Category Archives: humor

I thought I was in charge

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Writing is a passion that requires discipline and focus.  With encouragement from Sage Doyle, I have made the conscious effort to drag my body from the warm cover of my duvet two hours earlier than usual, saturate myself with coffee and develop my relationship with the characters in my book.  Ensconced in the darkened tomb of my living room, I go on a two-hour journey with people I get to know more intimately the longer we spend together.  They take me with them on their epic adventures and I am merely there to document their trials, tribulations and triumphs.

Monday, Wednesday and Friday mornings are now dedicated to coaxing those characters from their lair in the cerebral hemisphere they call home and watching how they interact with each other.  They help me understand their quirks and allow me a brief glimpse into what makes them tick.  They seem to have complete faith in my ability to share their tales from the most genuine and descriptive perspective possible.

Monday night I decided to set the alarm and throw a Tuesday into the early morning writing mix.  I woke up early, grabbed a steaming hot cup of coffee, a liquid that is quickly becoming my life’s blood, and sat waiting for the characters to emerge from their cranial apartment.   I sipped coffee and waited.  I filled the mug again and waited.  I knocked several times on the door that shields them from other cerebral functions, and still, nothing.  I pried open the door to their locked quarters and they were gone.

Those elusive characters, seeing the calendar and realizing it was Tuesday, thought they had the day off.  Not one of them had stayed behind with the hopes of participating in a spontaneous writing session.  They sent me holograms of  photos from Disney with trite lines about wishing I were there and each one of them, even the villain, was wearing Mickey Mouse ears.

mickey ears

(image courtesy of yourwdwstore.com)

I will set my alarm tonight and wake tomorrow with the expectation that they will be here and ready to go to work.  I will only knock on that door once and if they stand me up again, I will have their pink slips ready to go.  They’ll never work in this genre again!!

Braker, braker

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Dear Driver in front of me on my way to work,

Why, oh why, must you incessantly tap your brakes for no apparent reason.  I understand you became alarmed when you noticed you were going 52 km/h in a 50 zone, but did you know that by relieving the pressure your foot is putting on the gas pedal that your car will slow its pace without having to brake?  Since you are on a relatively level road, the decrease in acceleration will happen naturally and not cause a chain reaction of undue panic in the cars behind you.

brake lights

(image courtesy of diymyhonda.com)

Instead, in a town littered with reckless wild animals that like to create their own crossing spots, you choose to feather your brakes causing drivers behind you to look for invisible dangers encroaching the sides of the road.  Your reckless braking in the wee hours of the still darkened morning is causing those needing more caffeine (such as myself) to shout obscenities that should not even be thought of that early in the morning let alone uttered aloud at a decibel suited for a live concert.

Perhaps my opinion is somewhat jaded since I have been driving a stick-shift since I was 17 and am used to gearing down rather than braking, but, for the love of God please stop putting your brakes on every 10 seconds when there is nothing ahead of you but the open road and no wild beasts leaping from the woods to ambush your car.

I thank you in advance for your cooperation in this matter.

Sincerely,

The person that flipped you off from the CR-V behind you.

I’ll have hysterics with a side of dry pants please

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The weekly writing challenge immediately made me think of one photo and I scoured through my pictures to find it.  As you may notice from the stellar 70’s and early 80’s decor this picture was taken many years ago.  If I had to guess, I would say it was 1986 ish.

The challenge is this:  For this challenge, we want to see a photo of someone looking truly happy. Not “I’m-smiling-for-this-photo” happy, but really, deeply, twinkle-in-the-eyes happy. When we’re smiling a genuine smile, our whole faces get involved — our whole bodies, for that matter. There’s a light in our eyes. We look relaxed; there’s a forced tension in a fake smile.

Then we want to know why: what’s going on in the photo? What are you (or they) thinking about at the exact moment? (And if you really want to get into it: what happens next?)

My Nana used to think I was the biggest brat on the planet.  Hard to believe, I know, but that is a true story.  I was a high-spirited child with a penchant for making my presence known and I can see how, for adults, the novelty would have worn off quickly.  Thankfully as I evolved into a teenager and young adult I no longer felt the need to be the centre of attention and I climbed the rungs of my grandmothers favoritism ladder.

nana

This photo was taken during Christmas holidays.  Each festive season my grandparents would pack their car and make the pilgrimage north to enjoy the spectral portrait of our white Christmas.  Nana and I would spend hours in the kitchen cooking, baking and harmonizing to any Christmas Carol we could.  My dad would occasionally chime in and it became a three-part harmony and these moments became some of my fondest holiday memories.

After the casserole was in the oven, I left the kitchen to spend some time with my Grampa as he sat the recliner watching television.  My cat had decided that the recliner was the perfect post to sharpen his non-existent nails and began to rub his front paws on the side of head rest.  Grampa leaned around to see what was causing the movement to his chair and my cat stealthily, and with the grace of a fighter, smacked my grandfather in the face with his right paw hard enough to break his glasses.  Had there been a cartoon balloon hovering over my grandfather’s head it would have been filled with words similar to the descriptive fights in the old Batman comics.  Whap! Pow!  It was feline poetry in motion and my cat sauntered away, satisfied he had made his point.

As my grandfather slowly collected his mangled glasses from his lap, my giggles began.  I tried my best to control the laughter.  I knew Grampa was annoyed and my snickering was only going to add fuel to his fire.  I quickly made my way back to the kitchen to tell Nana what had happened and we laughed.  And we laughed some more.  We couldn’t seem to stop.  I replayed the assault in slow motion and we laughed harder.  Tears were streaming down my face and I had trouble catching my breath.  When the last of the giggles were wrung from my body my ribs ached and my eyes were swollen and bloodshot.  There was enough vision left in those ocular portals to see my Nana sneaking down the hallway to change her pants!!

I have many fond memories of visits with my grandparents before they left for the world they now inhabit.  I hope they remember this moment with as much fondness as I do. (at least I hope Nana does!)

The aptly named Murphy

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The Daily Prompt has me intrigued, once again.  And knowing that this can be a fictitious post made me even happier.

claddagh

Murphy had always thought his parents had named him poorly.  He wasn’t Irish, he certainly didn’t have a cool accent nor did not own a Claddagh ring.  He was sure his name had once been Jonathan, but he had too many accidents as a child to remember anything with any clarity.  He laid in bed pondering this inane moniker and realized the morning sun shone much brighter than it normally did at 6:00 am.  He glanced at his alarm clock the numbers burned into his eyes.  It was 8:46 am and he was already late for work.  He reached for his cell phone to call his boss, but the battery was dead.

He jumped out of bed, tripping over haphazardly strewn clothing and shoes and planted his face into the window sill.  He heard the crack and immediately tasted the coppery tang of his own blood.  His tooth lay on the ground surrounded by drops of his life’s essence.  He picked it up, put the tooth on the nightstand and made his way to the bathroom.

While spending his usual time on the throne, he balled up some gauze and compacted the hole where his tooth used to be.  He wondered if he should leave it there for the company photos they were having taken later that afternoon.  After wasting countless minutes reading his ATV magazine on the john, Murphy finally got up and toggled the lever on the toilet.  It wouldn’t flush.  His mother was going to be disgusted, but he didn’t have time to fix it.

He cranked the shower on and while he waited for the water to warm up he rummaged through the closet for his suit and lay it on the bed.  Returning to the bathroom, he opened the glass door of the shower and it slipped from its hinges shattering into millions of tiny shards of glass.  He could feel the tiny pin pricks in his feet with each step he took to reach the shower.

Once he had crossed the threshold of the stall, he screamed in agony.  He had forgotten to turn on the cold faucet as well as the hot and had given himself second degree burns.  He adjusted the temperature and lathered his hair with shampoo.  The bubbles trickled down his forehead and directly into his eyes.  He was momentarily blinded and fell through the open door of the shower onto the glass covered floor.

Ten minutes later, when his vision had somewhat returned, Murphy picked the remaining pieces of glass from the soles of his feet and his extremities and covered his burns with Polysporin.  His suit was still where he had left it on the bed and was now being used as a cushion by his two long-haired cats.  He shooed them from his attire and stared at the hairball that was once his clothing.   He dressed anyway, did his best to brush the hair from the cloth and headed down the hallway.  He was still getting the last of the big clumps of hair when he missed the top stair and fell head first, tumbling down the stairs like a rag doll in a clothes dryer.

He didn’t hear the sirens or realize the searing pain of his dislocated elbow until he was in the ambulance and they were en route to the hospital.  The ride was bumpy and each time the ambulance met with a pothole, daggers of pain shot through Murphy’s arm.   The ambulance sped along the road approaching a train track.  The track was clear and no lights signaled the approach of any oncoming trains.  The ambulance driver never heard the sound of the train’s horn over their sirens.

Murphy’s funeral is on Friday.

Telemarketing at its best

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They’re out there – lurking in the shadows, fingers haphazardly typing random phone numbers into their keyboard and blind-siding unsuspecting people with their scripted sales pitch.  And as much as we despise what they represent, they are merely doing a job.  They are collecting a paycheck.  But at some point during their work day, they become desensitized to reality.  They become so immersed in that script and they no longer have the free will to listen and respond appropriately.

telemarketing

(image courtesy of Google)

My mom has lived alone since my dad passed away in 2006.  She received a phone call the other day from an unrecognized number, but she picked it up anyway.  The person on the other end of the phone asked for my father.   My mom told the caller that my father was deceased and the caller simply replied, “I’ll call him again some other time”, and the call ended.  I may not be the most intelligent person on the planet, but I’m pretty sure he’ll still be deceased the next time they call.  Or perhaps this particular company has a listed number for Heaven and, in that case, I would love to see the long distance charges for that call.

I have been one of the fortunate ones and have not be inundated with telemarketing calls since I gave up my land line.  My cell phone has been safe thus far, but I do miss the moments of trying to confuse those callers and rouse them from their hypnotic state.  I would ask them personal questions about themselves and then would inquire as to whether there was an inconvenient time for them that I could call them back.

What is your favorite way to handle telemarketing calls?

A short joke to brighten your day

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When I got married, I wanted the gift for our guests to be memorable…..so I made a cookbook.  I collected recipes and jokes from our friends and family and spent many hours in Microsoft Publisher putting together a creation that would be a lasting memory.

This is one of the jokes that was given to me.  I just found it again and it still makes me laugh!

ghandi

Mahatma Gandhi, as you know, walked barefoot most of the time which produced an impressively thick callus on his feet.  He also ate very little which made him rather frail and, with his odd diet, he suffered from bad breath.  This made him……wait for it…..

A super fragile callused mystic hexed by halitosis.

You’re welcome!

 

 

(Image courtesy of Google)

Stalking isn’t always a bad thing

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Let me preface this post by assuaging any negative connotations about the subject line.  I am not a dangerous person.  I do not hide in bushes and make a mental note of people’s habits and movements.  But when something strikes my fancy or my funny bone, I can be tenacious and become extremely enthusiastic.

I work at a large resort, and often people have difficulty finding time in their busy days to call us during business hours. Many messages are left and returned.  On the odd occasion, a game of phone tag ensues until we finally connect voice to voice.

I had the good fortune of returning messages on a particular day and it was serendipity at its finest.  When the recorded voice message first began, I thought that I had dialed the number in error.  But the further I got into the message, the funnier it became and I began to giggle.  By the end of the comedic rhetoric on the other end of the phone, I was in hysterics.  I phoned back immediately to listen to it again, and the message became even funnier.  My co-workers were concerned that I may be slightly losing my grip on reality, but when I called the number a third time and put the message on speaker phone, they were laughing just as hard as I was.

The crowd continued to swell in the office and in response to the demand to hear what was so funny, I kept calling back.  After the mayhem died down and I collected myself, I called another four or five times to write down, verbatim, what the message was so I could steal it.  I’m sure the poor gentleman that called for rates was marginally alarmed at how many times the resort had tried to return his call.  Although we were apparently desperate for his business, he surprisingly did not call back.

I have since modified the message to fit the time allotted on my cell phone.  I have thought of changing it to something a little more professional since the cell is my only phone, but what would be the fun in that?  Here is the gist of how the original message sounded.   I hope none of these apply to you….but since I have struck up some friendships with some of you, I now know they just might.

phone

 Hello, and welcome to the Mental Health Hotline.

  • If you are obsessive or compulsive, press 1 repeatedly.
  • If you are co-dependant, please ask someone to press 2 for you.
  • If you have multiple personalities, please press 3,4,5 and 6
  • If you are paranoid, we already know who you are and what you want, but stay on the line while we trace your call.
  • If you are schizophrenic, listen carefully and a small voice will tell you which number to press.
  • If you are delusional, press 7 and your call will be transferred to the mother ship.
  • If you have short-term memory loss, press 9, if you have short-term memory loss, press 9, if you have short-term memory loss, press 9.
  • If you have a nervous disorder, please fidget with the # key until a representative comes on the line.
  • If you have amnesia, press 8 and state your name, address, phone, date of birth, social security number and your mother’s maiden name.
  • If you are menopausal, hang up, turn on the fan, lie down & cry. You won’t be crazy forever.
  • If you have a masochistic complex, please press “0” for the operator. There are 200 calls ahead of you.
  • If you have low self-esteem, please hang up. All our operators are too busy to talk to you.

I had posted this earlier in my blogging journey, but after a series of repeated calls to my cell today with no message, I finally understood why and called back to explain the message.

Do you have any new ones you think I should add to the list?

Laughter is the best medicine

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This post is going to be a little off my normal course of writing, but I needed a laugh today.  This is day four of no running water since my pipes froze on Tuesday night when the temperature plummeted to a nasty -36C (that’s -32F for all of my US friends).   I maintain my usual positive attitude although it was tested last night when I lost power for four hours.  Most of the heat we had been blasting into my basement to thaw the pipes had been beaten into submission by the continual sub-zero temperatures.

While I do love my little house and the expansive property that surrounds it, I would not be devastated to come home from work and find that the large tree that currently towers over my little house had fallen and split my tiny abode in half.  I’m certain my insurance company would not want to travel the distance to make sure the tree showed no signs of foul play.  In the event such a “catastrophe” occurred, I have already designed a replacement house.  You can never be too prepared for disaster!

If you have not seen the classic runway model wipe-out in the video below, I urge you to spend the two minutes and have a good laugh.  It gets me every time ~ I cannot decide which is funnier, the awkward wipe out itself or the reaction of the news anchors.  Happy Saturday everyone!

 

A closed mouth gathers no foot

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Blessed are those with the gift of discretion – those select members of society who have the foresight to think before they utter their thoughts aloud.  They carefully create the vision of syllables tumbling from their mouths in perfect synchronicity and follow through with eloquence and grace on their delivery.  Their words are distinct and, most often, fraught with meaning.  Their sentences have symmetry and structure and have been scrutinized at great length before being uttered.  They leave no opportunity to say the wrong thing.  In short – they think before they speak.

Because nature dictates balance in all things, there are also those who throw caution to the wind.  They randomly spew the first words that enter their brain without giving them the benefit of being filtered through the proper sieve of political or even conventional correctness.  The words are out there, hanging in the air like the particles of moisture in a dense fog.  They become thick and difficult to navigate without inevitably crashing into an invisible concrete barrier.  When the burning heat of embarrassment burns away the remnants of that fog, the orator stands alone with one foot firmly implanted in their mouth.

foot-in-mouth

Having the wisdom to compose a thought before it is cast out to the point of no return is the key to not having the bitter aftertaste of ten-year old running shoes saturating your taste buds.  Formulating a response with deliberation ensures that you are clear in what you want to say without being hurtful, cynical or idiotic.  Knowing when to step back and think before you speak gives you an opportunity to sound thoughtful and articulate, without the aftermath of explanations and backtracking.

Unless you have a foot fetish, keep in mind that words are more appreciated when sentences are given a moment to take their proper form.  Knowing what you want to say is decided in a second.  Being able to control the outpouring of emotion and present those ideas properly is worth the extra ten seconds to avoid the taste of Nike mouthwash.

What did you say, Jim? I didn’t quite get that.

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Perhaps it was Sage Doyle’s latest post about Grimm and his night out on E, but something caused me to open the vault in my brain that stores the foolish behavior of my past.  Things that should remain locked and guarded have bubbled to the surface and made me recall the few times I dabbled in some mild altering drugs.  I am relatively inexperienced when it comes to drugs – I don’t even like taking over the counter meds if I can avoid it, but peer pressure is an overwhelming thing and I succumbed.

The first time I was relatively young and my friends thought it wise to do some hits of acid.  Sure, I had smoked some weed once or twice, but I gave up on it fairly quickly.  I don’t like the feeling of being high and not being able to control how quickly I get there, or get back.  At least with wine, I have more control and can switch to water if I feel like I’m reaching the breaking point.  But hey, acid makes sense, no?   Abso-fucking-lutely not.

Flowery_Acid_Trip_by_CrystalSister

Real life quickly turned into That 70’s Show, but I was still in the now.  It didn’t seem to affect me at all.  I was almost disappointed until I realized how ridiculous everyone else looked.  They behaved exactly like you would expect people on acid to behave.  Hippy-speak was rampant and they all spent an obscene amount of  time watching invisible things float through the air.  Once the munchies kicked in, we all headed for the local burger joint and they filled their urges to eat their weight in french fries.  It wasn’t until I saw the purple troll streak by the picnic tables that I realized I was high.  I jumped up from the table and chased the little bastard for a good 5 minutes until I no longer had any oxygen in my lungs.  I lay on the sidewalk and made snow angels.  It was July.

I guess the acid trip had buried itself so far into the recesses of my mind that when the pressure was on to do magic mushrooms, I caved.  Once again, I seemed to be unaffected by anything more than the rank smell of these hallucinogens, so we drank some wine while we prepared some cedar-plank salmon, green beans and rice for dinner.  We had just plated dinner when the giggling started.  I thought the beans were the funniest looking things I had ever seen and once the laughter started, it didn’t stop.  The three of us were perched around the dining room table and none of us ate a bite.  I thought the salmon was trying to swim off my plate, so I built a barricade with the green beans to contain the fish and the rice was used like mortar to secure the walls.   I finally had to step away from my friends.  My ribs felt like each one of them had broken simultaneously from laughing so hard and being around them was not helping.

I took my wine out to my gazebo and lay on the wicker love seat, on my back and staring up at the tree that hung precariously above.  It took a few minutes for my eyes to adjust to the darkness of the early evening and when I finally focused, I saw him.  I blinked a few times to make sure I wasn’t seeing things (of course I was, I was really freakin’ high) but he remained motionless – in my tree – it was Jim Morrison.  Now, for a guy that has been reportedly dead since 1971, he looked pretty good.  We chatted for about half an hour – Jim is very articulate and extremely witty for a dead guy.  And then he left me alone to pass out in my gazebo and sleep it off.

I have since learned to say a very emphatic NO when I am asked if I would like to partake in any sort of drug, besides wine.  I think we can all agree that is best.  Even Jim would agree.