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Flipping Through The Slightly Creepy Seventies

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

Welcome,  Dear Readers, to the weekend here at the blog! And because it’s Saturday,  we’re just going to kick back, drink some coffee, and flip (or flick if you’re from the UK) through old magazines from history’s  easiest decade to make fun of — the slightly creepy seventies!

Bettter Homes and Gardens 1976
Today we’ll be looking through a Better Homes and Gardens from 1976,

Let’s turn to the page, shall we

Look Younger for your Kids

Happily here’s a problem I’ve never had.  Wanting to look younger for my children.  Who wants to look young for their children?  I just figure as long as my appearance doesn’t embarrass them, they probably won’t ever notice how  young (or old) I look.

And how did slightly-creepy seventies mom stay looking young for her kids?  Well, by washing dishes by hand that’s how!

Ivory Soap
Back in the seventies, it didn’t matter if you face looked old as long as your hands looked young

Back in the seventies, having young-looking hands  was really a big deal.  Nobody cared about your face so much, but,  boy oh boy,  if your hands looked old, it was all over sister!   And the best way to keep your hands looking young  was to sell your automatic dishwasher and wash all your dishes by hand using Ivory liquid dish soap.

Well this is an interesting headline:

Slightly-Creepy-Seventies Cookware that was smarter than some women
Slightly Creepy Seventies Cookware that knew more than it was telling

Apparently back in the Slightly-Creepy Seventies,  only ‘most women’ were better cooks than their cookware.  There must have been some women wandering around the slightly creepy seventies whose cookware could cook better than they could.  How embarrassing!  I only hope their kids didn’t think their hands looked old –or they would have been sailing down the Slightly Creepy Seventies Creek without a paddle.

Slightly Creepy Seventies Tool
Slightly Creepy Seventies Tool

Okay, I’m not even exactly sure what a tool is, Dear Readers, but I’m pretty sure the guy in this picture represents The Quintessential Slightly Creepy Seventies Tool.

What?!  No!!

Ethel Mertz

Our beloved Ethel Mertz as Maxine the Coffee Lady?  That’s just straight-up I Love Lucy blasphemy!   I think you’ll agree, Dear Readers, it’s this kind of  bizarre strangeness that makes the Slightly Creepy Seventies, slightly creepy.

Well that and stuff like this too:

Floor Covering

Apparently it wasn’t enough just to have ugly tile on your floors in the slightly creepy seventies, they had to go and make little sticky linoleum tiles that looked just like  your ugly floor so  you could stick them on your walls and on your cupboards and on your furniture and on your cat.

Which is probably why more people went blind from staring at ugly tile than at any other time in our nation’s history.  And, perhaps not coincidentally,  more people were happy to have gone blind than at any other time in our nation’s history.

Here’s some  slightly creepy seventies towel folding:

Folding Towels weird
There is no way those towels are going to fit in that basket

I’m sorry Slightly-Creepy Seventies  housewife lady but that is a stupid way to fold towels  in any decade!  (But if it’s any consolation your hands do look young — what we can see of them anyway.)

Remember these?

Notes

They were called notes.  And it was the way people kept track of their activities and whatnot in the Slightly-Creepy Seventies  before there were smart phones and text messages.

And they didn’t work very well either:

One Day Early

Whoops!   Somebody didn’t read their slightly creepy seventies notes!

And finally, let’s end on this little bit of slightly creepy seventies fashion:

Captain and first mate t-shirts

Okay, I can’t actually prove it, but what do you want to bet this couple with their matching Captain ‘N First Mate  t-shirts are the proud parents of The Quintessential Slightly Creepy Seventies Tool.   Oh, and  you’ll notice they’re also  hiding their hands.  Apparently they have an electric dishwasher.

Well, I’m afraid I’m going to have to close the magazine now, Dear Readers, as there is only so much of the slightingly creepy seventies we can take in one sitting!

Until next time . . . I love you

A Letter to Father Time From His Boss

Linda Vernon Peculiar Poetry, The Daily Routine , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,

Dear Father Time: 

Permit me to say, my dear Father Time

In this letter I write you (that I’m going to rhyme)

It looks like the future’s a big disappointment

Take pimples, for instance, there’s still not an ointment . . .

 

And no flying cars, now what’s up with that?

And where is that pill that you promised for fat?

 

No robots to wait on us twenty-four seven?

No ray guns to use to send someone to heaven?

 

Oh sure, we’ve got lasers, but that point is moot

When you up and forgot: anti-gravity boot

 

And where, may I ask, are time travel machines?

On the junk heap, no doubt (with the synthetic spleens)

 

My dear Father Time, I’m  perplexed and chagrined

That you’ve fallen behind on the future therein

 

After talking it over with Jack Frost and Cupid

I regret to inform you (I really feel stupid)

It’s time to let someone else give it a whirl

You’ve just been replaced by the Calendar Girl

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Seven Signs You’re Addicted to Christmas Treats

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

Seven Signs You’re Addicted to Christmas Treats

That bad elbow has been officially diagnosed as Sugar Cookie tendonitis but you don’t care, you’re never giving up your sport.

Yeah but, Doc, I can't stop eating Christmas cookies n now, the Olympics are coming up.
“Yeah but, Doc, I can’t stop eating Christmas cookies now, the Olympics are coming up!”

If your house caught on fire you would be torn between either rescuing your spouse or his fudge rum balls.

"Sorry Ma'am. The only ting we were able to save of your husband were his fudge rum balls." "Yay! Oh, I mean darn the luck."
“Sorry Ma’am. The only thing we were able to save of your husband was his fudge rum balls.”
“Yahoooo!  No wait . . . I mean darn the luck.”

While you love the puppy you got for Christmas you’re convinced you’d love him even better if he was covered in chocolate and had a chewy nugget center.

Oh! Him so potentially dewishious!
“Oh! Him so potentially dewishious!”

You’re faking a limp just so you can justify carrying around that humongous  candy cane.

No! I'll be okay! Just get me my humongous candycane!"
“No! I’ll be okay! Just get me my humongous candy cane!”

You’ve started referring to your troubles as your truffles.

"Nobody knows the truffles I've seen . . ."
“Nobody knows the truffles I’ve seen . . .”

You lied and told your children all their gingerbread men had been abducted by aliens so that they could conduct eating experiments even though it was really you conducting the eating experiments.

"I can't believe you ate all your children's Gingerbreadmen."
“You mean to tell me, Earth Lady, you actually ate all your children’s gingerbread men?”
” Please!  Stop! Can’t you see I hate myself enough already?”

And the final way to tell if you’ve become addicted to Christmas treats?

You resorted to eating some old-fashioned Christmas Candy that you found painted to the  bathroom shelf of your grandmother’s house and were so ashamed you checked yourself into Christmas Treat rehab.

Question: Does Christmas Treat Addiction get any uglier than this? Answer: No.
Question: Does Christmas Treat Addiction get any uglier than this?
Answer: No.

And there you have it, Dear Readers, how to tell if you’ve become addicted to Christmas Treats.

Until next time . . . I love you

Let’s Crochet!

Linda Vernon 1980's, The Daily Routine , , , , , , , , , , ,

Welcome Dear Readers.  I’ve recently taken up crocheting.  I don’t know what I’m making as yet — so far it’s just a big strip of crocheted yarn that’s getting fatter and fatter.  And I’m really enjoying it —but what is one to do with a big, oversized chunk of crocheted yarn?

Well, maybe this 1984 edition of Annie’s Pattern Club Magazine that I found at the thrift store can give us some crocheting ideas:

Humorous Crocheting Projects Linda Vernon Humor
Don’t you just love it already? Let’s open it up and see what great crocheting and knitting projects Annie has for us, shall we?

Just when you thought your toilet couldn’t get any more beautiful!

Funny Needlecraft projects
What better way to crochet away the blues!

Leave it to Annie to flush out this fabulous crocheting project through the process of elimination!  After crocheting a cozy for every single thing in her bathroom, nothing was left cozy-less but the toilet and a bottle of Pepto Bismal (instructions for a Pepto Bismal bottle cozy  were probably in the next edition).

I think you’ll have to agree there’s nothing quite as uplifting as lifting up the lid of your toilet and finding a fresh-as-daisy Daisy that you lovingly crafted all by yourself!

Hey!  Here’s a little crocheting project sure to get any little boy singing your praises:

funny crocheting projects Linda Vernon Humor
Oh yeah?  Who says crocheting isn’t cool?

Of course, we all know there’s nothing little boys of a certain age love to do more than flip up their collars, pick up a crocheted microphone and crone crone crone to their heart’s content — providing they didn’t leave said heart in San Francisco, that is!

Let’s face it, there isn’t a little boy on earth who, upon receiving a crocheted microphone for his birthday wouldn’t tear up!  Just before kicking you in the shins and running away from home, but still!

Crochet your way to total enlightenment!

"Come on! You've always wanted a crocheted lamp, admit it!
“Come on! You know you’ve always wanted a crocheted lamp, admit it!

It’s a crying shame that it took someone until the year 1984 to come up with the idea of crocheting a lamp when Thomas Edison invented the electrical light way back in 1879!  And you have to ask yourself why?  Why were the crocheters of the past so out of sync with the creation and evolution of electricity?

Was it because crocheters didn’t have electric lamps or was it be because Thomas Edison didn’t know how to crochet?  Chances are, unless the science channel really gets hard up for programming, we’ll never know the answer to these questions and a lot of other stupid questions.  Either way, please try not to let it ruin your weekend!

And there you have it Dear Readers!  It seems the possibilities are endless when it comes to crocheting. Who knew?  If you need me I’ll be on the couch, crocheting and crocheting and crocheting.  I’m thinking of turning my project into a cozy for the moon.  Too ambitious?  Let me know in the comments.

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

Slightly Creepy Seventies Bad Poetry

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

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

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

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

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

 After-Hours Acrobatics

I light one candle

With another’s flame

And getting up to leak

I look across at you

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

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

Still curled and sleeping

Coming back I start to pass

a mirror

I stop. Stand back and see me

naked in the candlelight

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

Was I ever beautiful,

ever young or wise

deserving of your arms or other’s?

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

Head-on is even harsh by candleglow

love handles bulge on either side.

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

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

never excess flesh

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

I look at you a second time

hoping I can dive beneath the covers

before you catch my silhouette

against the wall.

My pulse thumps loud enough

to blunt the metronome of cicada

calling to cicada,

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

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

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

Safe. I hit third base

and slide to home.

You only turn and grumble in your sleep

I do not go back to sleep

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

All life is spent erecting barricades

that none of us can get through

when love finally comes

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

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

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

The Bible According to Gregory: Satan Tests Job

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

Welcome Dear Readers to this Sunday’s edition of Gregory’s Bible Stories.  Let’s listen in and see what Gregory learned in Sunday school this morning, shall we?

Gregory of the Bible According to Gregory Linda Vernon HumorSatan Tests Job

Job was a biblical character who lived in the holy land of Uz  believed by scholars to have been located somewhere over the rainbow — providing there had there ever been enough moisture in the holy land to form a rainbow.

Job was always extremely careful when it came to ticking off the Lord. So much so that when any of his kids thew a party, Job would spend the next morning making sacrifices to the Lord just in case one of his kids might have inadvertently insulted the Lord after one too many fig wine coolers.

Cut to the Lord’s Heavenly Conference Room where The Lord was having a meeting with various heavenly beings one of which was Satan himself:

The Lord:   Did everybody get their handouts on Sacrificing Do’s and Don’t’s and does anybody have any questions?  Yes, the heavenly being with the horns and the name tag that says Santa.  What’s you question, Santa?

Satan: Yeah, my name’s not Santa, by the way, it’s Satan, that’s a typo I caused to happen. Bwahaha!

The Lord:  I don’t get it, what do you mean by typo?

Satan:  It’s a . . .  oh never mind.

The Lord: So what have you been up to, Satan?

Satan:  Oh you know, walking here and there, roaming around the earth and holding Idle Hands Workshops for the aristocrats, the usual.

The Lord:  Well that’s just super! Say, did you happen to notice my servant, Job, he’s like the best worshiper I’ve ever had! He never does anything evil!

Satan: Yeah, that’s because he’s got 7,000 sheep, 3,000 camels, 1,000 head of cattle, 500 donkeys and lord only knows how many cats.

The Lord:  That’s not true.  I have no idea how many cats he has.

Satan:  Bwahaha!  There you go again with your sense of humor!

The Lord:  My sense of what?

Satan:  Never mind. Say, I’m just wondering . . . what about testing Job to see if he would still be such a Goodie-Two-Shoes if his life suddenly became a living hell. I could help you out with that.

The Lord:  Well . . . . .

Satan:  Ah come on!

The Lord:  Well I guess, but only if you promise not to hurt Job. You know how hard it is nowadays to find a good Job.

Satan:  Bwahaha!  You crack me up!

The Lord:  Am I to understand that is your awkwardly worded request stating your desire to be cracked up?

Satan:  Say will you look at that! It’s half-past eternity already.  Where does the time go?  I gotta skedaddle.  See ya around, Lord.

Sometime shortly thereafter the following events took place:

Job’s children were having a feast at the home of his oldest son when a servant came running up to Job, huffing and puffing:

Servant:  We were plowing the fields and got attacked! All your donkeys were stolen and all your servants were killed!

Job:  But they didn’t kill you?

Servant:  Yeah . . . (still huffing and puffing) . . . except for me.

Job:  Oh great you’re the only slave I have left?  And you’re not even in that good of shape.

Then another servant came running up to Job, huffing and puffing.

Servant: Lightening just struck all the sheep and shepherds and everyone was killed but me.

Job:  Hmm .  . . I’m starting to sense a pattern here.

Just then another servant came running up to Job, huffing and puffing.

Servant:  Your children were having a feast at the home of your oldest son when a storm swept in and blew the house down and killed them all.

Job:  Except for you . .

Servant:  Yeah, how’d you know?

Job:  Lucky guess.

After that Job tore his clothes in grief and shaved his head which was the standard biblical procedure when someone a) broke a new pottery water-carrying vessel  b) misplaced their dreidel or c) had all their children and animals slaughtered by Satan.

This is about the time the Lord turned on his Heavenly Conference Room hidden earth video camera and observed Job when he said, “I was born with nothing and I will die with nothing.  The Lord gave, and now he has taken away.  May his name be praised!

In spite of everything that had happened, Job did not sin by blaming The Lord.

It’s a good thing too since Job had nothing left to kill.

And there you have it, Dear Readers, what Gregory learned in Sunday school this week, come back next week at this same to so see what new bible lesson Gregory learned about!

The Lord's Heavenly Conference Room
The Lord’s Heavenly Conference Room

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

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

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 on, Cain 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

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

Ten Ways to Tell if You’re Overdoing Thanksgiving

Linda Vernon Adventures in Grandma Land , , , , , , , , , ,

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

Linda Vernon Linda's Bedtime Stories for Grown-up Children, The Daily Routine , , , , , , ,

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)

 

Whatnot Wednesday: Baby Eating

Linda Vernon Baby Eating and Whatnot, The Daily Routine , , , , , , , , ,

Biff Sock Pow over at his blog Biff Sock Pow has added a new challenge for us.  Go to his blog and check him out (but only if you like to laugh).  It’s called Whatnot Wednesday.  The rules are simple (ish).  Here they are:

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!

Today’s Theme:  Baby Eating and Whatnot

Welcome Dear Readers! Well it seems the time has finally come to talk about baby eating, a topic that some of you may find a tad offensive. However, for those of you brave enough to continue reading past this point, let’s dig in and talk about baby eating, shall we?

Cue the first slide:

Disaster-Being-eaten-Lion-eating-baby
NO! WAIT! Don’t eat my baby!  At least let me run home and get the ketchup first!

Is it just me, or does this woman look like she’s not really trying very hard to save her baby?  I mean, she could just reach over and pry the baby out of the lion’s mouth.  Maybe she could even get the lion to open his mouth on his own with a few “here kitty kitty’s.” But no.  Instead she looks like she’s about to say, “Wait here while I run home and get the rest of my children. I’ll be back in two shakes of a lambs tail and I’ll even bring the lamb for dessert.”

Cue the next slide:

Medieval-Mythology-Saturn-eating-babies
Excuse me honey, sorry to bother you while you’re . . . uh . . .  whatnot–ing, but can I have some money? The traveling baby-spice salesman is here.

Okay, here’s a mother who will clearly never make mother of the year.  She seems far more concerned with the fact that the window washer is squeegeeing the underside of her husband’s calf than with the fact that one of her babies is playing with a fire-breathing dragon while another one is being eaten whole by a farmer on his lunch break.

And don’t you get the feeling that the man at the gate just sold her a case of Big Daddy Magellan’s Medieval Mesquite Baby Seasoning Salt?

And the next slide please:

Mythology-Demon-Demon-eating-people1
These aren’t really babies he’s eating, but in keeping with our baby-eating theme, let’s just pretend they are, shall we?

Okay, here’s a baby eater that can’t even keep up!  He’s got babies coming out of his ears!  Clearly this baby eater has it all, wings, a full head (and body) of hair and a bellybutton that looks like Mickey Mouse. And even though he’s feasting on a baby, he still has rather kind eyes, don’t you think?

In fact, I have a feeling he’d make a better mother than the other mothers pictured above.  Maybe that why people babies  are lining up to be eaten by him — probably figuring that since they’re going to be eaten anyway — they might as well be eaten by a kind sort of monster — at least one who has a belly button shaped like Mickey Mouse.

Linda Vernon Humor Baby Eating
“Hey! Getting my leg bitten off isn’t even making me cry. Well that’s refreshingly unexpected!”

Whoa!  Here’s a baby eater that can clearly pack it away (and probably never gain a pound!).  He’s got no qualms about chowing down on a baby two-thirds his size. I just hope his eyes don’t prove to be bigger than his stomach and I just hope his stomach is able to handle an entire baby in one bite.

Nobody would eat a baby like this today.  The potential for choking is far to great! We can only assume that this man is competing in some sort of Medieval  baby-eating contest for which the prize is an all you can eat baby buffet.  Let’s just hope he’s got a big supply of Big Daddy Magellan’s Medieval Mesquite Baby Seasoning Salt on hand cause he’s gonna need it!

And that concludes this week’s Wednesday Whatnot post.  

 

 

The Bible According to Gregory: Jeff and the Ammonia-ites

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

Welcome Dear Readers to this Sunday’s edition of The Bible According to Gregory. Let’s listen in and see what Gregory learned in Sunday School this morning shall we?

LInda Vernon humoous bible storiesJeff and the Ammonia-ites

One day in the biblical land of unpronounceable names, there lived a man named Jephthah but let’s just call him Jeff.  Jeff had been shunned by his entire family and had to live in the land of Tob, a land which was considered inferior because it was so easy to pronounce.

But Jeff had a gift for slicing and dicing his fellow-man (or enemies as they were called in those days just as they are today) so naturally when the Israelites were having some problems with the strong-smelling Ammonites (pronounced Ammonia-ites) they followed the trail of blood to Jeff’s house and asked him to be the captain of their armies to kill the Ammonia-ites because the odor wafting from them was giving them all tension headaches. (This is way before migraines were invented.)

Jeff  Makes a Really Dumb Vow

So Jeff  said sure but only under one condition. He would make a vow to the Lord that when he successfully returned from slaughtering the Ammonia-ites, the first person to come out of Jeff’s house to welcome him home would be burned alive as a sacrifice to the Lord.

Then Jeff went into battle with the Ammonia-ites and the Lord made sure Jeff won because the smell was giving Him tension headaches too.

Let the Smoting begin!

After smoting everybody and their goat — up one side and down the other, Jeff was totally smoted out and returned to his house in Mizpah Estates a new housing development in Tob.

Well, the door flies open and out runs his darling little daughter joyfully playing her little timbre which was an instrument exactly like a modern-day tambourine only spelled more stupidly.

Oh Drat the Lucketh!

Jeff was totally broken-hearted when he saw his daughter run out of the house first.  He was so hoping it would have been his mother-in-law. Jeff's daughter problem

Jeff has a heart to heart with his beloved daughter, Whatshername

But because Jeff was a man of valor, he sat down with his daughter and pulled out his standard-issued  “So Your Father Is Going To Sacrifice You To The Lord” scroll, and they had a nice long, father-daughter chat about her upcoming demise.

Jeff began by telling his daughter the story of Goldilocks and the Three Bears only in Jeff’s version  — instead of Goldilocks running away and never being seen or heard of  again, Goldilocks’ Dad burns her alive as a sacrifice to the Lord.

Okay, Daddy, sure, when you put it like that . . . 

After that, Jeff’s daughter was totally on-board with the sacrifice thingy. She asked her father if it would be okay if she went on a two-month slumber party first with her girlfriends in the mountains so they could eat smores and weep over her lost youth and lift each other up with just one of their fingers and mourn for the children who would never be hers and roast marshmallows and grieve that she must die a virgin and take turns telling ghost stories.

Phew!

Jeff agreed immediately.   He was  hugely relieved that his daughter was taking the sacrifice thingy so well and promised to buy her some really cute pajama robes to take with her!

The Actual Sacrifice Thingy

Two months later,  Jeff burned alive his only daughter, little whatshername, as an offering to the Lord.

The bible doesn’t mention whether or not the Lord expressed any appreciation, but then again, the sacrifice of Jeff’s daughter wasn’t even the Lord’s idea in the first place.  Turns out, it was just one of those big biblical misunderstandings that were always happening back then.

Until next time . . . I love you

Jeff's Sacrificing Party

Some Common Sense Tips

Linda Vernon Lists, My Brain, Peanuts , , , , ,

Hello Dear Readers.  I thought it might be helpful to post a short list  of common sense tips that my brain, Peanuts, just thought of.

Don’t worry about your spleen.  Nobody ever said on their death-bed, “I wish I would have worried about my spleen.”

"Let's see, 101 signs your spleen might be malfunctioning . . ."
“Let’s see . . . 101 signs your spleen might be malfunctioning . . . oh I need to read these! “

If someone in your family is set on becoming a human cannonball, keep a mirror and a helmet handy so you can show them how stupid they will look to others.

Slit your car tires every night before you go to bed so that when you wake up in the morning there won’t be any flat tire surprises.

Did you remember to slit the tires?No, it's your turn, I did it last night!
Did you remember to slit the tires?
No, it’s your turn, I did it last night!

Never allow anyone to act out the poem Lizzie Borden Took an Ax on family fun night unless you are absolutely certain the ax is inaccessible and there’s no liquor in the house.

Always test out your  “experimental arsenic cookies” on the hamster first, and be sure he’s actually dead before going to all the trouble of serving them to in-laws.

"Maury? . . . Maury? Can you hear me Maury?"

“Maury? . . . Maury? Can you hear me Maury?”

Always keep a copy of Robert Rules of Order on you at all times to avoid the embarrassment of walking up to take the witness stand in a crowded courtroom when it’s not your turn.

Never engage in a conversation with a chatty robot before you know the location of their off switch.  (The same holds true for husbands.)

"Yes. it. is. a. nice. day. There. have been 17823 days. very. similar. to. a. day. like. today. in. the. past. 100. years. starting. with. a. Thursday. on. April. 17. 1912. and. then. again. on . . . "
“Yes. it. is. a. nice. day. There. have. been. 17823. days. very. similar. to. a. day. like. today. in. the. past. 1400. years. starting. with. a. Thursday. on. April. 17. 1035. and. then. on. . . “

Just make it a policy to never operate on friends. Period. End of story.

Listen Marge, it's not that I don't want to take out your spleen, it's just that you're a friend of mine and I have this policy . . . sorry . . . .
Listen Marge, it’s not that I don’t want to remove your spleen, it’s just that you’re a friend of mine and I have this policy . . . sorry but period end of story.

Until next time . . . I love you