Category Archives: Humor

Arrrrrr! It’s a Pirate Blog! Arrrrr!

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Arrrrr.International Talk Like a Pirate Day! Arrrr…..

In honor of International Talk Like a Pirate Day, I offer a salute to my three favorite pirate things!

The Pittsburgh Pirates

Pittsburgh Pirates

Raise the Jolly Roger! Arrrr!!!

I am not technically a baseball fan.  But what kind of Pittsburgh girl would I be if I didn’t support the local home team!?  Besides, the ballpark has nachos, beer and guys running around in tight pants.  Sounds like a good day to me.  Arrrrrr!!!

The Church of the Flying Spaghetti Monster

The Church of the Flying Spaghetti Monster

May you be touched by his noodly appendage

For those not yet enlightened, Pastafarianism is a real religion that revolves around Pirates, beer volcanos and strippers.  But I think our founder, Bobby Henderson, explains it best. From the website:

“Most of us do not believe a religion – Christianity, Islam, Pastafarianiasm – requires literal belief in order to provide spiritual enlightenment. That is, we can be part of a community without becoming indoctrinated. There are many levels of belief.

By design, the only dogma allowed in the Church of the Flying Spaghetti Monster is the rejection of dogma. That is, there are no strict rules and regulations, there are no rote rituals and prayers and other nonsense. Every member has a say in what this church is and what it becomes.

To outsiders it makes us hard to define, but here are some general things that can be said about our beliefs:

  • We believe pirates, the original Pastafarians, were peaceful explorers and it was due to Christian misinformation that they have an image of outcast criminals today
  • We are fond of beer
  • Every Friday is a Religious Holiday
  • We do not take ourselves too seriously
  • We embrace contradictions (though in that we are hardly unique)”

Pirates & Beer –  I see a recurring theme here.  Arrrrrr!!!

And of course….

Talk Like a Pirate day

Because how can you even *think* about pirates without Johnny Depp!?

So, this evening, I will be celebrating International Talk Like a Pirate Day with  beer, wings and perhaps a Johnny Depp movie. dr00l…I mean Arrrrrr!!!

How are you going to celebrate?  😀

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**Insert Sock Pun Here**

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Side note:  I had so many titles for this entry:  “Sock Invaders”, “When Socks Attack”, “Lock, Sock and Barrel”, “Sock it to Me”, “Get Down with the Sockness”…. all so good, I couldn’t choose just one.  Just pick the one you like best and insert it as the title.

When my husband and I moved in together and started merging our stuff, I uncovered a habit that still to this day, I  have no idea how to deal with.

He’s a sock addict.

Or maybe I should say, *was* a sock addict.  He’s now a recovering sock addict because when I discovered his stash…and realized the magnitude of the problem…I cut him off sock cold.

Let me explain (C’mon…you knew I would!)

My husband has three sons, two of whom were living at home when we got married.  The boys hated doing laundry, particularly sorting socks.  So they didn’t.  EVER.  As a result, the boys never had clean socks (or at least matching clean socks).  And Dad, being the good dad that he is, thought that buying more new socks was the answer.

So the boys got a 12 pack of new socks every Christmas.  Each.

And one for himself.

That is 36 new pairs of socks EVERY YEAR! (180 pairs in five years…360 new socks!)

It has been five years since we got married.  The boys have since moved out.

Yet the socks remain.

These pictures were taken before I did laundry this week:

Sock drawer

Socks on the cabinet next to the closet…

Oh yeah…and the TRASH BAG OF SOCKS IN THE GARAGE…..

and now, this week’s laundry.

I am seriously ready to start packing them up for the homeless.  Even weeding them out as they wear out will have him sock stocked for the next 20 years!!

In this house, addiction is a sockness.  Say it with me, Hon…”My name is Hubster and I am a sock addict.”

Oh, and his favorite baseball team?  Why the Boston Red Sox, of course! (It would have been soooo perfect if it was the White Sox instead!)

I’m a Camel!!

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OMG…I  just had the most hilarious conversation with my girlfriend at work.

We were discussing workout routines and our goals for them.  She said that in the middle of her Couch to 5K routine, she had to stop to suck wind.  She said she felt like an elephant.  I can relate.  I ran about a hundred yards the other night and every step felt like CLOMP CLOMP CLOMP!

She recalled being young and gazelle-like.

HER (wistfully):  “I want to be a gazelle again.”

ME: “I’ll never be a gazelle.  I’d settle for a small hippo.”

HER: (clearly on a roll), “…or maybe a giraffe.  They kinda gallop along.  I could be a giraffe….” :galloping like a giraffe:

ME: “Or a camel!”

HER: “Hey, camels are fast!  They’re lumpy all over, but FAST!” :making fast motions:

ME: “That settles it then!  We will be camels!  Lumpy all over, but fast as hell!!”

I think that’s a reasonable goal.   I’ve definitely got the lumpy part down pat.  Now if I can just find a Couch to Refrigerator workout routine, I’ll be all set.

Whoa, Camel, whoa!

Proof that camels are fast!

Coz I’m So Smoooooth

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Note:  To fully enjoy this post,  you should click on the links so the music can play while you visualize what I’m about to tell you, which sadly, is a completely accurate account of my drive home this afternoon.  Thank you.  Party on. 

I was driving in the car earlier, flipping through stations when Santana’s “Smooth” came on the radio.  I like the song, so I smiled and just as I did, the car hit a bump and dipped ever so slightly, causing my head to tilt and bob just so.

At that moment, my little self-smile turned into a smoooth, cooool, smile.

In my head, I looked like this:

Ah, yeah…I am sooo smoooth….

Like David Caruso in CSI Miami when he knows something and does his  head-tilted,  knowing, cool nod.

I popped down the visor mirror to see what my smoooth, cooool, smile actually looked like It was more like this:

See? Smoooo…**cough cough**…thhhhh….

By then, I was sitting at a red light, amusing myself by practicing my smoooth, cooool, smile (that only I could see) and I accidentally glanced at  two young dudes in the car next to me.   We made eye contact and I immediately became nervous.  What if they thought I was flirting at them with my smoooth, cooool, smile??

Then I realized that at their age (and mine), they probably saw this:

Well helloooo handsome!

Then I became depressed.

I flipped stations a few times, trying to get back my groove and finally AC/DC’s “Thunderstruck” came on.

And suddenly, I was all like this:

I cranked it up and rocked out the rest of the drive home.

And in my head, I’m still one smoooth, cooool chick.

The sky is blue in my world.  Thank you very much for asking.  😉

Awwwesommmmeeee!!!

Gray Matters

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I was washing my hands in the powder room this evening and glanced in the mirror.  Much to my horror, a shiny strand of hair was peeking out at me.

ELIZABEEEETHHHH!!  COME HERE PLEASE!?

My daughter came to the door and peeked in.  I was standing in front of the mirror, pointing to my head.

Is this what I think it is?????

She took one glance and it was all over.

Oh, Mom…yep.  It’s a gray hair.  But it’s just one!  And you’re 46, not 47!

She was trying to make me feel better by referring to the fact that up until a month ago, I thought I was turning 47 this year.  I even challenged a friend who is the same age as me and asked him how he could be 46, when I’m going to be 47!  “What year were you born?!”, I asked.  “1966”, he replied.  Whoa…I just got back a whole year!

But back to the mirror – I started to tear up.  I don’t know if I was laughing or crying.  I think it was crying.

Then my very, very, VERY gray-haired husband came to the bathroom door…and laughed at me.   When I kicked his ass out, he complained loudly that I shared with my daughter first and not my husband.

“You fricken laughed, you dill weed!  Is it any wonder I didn’t call you first!?”

Then I went upstairs to rip the fucker out.  By the time I scrounged for the tweezers, it had disappeared.

Oh, but it’ll be back.  And like the zombie apocalypse, it will bring friends.  Lots and lots of brain sucking friends.

Stupid, zombie, gray-hair, brain-sucking friends.  GAH!

Tomorrow, I’m dying it auburn.  Zombies hate auburn.  They go after the gray-haired old coots first.  W e’re They’re slower.

Yep.  I need to color my hair because of zombies.

 

The Immortal Cricket

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Years ago, I worked in the file room at a large law firm in Pittsburgh.  We were a huge firm and had thousands of files on-site that we stored in huge, movable shelves that opened and closed like an accordion. Those shelves were packed floor to ceiling with files. When you pushed the shelves  to one side, you could go  all the way through to another office in the back of the room.  I worked in the front with my friend Chris.  My friend Bob worked in the back. We also had off-site storage at a warehouse facility, from which we retrieved files daily.  That was Bob’s job – shipping and receiving boxes of files.

One day, we heard a cricket chirping in the back of the file room.  Being on the 41st Floor of a skyscraper, it was highly unlikely that the little critter came in on his own.  Naturally, we assumed that he hitched a ride with one of the file boxes.  Warehouses were dirty and had no shortage of rodents and pests.  It made sense.

Weeks went on and the little cricket kept chirping.  Sometimes he’d be in the ceiling.  Other times the sound came from near the floor.  A couple of times, he was right over my head.

Months went by.  Still, we’d hear him intermittently chirping.

Fall came.  Still… the little cricket kept going and going and going.  The Energizer Bunny of crickets.

Surely, this was a “super-cricket”.   Either that or it was cricket junior…a second or third generation of the cricket family.  That meant that there had to be more than one!  Or did it?

We looked up “mating habits of the North American cricket” and “Are crickets asexual?” (They are not.)

Come winter, we had a firm-wide contest to “Name that Cricket”.   Everyone got in on the act, attorneys, administrators and support staff.  Finally, he was dubbed Jiminy because he was “one magical cricket”.

Then, the chirping stopped.  😦 Did Jiminy finally reach Cricket Heaven?

Months went by again.  We forgot all about poor Jiminy.

One day…after God only knows how long… from the back of the file room, it came…”chirp chirp…chirp chirp”

OMG!  Could it be???  Hallelujah!  He was alive!  We were so excited and yet, completely befuddled at how this could be!  Again, much skepticism and research followed (hey…it was a file room…we were geeks!)

Years went by…four to be exact…with the cricket occasionally making an appearance.  And every time, it was a big deal.  How did a cricket survive on the 41st floor of a skyscraper??  For FOUR YEARS?

In the meantime, I met the Hubster and planned our move to VA.  I put in my notice at the firm and on my last day was saying my good-byes.

On that day, Bob (the guy in the back) walked into my office and put a black box on my desk.  I looked at him and said, “what’s this?”   With a grin he pushed a button.

“chirp chirp…chirp chirp”

Wait, what??  I sat and stared at him utterly confused.

Then light dawned –  BOB WAS JIMINY!!

For four years, he had this box in a file jacket that he’d occasionally move around and then push the button and watch us make complete asses of ourselves.  I can only imagine his delight as we stood in the file room, debating the mating habits of crickets, staring up at the ceiling.  He’d mess with us and put it up high and then down low on the shelves.  Occasionally, he’d forget about it for a while and then run across it while working and start all over again.  I was the last one of our group to go and he felt he just had to tell me the truth before I left.  I stared at him, mouth gaping for the longest time.

And then I rolled on the floor laughing.

That, my friends, is the story of the Immortal Cricket and one of the best pranks ever played.

I’ll never forget it… or Bob.   🙂

Voices…I Hear Voices….

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I will let you in on a little tidbit about myself: I typically have more than three simultaneous conversations going on in my head at any given moment.  Some might call it a stream of consciousness, which is fine if it’s just a matter of thoughts flowing into one another.  My brain works slightly differently than that.  I get the first thought, which leads into a second, third and fourth, but the first keeps developing into an entire conversation.

Example:  The Hubster asks me what we’re having for dinner.

What should I make for dinner?  Pork chops would be nice.  Do I have pork chops downstairs in the freezer?  Oh I need to throw in a load of  laundry while I’m down there.  Giant has meat on sale this week, so I should get pork chops.  We need to go to Costco for meat too.  I have a good recipe for pork chops.  And potatoes.  While we’re at Costco, we need batteries for the air mattress…

I tell him “pork chops”.

And detergent.  And q-tips.  The kids will sleep on the air mattress when my parents come to visit next week.  I think I’ll make mom’s potatoes with the pork chops.  “D” batteries.  The air mattress uses “D” batteries.  And butter.  I’m almost out of butter for the potatoes.  Maybe I’ll make rice.  Or maybe we’ll just order pizza and have the pork chops tomorrow night.

An hour later, the doorbell rings and it’s the Domino’s guy.  “I thought we were having pork chops!!”  “No, that’s tomorrow night”.  Why is he confused??  It makes perfect sense to me! (This is also when I will later remember “telling” him that my parents are coming to visit.)

One afternoon, we were driving in the car and I was quietly looking out my window.  He looked at me and said, “How many conversations are you having in your head right now?”   I had to laugh, because I actually had three distinct thoughts going.  I think that was the day he got scared.  Dumbass married me after that anyway.

I still can’t figure that one out.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Can You Say That Again, Please? (NOT!)

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Can You Say That Again, Please? (NOT!)

Just spent a weekend at my parents’ house where it is the norm to repeat the same things over and over and over again.  For one thing, half of us are half deaf.  For another, the other half of us are half whacked.  Between the two halves, there is considerable overlap.  My mother is squarely in the overlap.

Please…let me demonstrate.

Vacation planning somewhere around 1988 – my mother wanted to take a trip to a lovely peninsula on Lake Erie called “Presque Isle“.  (Let me interject that due to our Pittsburgh accent, this does not sound like the lovely “Presque Isle”.  It sounds like “Pressed Cow”, which is what everyone to whom I’ve ever told this story thinks I’m saying.  Henceforth, you shall hear “pressed cow” in your head when reading this story.)

Now once my mother gets an idea, she runs it into the ground.  So all we heard for literally months was this trip to Presque Isle.

Presque Isle.  Presque Isle. Presque Isle.  Presque Isle.  Presque Isle. Presque Isle.  Presque Isle.  Presque Isle. Presque Isle.  Presque Isle.  Presque Isle. Presque Isle.  Presque Isle.  Presque Isle.

Annoying isn’t it?

Right around the same time, my mother discovered a wonderful, miraculous liniment called Unker’s.  She called it “salve”.  (Now again, due to our Pittsburgh accent, this is said with a very nasaly sound, kind of like sheep baaa-ing with a slight lilt.  Henceforth you shall hear this word pronounced “saaaaav”.)

Let me demonstrate:

Me: “Wow, my back is sore.”

Mom: “Want some saaaav?”

Me: “I have a cold.”

Mom, “You should put saaaav on your chest.”

Me: “I fear the apocalypse is coming”

Mom: “At least we’ll have the saaaaav.”

Saaaaav…saaaav…saaaav…saaaav…saaaav…saaaav…saaaav…saaaav …saaaav…saaaav…saaaav…saaaav…saaaav…saaaav…saaaav…saaaav…saaaav… saaaav…saaaav…saaaav…saaaav!!!

This phenomenon with my mother led me to create the Banned Word List.  Guess which two words were the first on the list!

You got it on the first try!  Imagine that!

So, after the introduction of the list, it was going pretty well and I almost had my mother trained to say “The Peninsula” and “liniment” instead of the banned words.

Then came “bales of hay”.

As in 6 people stuffed into a Buick Dodge Aries (and not even the K-car kind!), driving from Pittsburgh to Colorado, and while crossing Kansas all my mother can say is “bales of hay…as faaaaaaar as the eye can seee…” in a wistful voice.

Do you know how far it is across the state of Kansas??  424 miles.  FOUR HUNDRED TWENTY FOUR MILES OF BALES OF HAY!!

I never did find a suitable substitute for the bales of hay.  In any case, it was better than the musical interlude every time we crossed a state line.  It’s kinda like that commercial where the couple is on a road trip and have a song for every state?  Yeah.  Like that.  Only trapped in a car with your parents, two sisters and grandmother who has her knees tied together as a remedy for a bad back and she insists on saving the toast from every meal, and your mother is singing “Gary, Indiana”.

Shit.  That’s a whole blog entry unto itself.  It’s a wonder I’m still sane, no?

But I digress.

Banned words.

This weekend, I added two new words to my list:  “sleep” and “seat”.  Very innocuous words when USED ONLY ONCE!  But hell….that’s just crazy talk!  Why say them once when you can say (before we’re even up the front steps)….

Hi guys!  Have you figured out where you’re going to sleep?  Because I thought if you sleep in this room and they sleep in that room then everyone will have a place to sleep.  But if you can’t sleep where you’re sleeping you can go sleep in the living room and then she can sleep in your room and then she’ll be able to sleep later.  If that doesn’t work, then I can’t imagine where everyone will sleep because I thought we’d all sleep like that.

(Close second here is the word “sheets”…because of course, you can’t sleep without sheets….right? Oddly enough, this whole thing starts again at bedtime, as if it wasn’t settled the first time around.)

Add fricken “sleep” to the banned word list.  Oh and eff it.  Throw “sheets” in there too.  What the hell.

And now, we have “seats”, thanks to a baseball game, where we had 10 seats in two rows behind one another.  You know what this means, right?  Yep! We had repeat numbers in different rows.

You know what?  I’m not going to do it.  Just imagine 10 people shuffling around between two rows saying the numbers and “seat” while trying to figure out where to park their butts, even though it was really irrelevant since we were all together and IT DIDN’T REALLY MATTER WHICH SEATS WE HAD BECAUSE THEY WERE ALL OURS ANYWAY!!!

:pant, pant, pant:  I need a Tylenol.

So, in case you weren’t keeping score, here’s the banned word list as of today, August 5, 2012:

Presque Isle, bales of hay, salve, sheets, seat and sleep.

And now my mother will comment and use all of them in one sentence just to drive me to drink.  More.  Again.  And then she’ll give me salve for the hangover.

Love you, Mom.  ❤  At least you’re never boring.  🙂

You can’t see the bales of hay, but trust me. They’re there.

You Light Up My Life

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The Hubster cannot sleep without some noise in the room.  Typically it’s the t.v., which he leaves on all night and I wear earplugs to block out.  I have argued that my snoring should be plenty of noise, but he disagrees.  We also live on a very busy street with plenty of traffic noise most of the night.

This weekend, we’re at my parents’ house in the middle of nowhere.

It is DEAD QUIET here.  There is no t.v. or radio in the guest bedroom.  The ceiling fan is quiet.  We don’t even get cell reception so he can stream music on his iPhone.

We got all tucked into bed last night and you could hear a pin drop.  Not a sound.

So, I did the only thing a good wife would do.

I was the substitute radio.  It sounded like this.  (You’ll have to just insert the hilarious muffled laughter yourself as needed.)

Come sail away, come sail away, come sail away with meeeeeeeee laayd.  Come sail away, come sail away, come and sail awayyyy wiiiiiiifff meeeeeeeee……

This is the 70’s channel.  All 70’s, all the time!

Aaaaaahhhh, freak out!  Le freak, say chic… FREAK OUT!!

At the Co-PAH!  CO-PA Ca-baaaaaana!  The hottest spot north of Hah-VAAAAANNNNAAAAH!

Youuuuuuuuuuuuu….light up myyyyy liiiiiiiiife….youuuuuuugivemehoooooooope….tooo carrryyyyyooooooooonnnnnn….:whisper: you light up myyyydaaaaayyyy…and fill my niiiiigh-ta with-a soooonggg!! : crescendo:

( I sang one whole verse of that one)

Hubster changed the channel.

To the 80’s!!

Nah nah na na nah…naaaah naaaah….Nah nah na na nah…naaaah naaaah….Whip it!  Whip it good! :whack:

(That one’s gonna come back to haunt me.)

Tonight we explore hair bands of the 80’s.

Yeah…I’m a good wife.