parody

Death on Deck

Linda Vernon Existence and Stuff, My Brain, Peanuts , , , , , , , , , , , ,

I’ve noticed lately that a lot of my writing seems to have taken on a death theme.  I don’t know whether to blame myself or my brain, Peanuts.

Maybe it’s just that Peanuts and I are getting older; and when you get to be our age, the future isn’t as wide open and expansive as it used to be.

Peanuts and I have reached the crest of the hill of life, whereupon it’s all downhill from here on out.  Don’t get me wrong. I’m not saying the ride down that hill (in a car without any brakes) to one’s final destination (a drop off to the unknown) isn’t fun, as such.

I’m just saying that once you’re hurtling down that hill in the Death Car of Life, the scenery is going by way too fast.  Which is ironic because when you get older, you tend to want to go slower and dwell on the little details of life, like shrubbery, or the quality of the current garbage service or whether or not they overcharged you for that ham.

“Will you hurry up! You’re going to die in an hour and a half!”
“I know, but look at these shrubs!”

When you get to be Peanuts and my age, you’re Christopher Columbus looking through the para-scope and spotting West Indies only instead of spotting the West Indies you’re spotting death.

Oh sure, you’re not there yet, but Death (and/or the West Indies) is looming on the horizon as big as life!

Gulp!

What Peanuts and I usually do when we find ourselves thinking about death is try not to think about death.  And amazingly, this tactic actually works. The thought process goes something like this:

Someday I’m going to die, which means I won’t exist anymore, which means I’ll be dead which means everything I have ever done in my life and everyone and everything I have ever loved in my life will be kaput and I shall never, EVER pass this way again . . . OK, well I guess I’ll go vacuum now.

When you really think about it, death is what motivates the human race to accomplish things because when we’re really busy getting a lot stuff done, it’s a lot easier to pretend we are never going to die.

I only hope that when it’s Peanuts and my turn to be sucked through that tunnel towards the light, that everything on the other side will have lived up to the term “to die for”.

Until next time  . . . I love you

Roast in a Nutshell: The Darker Side of My Brain Peanuts Returns

Linda Vernon Lists, My Brain, Peanuts, The Daily Routine , , , , , , , , , , , , ,

Sometimes, when life hands you lemonade, you have to take that lemonade and you have to turn it back into lemons again because you’re just in that kind of a mood.  Which means, Dear Reader, that it is once again time for:

Roast in a Nutshell, the Darker Side of My Brain Peanuts

(A title that was the brainstorm of my cyberdaughter, Lizzie, at runningnakedwithscissors)

artists rendering of darkside peanuts

Today’s topic:  Dealing with people who think Peanuts is old.

Things Darkside Peanuts Should be Allowed to Do Without Any Consequences When It comes to dealing with people who think Peanuts is old.

Darkside Peanuts  should be allowed to trip clerks in the electronics department of Frys who explain something to Peanuts like Peanuts is senile and then wrap up their sales pitch by adding “this is what all our elderly customers prefer.”

Darkside Peanuts should be allowed to send sneezing powder (aka anthrax) in the return envelope of all AARP offers that are offering Peanuts one last chance to get insurance before Peanuts shrivels up and dies.

Darkside Peanuts should be allowed to pinch a tad too hard, the cheeks of teenage baggers at the grocery store who remark, while bagging Peanuts groceries, that their grandma — or even their great grandma — likes the same product Peanuts does.

Darkside Peanuts should be allowed to scribble lipstick all over the faces of dismissive twenty-something cosmetic-counter girls who imply that Peanuts looks so old there’s really nothing that can be done about it.

Darkside Peanuts should be allowed to pull the transaction box off its stand and throw it at clerks who automatically assume Peanuts is too old and too far gone with the Alzheimer’s to know to slide the card and push the green button without being told (for the millionth time . . . sigh) to do so.

Darkside Peanuts should be allowed to mess up the hairdo of clerks who take a good look at Peanuts and then suggest that Peanuts take advantage of their 55-years-and-older senior discount even though Peanuts is 55-years-and-older.

Darkside Peanuts should be allowed to yank the trendy ponytails of the girls who work at Starbucks whose words are saying, “may I help you” but whose tone is saying  Oh great! Another old lady who refuses to speak Starbucks.

Darkside Peanuts should be allowed to put Peanuts’ car in reverse and bash into the kid who is driving the car behind Peanuts who is honking at Peanuts to take a free right turn at a red light because they think Peanuts is too old and too cowardly to do so –even though Peanuts IS too old and too cowardly to do so.

Phew!  Darkside Peanuts feels much better having gotten all that off Darkside Peanuts’ shell.

Until next time . . . I love you

Ten Reasons Why You Might Be Feeling Fat

Linda Vernon Health and Beauty, Lists , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,

You have a tendency to eat breakfast four times.

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

Your dog leads a scrap-less life.

a sad pug
“My owner sucks!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You brake for cake!

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

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

You are fat.

 

Until next time . . . I love you

How to Drink a Castor Oil Sandwich in 1949

Linda Vernon The Daily Routine, Thrift Store Finds , , , , , , , , , , ,

I found this little 1949 booklet at the thrift store the other day.

Apparently, back in 1949, before Facebook was invented, people had to make friends with whomever (or whatever) they could scrape up.

Alright fine, but how hard up does a person have to be to count Pure Bicarbonate of Soda as one of their friends?

I’m talking to you people of 1949! What were you thinking making Bicarbonate of Soda your friend?  Hello?  . . . ok, fine don’t answer me.

I’ll make something up and say it’s true. That’s what you get for ignoring me!

Let’s start by pretending we live in 1949.  What else were you doing today anyway. (I mean besides pretending to be working).

As you know, the first thing to do when pretending anything is to rush over to Google and start asking a lot of unnecessary questions:

What was the cost of a first class stamp in 1949?   

Google says: $.03


Who was the President of the United States in 1949?

Google says: “Harry S. Truman”


Why did Newfoundland join the Canada Confederation?   

Google says: “You’re joking right?”

How do you write 1949 in Roman Numerals?  

Google says: “Get outta here kid, ya bother me.”

Well apparently Google got up on the wrong side of the bed this morning. So let’s try to conjure up 1949 by using this picture from 1951 that I found in my baby book and subtracting 2 years from it in our minds.

Checking to see if limbs are operable
Me and Mom (I'm on the right)

As you can see from this picture of me and Mom, 1949 was rather bleak, stark and dark. On the upside, they did have doilies (one) and lamps (one) and a window (one).

And even though you don’t see any “friends” in this picture, I’ll bet you anything if you were to go into the kitchen, you would have found Mom’s besty, Pure Bicarbonate of Soda, relaxing on the kitchen shelf, at the ready for Mom should she suddenly need Dear ol’ Carby.

OK, now that our minds are firmly ensconced in 1949, let’s just pretend something came up, and we are going to need our new BFF, Dear ol’ Carby, to come to the rescue.

Let’s say we were in need of . . . oh I don’t know maybe a . . . CASTER OIL SANDWICH?

Apparently back in 1949, there was some weirdness going on. First, that a Caster Oil Sandwich was actually on any menu at all, and second, that  it was a sandwich  you were suppose to :“Drink while effervescing.” 

I don’t know about you, but I rarely effervesce when I drink sandwiches . . . but that’s just me.

What’s say we toddle back  over to Google, shall we?  And let’s ask Google why anybody would want to drink a Caster oil Sandwich:

Under what circumstances would someone drink a Caster oil Sandwich?

Google says: “Get outta here kid, you bother me!”

Fine be that way!

If you need me, I’ll be in the kitchen with Dear ol’ Carby preparing a Caster oil Sandwich for our new besty, Goog.

Eww!
Until next time . . . I love you