Signs Your Body Has Been Taken Over by an Alien

Well it’s re-run Friday again.  And I know if you’re anything like me, you don’t like to head into the weekend not knowing whether or not your body has been taken over by an alien.  So here are the signs:

You don’t get why you can’t order Panda at Panda Express.

You often sink into a depression over having just the one head.

Oh sure you’re a cat lover, but only because they drink their milk out of  s a u c e r s .

While everybody else is drinking Margaritas, you’re drinking Margarita.

“Wait . . where’s Margarita?”

When you introduce yourself to others, you feel compelled to add that you’re “just your typical human being.”

You can’t believe you went so long never realizing how superfluous pupils were.

When nobody’s looking you turn into a writhing platter of arroz con pollo.

“DEAR GOD! IT”S ALIVE!”

You’re worried about how much longer you’ll get away with passing off the suction cup on forehead as a high-definition tattoo.

You’ve got your own way of describing the face on Mars:  MOMMY!

And the number one way to tell if your body has been taken over by an alien?

Your blood sugar plummets if you go too long without eating a puppy.

“Mmmmmmm . . . .PUPPY!”
Until next time . . . I love you

Just a quick note to all my Wonderful Blogging Buddies:

I just want to say that I have met the most wonderful people since I started blogging and thanks to all of you, my life has been greatly enriched!  I love reading your blogs!

And:

I got tagged!  I got awarded! I got milk! (Ok, I didn’t get milk!) And I want to thank you all!  I am honored and touched (in the heart as well as in the head) that you have taken the time to nominate this blog.  Your support inspires me greatly!
So thank you so much:
Until next time . . . I love you

Slaving Over a Hot Keypad

I Got Nothin’

Yesterday was a frustrating day. I sat down to write a post for this blog but my brain, Peanuts, just wasn’t cooperating.

I kept fiddling around with the same group of lousy little words for hours — arranging and rearranging — trying to get them to come together in some sort of pleasing way — but they absolutely refused to cooperate.

Hither and Yon

I just couldn’t seem to get my words and my ideas synchronized. It was all very discombobulating.  I was running out of steam and no matter how hard I tried I JUST COULD NOT GET THINGS TO COMBOBULATE.

At 1:30 in the afternoon, I finally threw the bums out and started over.

When Life Hands You Lemons, Start Over

My second attempt was even worse! It wasn’t the fault of the words or the ideas, as such. Individually, they were all fine, upstanding words and ideas. It was the order in which I laid them out on the page that really stunk on ice.

But I refused to admit defeat. I was determined to cobble together a decent essay; even if it meant using every single tool my writer’s toolbox including the sledgehammer.

If at First You Don’t Succeed, Step Up Your Punctuation

It soon became obvious the second essay was turning out even more disappointing than the first; but still I forged ahead determined to make it work utilizing some little known writer’s tricks I had up my sleeve.   Such as inserting peppy punctuation like three exclamation marks in a row at the end of every sentence — and giving a humorous word like “DYN-O-MITE” a paragraph of its very own.

Exasperatingly Exhausted

I typed and typed and typed until my fingers were blue in the face. I was at the end of my rope and so desperate, I even tried sticking in some humorous kitty images in an attempt to cover up my mediocrity:

Funny, but not hilarious
 
 
 
 Slightly funny, but certainly not funny enough to offset lousy writing 
 

Ok, this one’s just making things worse

Oh Forget It!

At Four Frigin’ Thirty in the afternoon, I finally admitted defeat.

My husband, 37, got home from work, and found me slumped on the couch frazzled and flummoxed. So he suggested we eat out, bless his ever-lovin’ 37 heart!!!

By the time I finished my Panda Express Kung Pao Chicken and Chow Mein, I was practically my old self — until I opened my fortune cookie which read:

What are you trying to do Panda Express?  Kill me?

Until next time . . .  I love you