippington!

Now Arianna is on death row and in just a little while Arianna will be served her very last meal. Cut out the Arianna paper doll and the outfit you would like her to wear for her very last meal.

Arianna Slippington paper doll

Which outfit will you choose for Arianna?

Dress # 2

Dress #1 (1)

Oh very good!  The outfit you picked was a very good choice!

In fact, poor, dear, clumsy Arianna Slippington looks so  adorable in the outfit you picked  for her last meal, you deserve not one, but TWO GOLD STARS!

Activity #3:

Now it’s time to connect the dots to see where poor, dear, clumsy Arianna Slippington will go next! 

Connect the Dots to find out where poor, dear, clumsy Arianna will go next!

img042

Did you successfully connect the dots?  Let’s find out.  Does your picture look like this?

Arianna Slippington in heaven

Yay! You connected the dots successfully.

And good news!  It looks like poor, dear, clumsy Arianna Slippington made it to heaven after all!!  Don’t you just love it when activity pages have a happy ending?

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Well, this  concludes today’s activity page for grown up children, Dear Readers!  Please check back soon for more activity page fun.  Until then, remember to exercise caution when walking near a vat of syrup or driving through the hair salon.

Until next time . . . I love you

Gregory’s Bible Lesson: Life on the Ark

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

Welcome Dear Readers to this Sunday’s edition of The Bible According to Gregory.

Today in Sunday School Gregory learned about Noah’s Ark  and couldn’t help imagining what it must have been like living on the Ark while waiting out the flood.

 LInda Vernon humoous bible storiesLife on the Ark as Imagined by Gregory

Noah:  Honey!  Come on!  You’re not still packing are you?  We’ve got to get going! The floodgates of the sky are opening!

Noah’s Wife, Betty:   I can’t get my bath robe to fit into this stupid suitcase!

Noah:  Here let me do it.

Betty:   Oh no you don’t!  You’ll  wrinkle  everything!

Noah:  Honey! I just packed two of every kind of animal into one measly ark.  I think I can pack a suitcase.

Betty:   Do you think we’ll have room for the trampoline?  I’d like to stay in shape, God only knows  how long we’ll be stuck on the ark.

Noah:  Sure you can bring the tambourine.  You know how much I love to sing.

Betty:   Not the tambourine, Noah, the trampoline.

Noah:  We have a trampoline?

Betty:   Hey, you’re the one who insisted we get a Figco Membership. What’s the matter Noah?  You look upset. Are you mad about the trampoline?

Noah:  No, it’s God.  I just got all the animals packed in the Ark so they  fit  nicely and now  God has added  seven pairs of each kind of ritually clean animal and seven pairs of each kind of bird to the list.

Betty:  You mean he didn’t mention it before now?

Noah:  Nope.

Betty:  Well maybe you could just hose off some of the ones you already have.

Noah:  Either way, I’m afraid there won’t be room for any trampolines this trip.

After Noah had  finally figured out a way to pack everything into the ark (he had to resort to  strapping Betty’s rocking chair and the elephants to the roof),  Noah and Betty went into the boat as well as  their three sons Shem, Ham and Japheth, their wives and a male and female of each kind of living being.  

Then the  Lord shooed all the animals away from the  door and slammed  it shut.  (Part of a zebra’s tail was still sticking out but the Lord just ignored it since there was no way he was ever going to get that door shut again)  Then the Lord gave the ark an almighty heave-ho and off they went!

Day Ten on the Ark

Ham:  Dad can’t we open a window or something?  The smell in here is gross!

Noah:  What’s that?  I thought I saw your lips moving, son, but I can’t hear you over all the squawking,  and the mooing and the bleating.

Betty:   I can’t stand all this sitting!   What I wouldn’t give for that trampoline right now.

Noah:  What honey?  Did you say something about a  tambourine?

Shem:  I’m hungry! Hey I know! What’s say we  barbecue one of the animals!

Japheth:  Are we there yet?

Day 50 on the ark:

Everybody in unison:  Ninety- nine  potter vessels of  wine on the ark, 99 pottery vessels of wine, take one down and pass it around 98 pottery vessels of  wine on the ark . . .

Day 100 on the Ark

Shem:  Hey guess what everybody?   We have officially risen 25 feet above the tops of the mountains!

Ham:  How do you know that?

Shem:  I measured it with this 25-foot flood dipstick  Dad let me bring.

Betty:   Noah!  How come you let  Shem bring a 25-foot water dipstick, but you wouldn’t let me bring one  lousy little trampoline?

Noah:  What’s that Betty?   I can’t hear you over all the snorting and the squealing and the bow-wowing.

Japheth:  Are we there yet?

Day 130 on the Ark

Shem:  Hey Dad a raven and a dove just got out and the raven didn’t come back but the dove did, and it had  an olive branch in its beak!

Noah:  You know what, Shem,  at this point Daddy doesn’t  really give a rat’s behind.

Ham:  Ha ha!   Funny you should say that,  Dad, because there are several rats behind you right now!

Noah:  Hm . . . apparently some of us have been going forth and multiplying  early.

Day 150 on the Ark

Noah:  Ninety nine pottery vessels of—

Ham:   Hey Dad!  Last time I looked outside there wasn’t any water anywhere, just dry land as far as the eye could see.

Noah:  What?  When was this?

Ham:  About three months ago give or take.

Noah:  What?  Why didn’t you tell me?

Ham: I know how much you hate getting interrupted when you sing.

And a hearty laugh was had by all!

And there you have it, Dear Readers!  How Gregory imagines  life on the ark during the Great Flood.  Be sure and check back next week for another Gregory bible adventure!

Until next time . . . I love you

Noah and Betty

Unloading the Ark

Noah makes some arks

 

The Smears of a Clown

Linda Vernon Friday Fictioneers, Peculiar Poetry , , , , , , , ,

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

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

janet-webbs-sangria
Copyright Janet Webb

The Smears of a Clown

Penelope Snoots was the talk of the town

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

Who thought himself clever at messing around

With oil paints, charcoals and color crans (brown)

 

His  pockets were empty – he was really quite vain

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

Yet Penelope loved him in ways unexplained

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

 

One day he took fruit and chopped it up nicely

Combined strawberries, wine and cantaloupes thricely

He killed her and placed her on ice cubes concisely

Then he painted Penelope’s portrait precisely

 

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

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

Until next time . . . I love you

Pa Pa Riddle Rumper

Linda Vernon Peculiar Poetry , , , , , , ,

Pa Pa Riddle Rumper

Pa Pa Riddle Rumper ol’ man Chew

He don’t chew tabaccy and he don’t chew stew

And he don’t chew stew

And he don’t like you!

Pa Pa Riddle Rumper ol’ man Chew

"What are you chewing, Old Man Chew? Stew?" No! I'm not chewing anything! Read the poem idiot!"
“Are you chewing stew?”
“No! I’m not chewing anything! Read the poem, idiot!”

 

Pa Pa Riddle Rumper ol’ man Chaw

He don’t know nothin’ and he hates his ma

And he hates his ma

And he pesters his pa!

Pa Pa Riddle Rumper ol’ man Chaw

"What are you staring at? Haven't you ever seen goldfish feet before? I'm going to go pester my Pa now."
“What are you staring at? Haven’t you ever seen goldfish shoes before? My mom made me wear them. I’m telling Daddy!”

 

Pa Pa Riddle Rumper Flack Jack Flea

He don’t know nothin’ cuz he just can’t see

Cuz he just can’t see

Cuz he drank beef tea!

Pa Pa Riddle Rumper Flack Jack Flea

"You sure that's beef tea? I can't see."
“Are you sure that’s not beef tea?  It causes blindness you know, although I suppose that’s probably a moot point now.”

 

Pa Pa Riddle Rumper Nickerbocker Nug

I’ll take a sip from your crummy ol’ jug

From your crummy ol’ jug

That you always do lug!

Pa Pa Riddle Rumper Nickerbocker Nug

"It may be a crummy old jug, but it's my crummy old jug!"
“It may be a crummy old jug, but at least it’s my crummy old jug.  Some people don’t have any jugs at all!

* * *

 

Until next time  . . . I love you

Hey what about me? Don't I get a stanza? No. Go get your own poem.
“Hey what about me? Don’t I get a stanza?”
“No. Go get your own poem. Now scram!”

 

Friday Fictioneers: Babette Bladderini Gets a Better Part

Linda Vernon Friday Fictioneers, The Daily Routine , , , , , , ,

Guess what Dear Readers?  I was running in the house yesterday and somebody left a calendar on the floor and I tripped over Tuesday and landed flat on my Wednesday.  Luckily, I was able to hobble to my keyboard and cobble together a 100-word story for this week’s Friday Fictioneers.

Björn Rudberg provided the picture this week.  He’s a really wonderful writer and you can magically materialize over at his blog and check out all his great stuff here   → Yes! I want to magically materialize over at Bjorn’s Blog!

Little Village
Copyright – Björn Rudberg

Babette Bladderini Gets a Better Part

The day Babette Bladderini was killed in a landslide was a strange blessing. Babette was born between bullets exchanged by the Bladderini clan and their mortal enemies, the Parcheesi’s.

While being born, a bullet grazed Babette’s head, leaving a permanent part in her hair a little too far to the left, and Babette’s fate was sealed.  She lived her entire existence never knowing a good hair day.

Then, a landslide.  The Parcheesi house slid over the top of Babette’s head, killing her instantly while simultaneously parting her hair right down the middle.

Oh that fate.  Always a day late and a dollar short.

* * *

Until next time . . . I love you

If you would like to try your hand at  Friday Fictioneers, pop over to our Friday Fictioneers’ hostess’s blog at Rochelle Wisoff-Fields-Addicted to Purple and Rochelle to get all the details.  And don’t worry, she won’t give you an apron and a big stack of dishes to wash.  (I think she finally got her dishwasher fixed).

Friday Fictioneers: Earth’s Shimmering Orb and Whatnot

Linda Vernon Friday Fictioneers , , , , , , ,

Welcome Dear Readers!  It’s time once again for Friday Fictioneers where writers from all over the wold gather to play a rousing game of football.  Oh wait . . . never mind — I was thinking of the Friday Buccaneers.

Actually Friday Fictioneers (organized by Rochelle Wisoff Fields over at addicted to purple) get together once a week to write a 100-word story prompted by a picture — which this week is provided to us by Erin Leary over at erinlearywrites.  Hop over and take a look a look around Erin’s blog.  I think you’ll find she’s as good a writer as she is a photographer.

This is such a beautiful picture prompt this week, but, of course, my brain, Peanuts, had to completely ignore all the beautiful scenarios that could have been created and came up with the following instead:

copyright-erin-leary
Copyright — Erin Leary

Earth’s Shimmering Orb and Whatnot

Betty watched as earth’s shimmering orb slowly deflated into the milky horizon almost like a slowly deflating tire but not exactly, of course.

Then Betty noticed that the beauty of the scene was causing her eyes to fill up with tears in direct proportion to the speed of the air being released from the tire Betty was imagining — which caused Betty to do two things:  1) Marvel at the perfection of the universe and 2) remind her husband, Bob, to check the air pressure on the tires of her Volvo and maybe check the oil too and whatnot.

* * *

Until next time . . . I love you

Checking out a K-Wal-Tar-Mart

Linda Vernon The Daily Routine, Things I Have Trouble With , , , , , , , , ,

Checking out at K-Wal-Tar-Mart

“Did you find everything you were looking for, ma’am?

Actually, no.  I couldn’t find the  aluminum foil.  Do you know where it is?

Did you check on the shelves?

I didn’t see it.

If it’s not on the shelves, then we’re probably out of it or we don’t carry it.

Could you ask somebody if you carry it and where it would be?

They’re at lunch, ma’am. Your total comes to $44.12.  Debit or credit?

But I only bought  a sweater and a package of gum and the sign said the sweater was 50% off.

Let me see, no, ma’am.   No, this sweater’s only 50% off when you buy  four.  If you just buy one it’s $29.99.

But that total still seems high.

No cause by the time you add in the gum and the tax and whatnot . . . debit or credit?

Debit.

Slide your card and push the green button.  The green button, ma’am? The green button. Push the green button, ma’am.  The green button!

I am pushing the gre–

Cash back?

No.

Push the green button again, ma’am.  The green button!  No, the green button, ma’am!

I am but nothing’s happening.

Slide your card again and push the green button.  The green button, ma’am.  The green button.  Are you a rewards card member?

No.

Would you like to become a rewards card member? All you have to do is fill out this application with all  of your  personal information, and  it entitles you to take an extra 1% off  purchases over $15,000?

No thank you.

Would you like to make a donation to March of Dimes, then?

No thank you.

St Jude’s?

No thank you.

American Cancer Society?

No thank you.

Muscular Dystrophy?

No thank you.

It’s only a dollar, ma’am.

No thank you.

How would you like your receipt, ma’am?  Printed out or e-mailed.

Printed out.

Do you want a bag, ma’am?

Yes.

Do you want your receipt in the bag?

Yes.

And what’s your e-mail address?

Why?

So we can  e-mail your receipt to you.

But I want my receipt in the bag.

No, for next time, ma’am.

I don’t want to give you may e-mail address.  NO!

Okay, ma’am, calm down.  What’s  your zip code then?

What no!  You don’t need my zip code!  Why do you need my zip code?

Okay Ma’am.  I’m just asking you a simple question.  It’s part of my job.  I need your zip code for our data base.  If you don’t want to give me your zip code, that’s fine.

Good.

What’s your phone number then?

What?  You don’t need my phone number! That’s ridiculous.  I’m just buying a sweater and a pack of gum for heavens sakes! Let me talk to a supervisor.

They’re at lunch, ma’am.   If you don’t want to give me your phone number, that’s okay.  Just one more thing.

What?

What are the last four digits of your social security number?   . . . . Ma’am? . . .   Ma’am?  Okay fine don’t answer me then. Thank you for shopping at K-Wal-Tar-Mart anyways, ma’am.

Shopping at K-Wal-Tar-Mart

The Unlikely Literary Success of Carmen Matilda Manila’s Chinchilla

Linda Vernon Peculiar Poetry , , , , , ,

The Unlikely Literary Success of Carmen Matilda Manila’s Chinchilla

Carmen Matilda Manila’s chinchilla

Was as big as a very small mountain gorilla

When they’d go for a walk, townsfolk scattered and screamed

The mayor declared,  “It should be guillotined!”

The preacher he thought the mayor too drastic

The butcher stepped forward to wrap it in plastic

Then Carmen Matilda Manila’s chinchilla 

Ran away to the hills to write a novella

It starred all the townsfolk and how they should die

And included instructions for Hemlock Cream pie

After that it was merely a matter of time

Til the townsfolk were found in positions supine

Now Carmen Matilda Manila’s chinchilla

Is writing a sequel, it’s called, “Salmonella”

Carmen Matild Manila's Chinchilla by linda vernon

* * *

Until next time . . . I love you

The Dammit Brothers Funeral Chapel Survey

Linda Vernon It Came In the Mail, The Daily Routine , , , , , , ,

Welcome Dear Readers.  I have a confession to make.  Everyday I’ve got about one productive hour in me, everything else is mulling. 

And because I’m so lazy, I’ve only got one item on my bucket list: death (the letter ‘d’ actually but I’ll remember).

Unfortunately, I’m at an age where if I died and somebody read about it in the newspaper instead remarking, “oh how sad,” they’d just say, “well she was getting up there.”

So I wasn’t surprised when this offer came in my mailbox from the Dammit Brothers Funeral Chapel for “My Final Wishes Organizer” . . . Absolutely free!

My Final Wishes Organizer
And all I have to do is answer the Dammit Brothers Funeral Chapel’s short, tiny, little two-page survey and then what? I get my Final Wishes Organizer, that’s what!

So here’s my answers to the Dammit Brothers Funeral Chapel Survey, which I’ve taken the liberty of tweaking just a little bit to make it more enjoyable in an attempt to make it up to myself for having such a sucky bucket list.

Dammit Brothers Funeral Chapel Survey

How much do you expect to pay for your funeral?  0-$2000, $2,000-$4,000, $4,000-$6,000, $6,000 – $8,000, $8,000-$10,000? Or over $10,000.

I’m not paying anything.  Why else would I be dying?

Is there an honorably discharged veteran in your household?  If not please explain.

Does unhonorably count?  Because sometimes I hear someone ripping cardboard and smell the odor of Mark-a-Lot drifting through the air in the middle of the night and every once in a while I come upon a shopping cart in the living room, but, you know what?  I’m still going to say no.

If so, was it within the last 12 months?  The last 12-24 months?  Or over 2 years ago?

I said no Dammit!  Brothers!

Does your family have life insurance that is allocated for funeral arrangements in the event of your death?

They haven’t said anything about it. I think it’s a surprise.

If you have given thought to this subject which burial would you choose for yourself  —  burial or cremation? 

I don’t know, I keep waffling.  Is waffling an option?

Would you be willing to pay $500 extra to have the Brooklyn Bridge renamed after you once you’re, you know  . . . ?

You mean once I’m dead?

Yeah that.

I guess.

Are you sure there’s not a discharged Veteran in your household? Did you look under the bed?

Dammit Dammit Brothers!  NO!

Are your loved ones and family members aware of what you desire for your own arrangements?

Of course.  They know I love Burger King and felt what else do they need to know?

How important to you, personally, is the location of the funeral home?

It’s important to me personally that it be located right next to a Burger King or a store that sells felt.

Are you absolutely certain you don’t have a veteran in your household?

You know what?  I’m getting pretty tired of your stupid survey, Dammit Brothers.

Okay,  but we hope you know that by getting tired of our stupid survey you’re forfeiting your “My Final Wishes Organizer” . . . Absolutely Free! 

But will I still get the Brooklyn Bridge named after me?

Only if you send The Dammit Brothers Funeral Chapel a cashiers check for $500 made out to the Dammit Brothers.

Okay.

Do you promise? Cross your heart? Hope to die? Stick a needle in your eye?

That depends.  How much are the needles?

$7.50 a piece.

How about two for a dollar.

Mmmm . . . Okay sure.

Will you throw in a “My Final Wishes Organizer” too?

We’ll have to go talk to our supervisor.  Wait here . . . 

Well, Dear Readers, it looks like negotiations are going to be going on for a while  so you might as well sneak out for lunch.  Hey if you happen to be going by a Burger King . . . well no never mind, I’ve got a bag of peanuts in my felt purse.  Wish me luck!

Until next time . . . I love you

 

 

 

My Choice for 2013’s Most Annoying Verbiage

Linda Vernon Things I Have Trouble With , , , , , ,

Well, Dear Readers, it’s time to  talk about the most annoying and overused words of 2013 which will be totally awesome and amazing and, like, whatever!

Michigan University has a website where people go throughout the year to vote for the words they think are the most annoying. This year “selfie”  “twerking” and “hashtag” topped their list of 2013’s most annoying words.

Well, Dear Readers, I’ve taken the liberty of coming up with my own list of annoying verbiage that I’ve managed to glean this year from conversations I’ve eavesdropped on while browsing through magazines at Barnes and Noble. The first one is:

“Babe”

Couples who call each other babe is fine.  But when you’re trying to concentrate on a Mad Magazine and the annoying couple standing next to you thumbing through Dwell Magazine are beginning and ending every sentence they utter with the word babe, as in:

“Babe, look at this, Babe!”

“Babe, we should totally do that with our kitchen, Babe!”

“Babe, yeah we should totally, Babe!”

Babe, yeah, yeah, yeah, Babe!”

. . . well, Dear Readers, hearing so many babes in rapid succession like that makes me want to leave and go upstairs to the Barns and Noble  snack bar and eat two stale Toffee Crunch Blondie Brownies as a way of making it up to myself.

Another phrase I find extremely annoying is:

“Stay off the technology!”

I remember a time last year when I was at the Barnes and Noble Magazine stand catching up on my Royal Baby news when I overheard a mother tell her children they could go upstairs if they promised her they would “stay off technology.”

I don’t know why, Dear Readers, and maybe it’s just me, but that phrase made me want to throw up stale Toffee Crunch Blondie Brownie right onto the pages of Babe’s Dwell Magazine.

But the phrase I find the most annoying of all is:

“Not a problem.”

I have a big problem with “not a problem”.  Okay to be fair, I’m not annoyed when someone uses “not a problem” when responding to actual problems, such as:

“Excuse me.  Would you mind helping me with this bank robbery?”

“Not a problem.”

or

“Listen, don’t bother returning my plumber’s helper to me after your are done unplugging your toilet.”

“Not a problem.”

But what I abhor is when “not a problem” becomes insidious and starts leaking into my very own conversation against my will — like, say, when I’m ordering goodies at the Barnes and Noble snack bar:

Me:  Yes, I’ll have a Lemon Crumb Bar.

Girl:  Not a problem.  That will be$3.75.

Me: Not a problem, thanks.

Girl:  Not a problem.

Me:  Oh, I’m sorry but this is stale.

Girl:  Not a problem. Here’s another one.

Me:  Alright not a problem, thanks.

Girl:  Not a problem.

Me:  Oh can I have a bag?

Girl:  Not a problem.  Oh, sorry, we’re out of bags.

Me:  Not a problem.

Girl:  So sorry.

Me:  Not a problem! Thank you.

Girl:  Not a problem!

Me:  Not a problem!

Anyway, Dear Readers, this is just the tip of the iceberg when it comes to annoying verbiage or whatever but for the life of me I can’t think of anything else that’s amazing or awesome.  I hope that’s not a problem.

Until next time . . . I love you

True Confession Saturday: Christmas IS about the presents!

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

7989920_s

For a number of years , I went through a stage when I really didn’t like Christmas very much.   In fact, there was a time when Christmas was so overwhelming to me that conversion to Judaism seemed the easier route.

This wasn’t always true.  I actually used to be a Christmas Snob.  I’d completely overdo Christmas.

My mental list of Christmas duties would start accumulating the day after Thanksgiving and wouldn’t actually let up until the sun went down on Christmas day.

Home movies of me after Christmases when my kids were little  reveal a thin, pale woman sitting on the couch, robotically drinking coffee in a semi-comatose state while everyone else is running around playing and laughing.

Gratuitous Cuteness
Okay, this isn’t me, unfortunately I’m not nearly this cute.

Anyway, my fanatical inner Christmas perfectionism would zap all the joy and energy that was to be had out of the season.  I had no one to blame but myself.

Chasing this Perfect Snow White Christmas took such a toll on me that January became my favorite month of the year because it was the furthest away from Christmas.

And yet, when another Christmas would roll around, I could never tone it down.  I was stuck on a hamster wheel  in search of Christmas Perfect.

But now that I’m older, wiser (and much, much lazier),   I  don’t make  lists to see if everyone has the same amount of presents to open.  I don’t bake my fingers to the bone or  shop til I drop.

I wrap the presents and put them under the tree.  Then I sit back and watch and  enjoy everyone around me because I’ve finally learned the Big Christmas Lesson:

Christmas is our opportunity to jump off the hamster wheel of life for a while and just be deliberately  present with the people we love.

Christmas is about being present.

How ironic that it turns out Christmas is about the presents after all!

Until next time . . . I love you

A Very ‘OMG!! Shut the Hell Up, Girlfriend!’ Christmas!

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

Merry Christmas Dear Readers and welcome to the very first day of the five days of Blog Festivus 2013.  For Blog Festivus 2013,  I’ll be posting a 200-word Christmas story every day this week based on Charles Dickens Christmas Carol.   For more details, pop over to Blogdramedy and  read all about it!

A Very ‘OMG!! Shut the Hell Up, Girlfriend!‘ Christmas!

OMG!! Shut the hell up, girlfriend!  Did I hear you correctly?  You’re telling me my boyfriend, Ebenezer Scrooge, is getting me a Christmas gift this year? The original Mr. Cheapskate? What’s that?  You have it on good authority!  Why that adorable, darling, wonderful Neezy! Who knew he was such a sweetheart?  OMG!! I just thought of something, girlfriend!  OMG!! It’s an engagement ring, isn’t it, girlfriend?  OMG!! What’s that?  You can’t tell me?  Shut the hell up, girlfriend, of course you can!  OMG!! I promise I won’t spill the beans.  Ebenezer’s not home now anyways.   He’s over at some relative’s house duct taping somebody’s crutch back together.  Who’s crutch? Oh, I don’t know, someone named Tiny Tim, I think.  Ebenezer broke it trying to fish a penny out of a storm drain!  They wanted him to pay for it?  Can you imagine my Neezy paying for anything? What’s that?  No.  I don’t know why they call him Tiny Tim.  Maybe he’s a midget or something. Who cares?  I’m getting engaged!  OMG!! What’s that?  Yes, I know you didn’t say it was an engagement ring.  But shut the hell up, girlfriend!  It’s an engagement ring!! OMG!!

"What? An engagement right for Moi? Shut the hell up, girlfriend!"
“What? An engagement right for moi? Shut the hell up, girlfriend!”

Until next time . . . I love you

My Brain, Peanuts, Thinks Up a Magazine

Linda Vernon Magazine Mashups, The Daily Routine , , , , , , , ,

Welcome Dear Readers!  Well it’s time to play a little game my brain, Peanuts, enjoys called splicing together magazines to come up with completely new ones.

Today Peanuts took Box Office Magazine:

box office magazine 

And combined it with this technology magazine, Red Herring:

Red Herring

And Viola!

Peanuts presents:  Boring Magazine

Boring Magazine - By Linda Vernon Humor

And there you have it, Dear Readers!  Boring Magazine!

Until next time . . . I love you

A Conversation with My Husband, 37

Linda Vernon The Daily Routine, Who am I? , , , , , , , , ,

I’m not afraid of much, Dear Readers.

Spiders don’t scare me.  Clowns don’t scare me. Medical procedures don’t scare me.  (Heck, I’ve even been known to get  major surgery while totally sound asleep!)

I am, however, afraid of needles.  Not the kind that give you shots.  No. I’m afraid of the needles at the end of sewing machines.

Boy oh boy does my sewing suck!

You see, I’m a horrible sewer.  (No, no not the kind of sewer than needs Roto-Rooter, I mean the kind of sewer who sews — but I’d probably be a horrible sewer too now that I think about it.)

Oh how I wish I could sew!   If I could sew, I would sew myself a killer wardrobe where everything I made would make me appear 15 pounds thinner, 20 years younger and upwards of  50  I. Q. points smarter.

It’s not like I haven’t tried to sew

Once, when my daughter was seven, she had a little friend over while I was sewing myself a pair of pants.  I had just finished sewing in the elastic waistband and was feeling rather proud of myself when my daughter’s seven-year-0ld friend glanced over from across the room and innocently asked me why I was sewing a waistband in the bottom of one pant leg.

I quickly pulled the pants out from under the needle, held them up and sure enough the little brat was right.

Now don’t get me wrong, I’m not a complete idiot just an unfinished one.

I suspect my sewing problem stems from my inability to be able to correctly distinguish  right from left.  Oh sure,  I can tell right from left — trouble is I’m only correct 50 percent of the time.

Frankly, I don’t understand people who can differentiate between right from left easily.  And it seems like these Left-from- Right Geniuses like to flaunt their god-given talent  in the face of those poor souls, such as myself, who consider themselves rather intelligent, overall, if you don’t count a major dumb streak punctuated by pockets of stupidity here and there.

My engineer-husband, 37, takes great delight in vexing me about my dyslexic tendencies:

37:  Honey, can you hand me my pocket protector? It’s in the right-hand desk drawer.

Me:  Okay, sure.  Wait . . .  it’s not in here.

37:  Yes it is.

Me:  No it’s not.

37:  That’s because you need to look on the right desk drawer instead of the left desk drawer.

Me:  But I am looking in the left drawer and it’s not in here!

37:  No, I didn’t mean YOUR right, I meant MY right which would make it YOUR left. So YOUR left is actually MY right so you need to look in the other drawer than the one you’re looking in.

Me:  Oh get your own *#@!# pocket protector!

Or  let’s say 37  is giving me directions to someone’s house over the phone:

Me:  What side of the street is their house on?

37:  Well that depends.  Are you going east or west?

Me:  East or west?  How would I know? Just tell me what side of the street it’s on!

37:   It’s on the RIGHT side of the street.

Me:  Ok, great, thanks.

37:  If . . . .

Me:  If what?

37:  If you’re heading east, that is.

Me:  I don’t know what direction I’m heading.

37:  Well that’s easy to tell.  If your going East, the shopping center will be on your left.

Me:  It’s not on my left.

37:  Not YOUR left! MY left!

It’s times like this when I want to get out my sewing machine and sew an elastic waistband into 37’s shirt collar.  Then slowly tighten it to MY left HIS right MY East and HIS West.

You’ll have to excuse me now, Dear Readers, I have some sewing to do.

Until next time . . . I love you

Ten Signs You Overdid Thanksgiving!

Linda Vernon Edible Tales, The Daily Routine, Who am I? , , , , , , , , ,

Welcome Dear Readers!! First I want to thank you all for  the lovely comments you’ve been kind enough to leave on my blog this past week.  I haven’t had a chance to respond to them as yet as I  have two new grand babies staying over Thanksgiving, and I have to get my adorable fix in while the gettin’s good! 

Now for today’s post:

Ten Signs You Overdid Thanksgiving

It’s been a couple of days since you’ve seen any of your pets.

The only thing you own that fits comfortably now is your trampoline.

You’ve worn your teeth down to such a degree that now they can only be described as “implied.”

You’re experiencing eater’s remorse over not taking the pies out of the pans before scarfing them down.

It’s official!  As of this morning, you are now storing the leftovers for every refrigerator within walking distance in your very own stomach.

You have to use sign language when you want to communicate because your tongue collapsed from exhaustion.

You cried yourself to sleep last night because you fear there may never again be room for Jello.

You have decided to replace the lion in your family crest with the more appropriate symbolism of the fatest person on earth.

You can now go through the rest of your life secure in the knowledge that nothing is too big for you to swallow.

And the Number One sign you ate too much at Thanksgiving Dinner:

Instead of crying tears of joy, you are now crying gravy of joy.

 

Until next time . . . I love you