Ah Yes...Writer's Block

It has been a very eventful week! I want to thank everyone who guest posted and came to play in the sandbox. Alan from TBAOO, Alejandro from Raising Amelie, Paul Field from One Eye on the Rear View Mirror, Charles Sadler from Rantings of a Bald Man, Megan from Sugary Cynicism, Sarah Jane Klemis from Almost There, and Jewell from Really? Wait? What? You folks all did a great job and I also want to thank everyone who visited and supported the writers.

There is madness to my method. With the whole day job thingy and other matters that need my attention, the blog could easily have been neglected and that would break my heart. I have always promoted other writers and believe is an endless opportunity to write and publish. Literature is very important to me, and so are all of you. In my absence some very fine and talented people posted here and garnered traffic that I hope dearly has built their personal following.

I leave you all with an animation I created [sort of] dealing with writer’s block. If you haven’t been following this week, here are some links to put some of the context of the video in perspective for you.

Dear Diary, Me, My Id and Ego go Grocery Shopping, How Was Your Week?

Enjoy!



I'm just saying.

Dear Diary

What a lovely surprise this is! Jewell has dropped for a romp in the sanbox with a guest post. By her own admission, she doesn't play well with others and she steals sand toys...so watch your backs...but also enjoy her post and stop by her blog, Really? Wait? What? and say hello...after you read this...

Dear Diary

Feb 9th
Dear Diary,
Ron posted on Facebook today inviting people to guest post on his blog.

Guest post? I've never guest posted before. I mean I think of Ron as a long lost adopted father and all, but then I'm the long lost adopted daughter he keeps sealed in the basement. The one in the building you only see in creepy movies, where teenagers make out, where killers chase blond cheerleaders up broken stairs. That building. That basement!

 However, maybe if I'm quiet and don't make a Blair Witch on crack type scene he won't notice I didn't volunteer. Bahahaha! Yeah...me...quiet...not make a scene. *snort* I crack myself up! Oh! Shhhhhh! Be vewy, vewy qwiet.

--------------------------------

Feb 10th
Dear Diary,

Ron posted on Facebook again today about inviting people to do a guest post on his blog.

This time he listed criteria. Well, that means rules. I know he can't be thinking I would volunteer. He knows I don't do rules. Well, at least the ones set up by other people. I always sometimes sorta lightly contemplate the benefits of following the rules I set for myself. Maybe this is why I don't like resolutions. They're too much like rules.

Criteria 1 - "humor" ok, well I can do that. I think. At least people tell me that I do. Maybe they are just trying to pat me on the head so I don't cry. People hate it when grown women cry. Especially the men types. Science proved it. Penises shrivel up and everything.

Science is scary! Especially for men!

Criteria 2 - "no vulgar language" *tornadic sigh of relief* Ok, I am sooooo off the hook! I even did a happy dance in my chair. Downside...I managed to use the ass of my sweats as a lint brush. Upside....the seat is clear of cat hair. This should make laundry day interesting.

In any case, now I know he wasn't posting this to get my attention. He really does want to keep my vulgar Tourette afflicted fingers locked up in the basement away from his keyboard and from brainwashing his "people".

Wait! I have people! But they are already brainwashed. I need more brains to wash, maybe..... Nah...the fingers would take over before my brain could catch them. Then the words would get published into the internet record for life. I wonder if the internet is anything like the Akashic records...hmmm - note to self, look that up when Ron lets me out for my "so people don't get suspicious about why she hasn’t been seen in public for long periods" time. Anyway, once everyone saw the words I put on Ron's blog, Ron would surely ground me to the basement. Maybe even forever. It's so dark down here.

Ahhhh...darkness - you make it so hard to take good pictures. Need. To. Get. Out. Of. Basement.

Oh! Angie! C'mon girl...come pick the lock for me. There's some forbidden delicacy waiting for you if you'd just unlock the door. *kiss* *kiss* C'mon girl! Quit staring at your butt and come help your mother!

--------------------------------

Feb 15th
Dear Diary,

I noticed Ron was mucking around in Facebook again today. He's such a show off. He's all "I have butt loads of unique hits to my site, and you don't. Nahner! Nahner!" He even stuck his tongue out...I saw it! *sigh* Ok, well, no he wasn't like that. Exactly. But he wanted to be. You could just tell. Or maybe it's the darkness in this basement causing paranoia. Nah, that can't be it.

The thing is, I don't get that many unique hits to my blog everyday! I mean it's not like I am jealous or anything. I just don't have the time. It takes all dang day to beat my record of laps around the floor of the basement. It's hard work! It's important work! It may even be so groundbreaking it'll be published in a science journal. Ooo! Maybe the results of this research record will cause penises to shrivel like crying women do! I need to get back to my research record! I think I might be on to something. I'm going to be rich!

--------------------------------

Feb 21
Dear Diary,

Ron has been suspiciously quiet lately. Well except for our friendly discussion today about how to deal with internet idiots with slushy slug penises, whose nuts are wedged in the couch springs and who wear aluminum foil hats to talk to aliens that have taken up residence in their rectum.

Doh! I hope the aliens aren't basing their research on THOSE people. The human race would REALLY be screwed, and then how would we have our Independence Day with Will Smith and Jeff Goldblum to save the day?

Crap! We are sooooo screwed. Maybe my alien pimp will be one of the nice ones.

I hope that Ron didn't ground me without at least letting me know. Or is getting grounded and not being told that you are grounded a part of being grounded? Shoot! Another thing I never thought to ask my mom about before she died. *shakes fist at universe*

--------------------------------

Feb 23
Dear Diary,

Oh Crap! Ron popped out of his hidey hole today in Facebook.

Now I know I am grounded! He asked about when he was going to get my guest post for his blog! He said he was waiting!!!

What???

There were rules! I hate rules! I rebel against rules! He can't be serious! He knows I don't follow rules!

He plays in a sandbox! Sand is itchy and gets in places only aliens go!

He's had other guest posts in his sandbox! He knows I don't play well with others! I steal sand toys and bury people. No...he knows I don't play well with others!

Besides, what do you post about when you post on someone else's blog? I don't have enough original ideas of my own! How am I supposed to come up with something original for his blog? This can't be happening! Is this what a panic attack is? *puts head between knees and breathes deep*

Mumble, mumble mumble mumble mumble! *sits back up*

AND he said nothing vulgar! Seriously, he must have been talking to another Jewell on Facebook, because.....

......Aahhhhh! My. Fingers. Feeling. Afflicted. Swear. Word. Coming. Can't. Stop. Can't. Shi........................................

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

THE END!

Why it’s best to book your own hotel room

Okay everyone, let give a big round of applause for Sarah Jane Klemis who wites the blog "Almost There". Okay, that's enough...really quiet down...that's better. Sarah travels a lot for business and one would think it would be routine after a while...or maybe...not so much. Enjoy.

Why it’s best to book your own hotel room
Picture this - you have a job that takes you to all corners of the world. To the outside eye it seems that you have a dream job. People picture you being chauffeured about, sitting in first class lounges, sipping champagne and sashaying from hotel to hotel – sounds glamorous doesn’t it?

Want the real picture…

Imagine this you’ve got your next assignment and you’ve just done an 80 hr week combined with traveling up and down the country, trying to pack the bare minimum, smelling socks left on the bed because you can’t remember whether they were clean or dirty and you’ve not been home in a century so washing your clothes is a mystery and actually a luxury - in fact your washing machine still has the protective plastic round it (huh) and cramming it all into your suitcase so you can carry on and don’t have to queue for hours.

Still think it’s glamorous J

So whilst you may think of me sitting in the top 5 star hotels I can guarantee I will be holding my breath, checking my beds and praying that the door on my hotel locks.

Among the pleasures of Rosie O’Mally’s vibrating hotel, I’ve stayed in Norman Bates’ deluxe broom closet in the states, what resembled Frankenstein’s Barn in Bratislava and I was propositioned by a 80 year old hotelier in Belgium, who actually got my mobile number from the hotel records and thought it would be awesome to whisper sweet nothings to me at 2am in the morning until I put my mobile phone to the radio to give him some gentle feedback.

My worse experience of a hotel was in my home country, the wonderful UK. I stayed in a 3 star hotel in Middlesbrough. I was tired, I had driven after a days work to arrive at 10.30pm to find the car park full, I drove round in circles for 20 minutes with the vague hope of finding a space only to dump it on the yellow lines outside the car park, little did I know they would tow my car rather than give me a ticket. I lugged my suitcase, laptop and training tools to the hotel reception to check in.

The lift wasn’t working so I lugged my baggage up 7 flights of stairs to a narrow corridor, vaguely resembling some 1940’s mental institution complete with ripped wallpaper, caged windows and flickering lights. When I got to my room the door was ajar. At this point I’m contemplating throwing it all in there and camping out in the hall or trape-zing back down 7 flights to ask the non English speaking receptionist why the hell my door is open. Oh what the hell, I pushed the door open with my foot and yelled – and I did yell – HELLLLOOOOO!!!!. Thankfully no one was in there.

I’m now having flash backs to the time I was sent to Bratislava and I was booked into a brothel, oops sorry a boutique hotel in the middle of Winter when the window wouldn’t shut and my door wouldn’t lock and I slept in a chair against the door in 3 of my thickest jumpers, wrapped up in a duvet, resembling a burrito – attractive much!

I looked around the room it was pleasant enough, bed – check, bathroom – check. I’m good. Room service was still available so I clocked the menu and decided on Salmon. I rang and placed my order and started unpacking, setting up everything I needed. My food arrived – it looked wonderful and smelled delicious, covered with a silver top hat to boot, I was hungry.

Imagine my delight when I lifted the lid and this sorry piece of pink flesh with a drizzling of olive oil, OK it was swimming in oil was plonked on the plate. OK where’s the rest of it? Where are the veggies? Where’s the potato’s – oh what the hell – I’m hungry. I wolfed it down quick smart and then flung the tray outside the door.

Ah bed! I’m just about ready for bed, so I brush my teeth, etc and turn back the covers…

Oh boy (not my actual words!) The sheet was crumpled and someone had left me a nice little surprise in between the duvet and the sheet. The smell hit me before I realized what it was and at that point I so wished I’d left the salmon swimming pathetically on the plate.

My phone rang and it was my boss, telling me that the trainer in London had just quit and I needed to be there in the morning. LONDON! I’m at the other end of the bloody country!
This was the point where I so politely told my then boss what he could do with his job! Surprisingly I’m still doing the same job for another company but I have one pre-requisite, I book my own accommodation.

I Blame Boy George

Sugary Cynic has taken the stage with a guest post today. I have been a huge fan of  hers for quite a while now and if you haven't visited her blog, you knwo you should. If you are already a follower , you know the genious that is Sugary Cynic. Fasten your seatbelts and enjoy.


 

An Open Letter to Anonymous

I generally don’t editorialize on this blog (except satirically), but today I can’t help myself. In a recent post by Alejandro Guzman a comment was left on his post that at first I thought was a joke. The topic…”Boycott American Women”. Upon further review I realized this chap was dead serious, which made the comment rich for comedy, and so here I go.

I want to point out that “Anonymous” was just that, gutless and refusing to identify himself and in fact he doesn’t even identify himself on his own blog or allow comments. My first thought was how does anyone support a boycott when you can’t even identify who you are supporting? How do you organize a boycott anonymously?

No matter. His blog is a seething attack on an entire population segment with little more than editorial rhetoric to support his point of view. I on the other hand love to research things to get them into some sense of order and perspective. The legal aged (21 and over) female population in the US is about 28% of the total. Of that number, 12% are foreign born. The remaining number of legal aged women in the US is about 1 in 4 people in the total population. Simply information, but here is more perspective. The number of legal aged women in the US is more than twice the entire population of Canada. On the other hand it is less than 0.46% of the female population of India. A lot of statistics I know, but it will come in handy soon.

In the interest of fairness I wanted to figure out what has driven Anonymous over the edge. In the total population in the US the ratio in gender is approximately 1.01 women per 1 man. Ahhh…now I might see it. It is easier for Anon to disparage the entire US female population than it is to find the 1.01 per him in that group. Anon’s points of contention are intellect, hygiene, sense of entitlement and behavior towards men. I’m not going to defend or debate any of this or make any comparison; Let’s stick with numbers.

Anon’s blog has daily posts and has been up for about 4 months so this tells us he has not had contact with a female for at least that long. That might cause one to snap all by itself…but in this case I think not. Now we look at his alternatives. Anon has eliminated US women. Okay, there are 195 other countries to choose from and 3.3 BILLION women (minus the 80 million US women) to select from. 3.3 Billion! That’s a lot of choices! Given Anon’s blatant misogynistic rants…3.3 billion is a lot of rejection as well.

I am reminded of the story where one man told his best friend that he would not marry until he found the perfect woman. Years later he came back to his best friend and proclaimed, “I found the perfect woman, and asked her to marry me.” His friend said, “That’s great, when is the wedding?” The man replied, “Never! She said no because she was waiting for the perfect man.”

I want to end this diatribe with 2 observations:

1. I have made a very good living all of my adult life from the ability to understand and predict human behavior. To profile Anon I would say he is a single, 40 something, balding overweight second generation US citizen who lives in his mother’s basement and sits in the dark in his underpants at night trolling the internet for Anime porn.

2. I am a steadfast and unfaltering advocate of free speech! I did not and will not delete the comment because Anonymous…I believe you have the right of expression, and I appreciate your taking the time to describe in detail why you are a jackass…and you did a fine job.

In the end Mr. Anonymous -You couldn't get a clue during the clue mating season in a field full of horny clues if you smeared your body with clue musk and did the clue mating dance.

I’m just saying.

The Thief

I am happy to let you know that Charles Sadler (Baldy Chaz) has stopped by to play in the sandbox today with a guest post. Charles hails from Rantings of a Bald Man which is an ecclectic collection (say that 10 times real fast) of life experiences, family, opinion and humour [God's English spelling]. Give his post a serious (or not) read and then go visit and follow his blog...NOW!

The Thief
Hello from the land of the bald one, I was making my way on delightful journey from work to my current abode when a little snippet of news reached my audio equipment via the medium of radio.

Imagine my pride when I realised it came from my country of birth.

 Sadly the poor man who caught the jolly rotten thief is being sued for a rather large sum of money by the miscreant who stole from him for trauma and distress caused by the well published incident.

It did however not only make me smile but set of my numbed neurons with a jump start. Could punishments such as this be the future?

Caught speeding? perhaps doing 40mph in a 30mph zone, well then we have not only a sign to decorate the dangerous driver with but how about shackling his legs and making him stumble his way the distance he broke our well thought out speed restraint by?

Caught shoplifting? Wear an appropriate sign of shame but with the addition of being pelted by produce recently out of date by the poor souls caged alongside the conveyor belts of produce travel, released from their beep beep invested hell for one day only as a special treat.

Animal cruelty? Once more the correct sign attached along with several bones and lumps of meat closely followed and rapidly approaching police dogs.

Maybe this is but a soft option my next thought was a natural progression; facial tattoo's.
Shoplifter? Well all shop staff and even the security guards in their I could not get into the police uniforms would be forewarned by a warning such as that.

The one problem I did foresee was bank robbers who either go for the balaclava look, or enter the bank wearing a crash helmet, even though this attire is forbidden and usually carrying a shotgun which I am fairly sure is frowned upon.

The possibilities for both of these forward thinking punishments are endless please feel free to enlighten me with your own.

On How I Suffer for Love and Other People’s Art

I'd like to welcome Paul Field to the sandbox for a guest post. Paul is insightful, thoughtful, funny and never short of opinion. His flued prose style will draw you in, and hold your interest, and as his blog domain suggests...keep hands inside the ride...Enjoy!

On How I Suffer for Love and Other People’s Art
When it comes to leisure time at my house we do a very intricate dance. I like films. My fiancé likes films, but her films are different than the ones I like. She also is not a big fan of crowds. This makes going into a theater, at any time other than Tuesday afternoon at two-thirty, a negotiation worthy of case study by future MBA students. So the output of this equation should already be fairly obvious. I see a lot of films I would otherwise not sit through. I suspect that like a lot of my brethren, this playlist includes a fair number of romantic-comedies. Talk about slick marketing. Producers knew that not too many guys would pay to sit through a romance movie; regardless of the social pressure they are under to do so. Enter the “comedy” part of the label. What guy doesn’t like a good laugh? I’ll be right up front; I like some romantic-comedies. I would probably like all romantic-comedies if they didn’t purposely set out to destroy my sense of self-worth. So sit back, relax, and enjoy the depths of my petty nitpicking as I detail the psychological harm inherent in these evil creations.

Every woman in every romantic comedy ends up being some smart, professional, witty catch with a supermodel’s body. Meanwhile the guy is some overgrown adolescent, often with more lumps than a crummy batch of pancakes. Yet still he waffles on the relationship. Besides my cunning ability to mention two breakfast foods in as many sentences within a totally unrelated post, what is surreal about this? Is he waiting for a better offer? Are perfect mates so commonplace in romantic comedy land? Is a guy truly terrified that he might go and latch onto the first totally awesome woman who tolerates him, only to discover the long line of better choices behind her? I just cannot shake the sneaking suspicion that this is unrealistic, which gets me thinking about how cynical I have become, which in turn kills the whole mood of the comedy. It is a slippery slope my friends, try to avoid it!

Women are not the only perfect aspect of romcomville (snappy, slightly new word, tell all your friends you saw it here first, or maybe second). It is also the world depictions that really distract me. Everybody has that perfect dream job. You know the ones of which I speak. These grindstones require nothing more than a few lunch meetings and maybe a really cool business trip. When characters manage to tear themselves away from that horrible existence, they land in their picture perfect home, or at some postcard perfect vacation spot. These scenes remind me of what a sucker I really must be; getting stuck with a lot of really hard jobs in my life that haven’t even provided me with the basics.

 A short list of these missing basics looks something like this. My house doesn’t have a million dollar view, unless you consider a row of garages picturesque. Entering through the front door, take a sharp left where you’ll not find a “boys” room, complete with pool table, wet bar, audio/video showcase, and a few surfboards on the wall. I never get to stand in front of a perfectly arranged closet, trying to pick the perfect designer outfit for the moment. My bathroom is not a product placement opportunity, well stocked with premium toiletries, and my kitchen lacks both a Wolf stove and a Sub-Zero refrigerator, making me wonder how I get a darn thing done in there. After this nonstop parade of brotacular magic, I honestly leave every romantic comedy feeling like a world class deadbeat.

 What about the woman’s home? Forget about it unless you are a real masochist! Their places are always the love child of domestic bliss meets corporate power player, married to a tragically hip pop culture connoisseur. I am struck by the fact that if our places even remotely resembled these homes, this post would never exist because we would never leave the house to go see a film in the first place. Somehow, like their hunky counterparts, women manage to pay for this architectural showcase despite doing nothing except lounging around on shopping sprees with pals, having mid-day cocktails with pals, and spending long musical montages walking through perfect scenery alone. So what is not perfect in romcomville (as I smoothly employ vocabulary repetition to develop fluency)?

 Spoiler Alert! If you are planning to ever see a romantic-comedy, skip this part of the post where I will list 100% of the story arcs to every supporting cast in romcomville (there it is again! Is the word growing on you yet?). Deep breath…Here we go; the romantic looser who gives bad advice because he/she is jealous; the romantic winner that gives bad advice because he/she is over protective; the family member that gives bad advice because that is what family members do, and lastly, the co-worker that gives bad advice because they really know nothing about you (since you never come to work). Before the movie ends, all of these characters will confess that the advice they’ve been giving you all along is bad, yet somehow romantic comedies never end in shocking acts of violent rage.

 So instead of me droning on like a romantic-comedy, take this post as a check list the next time you plunk down your hard earned cash to see one of these precise formulaic outputs (I assume it’s hard earned cash because you probably don’t have that “no work necessary” job either do you?). If you are unable to spot everything I have just mentioned and you do not absolutely hate yourself halfway through the film, congratulations! You are probably at an action-drama which means your movie night negotiating skills are legendary!

Paul Field/ February 2011
One Eye on the Rear View Mirror

I'm in Australia Today!

Being the travel maven that I am - I have scooted over to Australia for a bit to guest post on Alejandro Guzman's blog Raising Amelie.

Give the post a read and then stick around to catch up on AG's stories about raising his daughter and his other daily antics.

Have a great day!

I'm just saying.

Me, My Id and Ego go Grocery Shopping…

Those of you who follow regularly know it is no secret I have daily out-loud conversations with my Id, Ego and Super Ego. They live inside my head and far be it from me to deny letting them out for air occasionally. I find this useful when grocery shopping because when strangers hear me having these conversations they tend to clear the isles…making my task faster and easier.

I have for the past couple of years been on a strict diet [for medical – not weight considerations]. I grew up on farms and the daily diet was meat and potatoes…or starvation. We did have lots of vegetables, but the guest of honor was some form of meat. My diet has eliminated beef, pork and poultry, and although I enjoyed them in earlier life, I don’t miss them so much now.

To recap Id=impulse, Ego=order and logic, Super Ego=morals and values, and again for this post Super Ego took the day off so there is no moral or value to this post.

There are times when Id and Ego don’t let me get a word in edge-wise.

And so we go shopping. Upon arriving at the grocery store…

Id: “Let’s head for the deli!”

Ego: “For what?”
Id: “They have hard Salami on sale today!”

Me: “No meat!”

Id: “They have day old jelly donuts half-off too!”

Ego: “NO SUGAR!”

Id: “Blow it out your ear, I wasn’t talking to you.”

Me: “Ego is right…no sugar.”

Id: “Damn! What about the salami?”

Ego: “No salami on the diet.”

 Me: “Hmmmm…I used to like salami.”

 Ego: “NO salami, you know better.”

Id: “Can we at least ask them to let us smell the salami…please?”

Me: “I need to get vegetables.”

Ego: “Good idea, but remember…only organic.”

 Id: “What difference does it make? Vegetables are vegetables! Just wash them.”

Ego: “It’s not what’s on them, it’s what’s IN them.”

Id: “Vegetable guts…that’s what’s in them...geeesh!”

Me: “Will you two keep it down, I’m trying to read labels here.”

Id: “With your @#$#%@# diet…labels are all you can eat!”

Me: “Quiet! I want to get a nice piece of salmon, but it has to be north Atlantic salmon…I need to ask about it.”

Id: “How do you know where the ##@$%^ fish comes from? They don’t package them with passports you know. With all the stuff you can’t eat it looks like we’re having bio-degradable dish soap and cardboard for supper…geez!”

We managed to get through the shopping trip and I stuck to the list which met with Ego’s approval. As the cashier was ringing things up I was packing the bags in the cart.

Me: “Hey, how about if you fellas help me load the cart?”

Id: “Pack your own @#$%# cart…I’m busy looking at the cashier’s boobs.”

Super Ego: “ID…STOP that! That's just RUDE!”

Id: “Oh yah…NOW you show up!”

I’m just saying.

Here it is...nothing funny as I am a serious parent...

I am proud to welcome Alejandro Guzman to the sandbox with a guest post. Alejandro is a stay at home parent with a blog. This could be a dangerous combination but in fact He handles it all in stride with grace and humor...and it doesn't hurt that Amelie is a precious...all be it challenging subject to raise and write about. Go read Alejandro's blog...after you have read his post here of course...I'm generous...not stupid...well, maybe...enjoy!

I am a serious parent...
I know that Ron asked for humorous posts to be guested here on 'If I Had A blog'. Yet, I couldn't bring myself to do something so light hearted when there are issues that are more pressing. Like for instance the issue of raising a child in our day and…
"Papa!, I'm finished!" 
"What?" 
"I'm in the toilet!"
"You're in the toilet? I really hope you're on the toilet?"
"Yes" 
"Ok then I'll be right there!" 
…age where it is so important to be there for your offspring for anything major or even anything you may feel could wait for…
"Papa?"
"Yes?"
"I said I'm finished!"
"Finished what?"
"My caca"
"Ok then I'll be right there!"
…whether you think it can even wait as you deem it unimportant at the time. The thing is, being a parent is a lot more than…
"Papa?"
"What now?"
"I'm still finished"
"Finished what?"
"I'm in the toilet"
"I hope your not in the toilet?"
"Yes"
…just sprouting words towards your baby in the hopes that they might just leave you alone for an easy fifteen minutes or…
"Papa?"
"What is it now?"
"Nothing"
..so. You see parenting is a full time job with no breaks to write a so called humorous guest post for the likes of anyone who just doesn't understand that there….
"Papa?"
"Oh, for Pete's sake can I have five minutes? Can I?"
"Is it alright, if I give Maximus my toilet paper?"
"Yeah, whatever!"
…is just no time to do something so... Oh hang on!
"Amelieeee?"
"Yes?"
"Where are you?
"Here"
"What are you doing here? And where's Maximus?"
"Max is licking the toilet paper 'cause I'm Finished!!!"
Crap!!! And so am I.

have a man at your house

Okay everyone! I am happy to announce the long awaited guest post by tbaoo. Alan is a funny, irreverent writer from down under and a bit of an enigma as well. He is very vague about his vocation stating that it is top secret. I have surmised that he is a top level secret agent for the Australian government. Yes, I believe this. I think I saw him at the airport disguised as a Wallaby pretending to read a newspaper while keeping an eye on things. I had been drinking…so maybe I’m wrong. No matter…please enjoy!

have a man at your house
ok, tbaoo has a money problem, the problem isn’t that he has too much, it’s that he doesn’t have enough. common problem you’d think, but tbaoo isn’t common,



well i’ve decided to do something about it and that’s the kicker dear reader, it will be verging on the illegal, most certainly adult and not for the faint hearted. you have been warned.

it’s called “have a man at your house” a bit like the service that heidi fliess attempted in some one horse dirt bowl near las vegas.

her trouble was, her own trouble if you get my drift, mine isn’t her trouble, i’m drug free, never arrested and i’m a man. i know what women want, well of course i don’t, but that’s part of my charm. the details of this groundbreaking adult service are as follows:

• all the men are available for hire. minimum 1 hour, that’s how long it takes to eat your dinner and drink two cans of guinness.

• all the men do not offer any sexual services,
• all the men have never been arrested or on drugs, can you imaging the performance issues, you’d need drugs.
• all the men are of varied backgrounds, but they share certain qualities.

• all the men have qualities which are not negotiable, that’s why you engage “have a man at your house”.
• all the men are 52

• all the men have what is known as a beer belly.

• all the men have trouble with their trousers falling down.
• all the men love television, the internet and blogging.
• all the men have various medical problems, hence no sexual services, but require ready access to a lavatory - often.
• all the men claim to have a wild and respectful attitude to the role of women.
• all the men will tell you straight if you ask “do i look fat in this skirt”
• all the men will require a fantastically fresh “asian influenced” stir fry meal, ready to eat the moment they arrive at your home.
• all the men like beer, especially guinness, if you haven’t got any, get some - now, in fact - get four cans.
• all the men will sit on your lounge and engage in conversation with you, when they are good and ready.
• all the men don’t like sarah palin.
• all the men hate fox news, if you have it on, they're gone, with your money, guinness and your well cooked dinner .. good bye.
• all the men love women
• all the men have trouble meeting any, that’s why they’re working for “have a man at your house”
• all the men feel threatened by any real men you may have in your house, so get rid of them.
• all the men are sensitive new age snags. (you might have to look that up )
• all the men are actually sad and lonely.
• all the men require money as badly as tbaoo, but they're too silly to realise that tbaoo makes 87% on what they earn

goodness - that’s just the introductory brochure blurb, if you’d like more just email - grumpswithbumps@tbaoo.com 

Photo credit - 2pep.com

What’s in a Word?...

It’s been an odd week. Business and personal stuff overlapping in ways that spin my head [in an Exorcist sort of way]. No matter…we move on. It’s no secret that I love words and language. Sometimes though, I find that rather than a situation being defined by a word, the word is defined by the situation.

Ambivalence

I have been using the same auto mechanic for more than 20 years. I trust him and frankly will avoid going anywhere else if he is not available.

I took my vehicle in for a standard oil change and talked with the mechanic. I said, “The front end wobbles a little, so maybe you should look at the tires. As a matter of fact, look at everything and whatever needs work let me know. I want to keep this car for a while and keep it in good condition.”

I left the vehicle with the mechanic who called later to give me an update.

Mechanic: “Well I looked everything over and you do need a new set of tires…and a battery…and a front-end alignment…and new tie-rod ends…and ball joint brackets.”

Me: “Is the clock keeping good time?”

Mechanic:”Yah, that works fine…oh, I get it…you want the bottom line. Well, I’m going to give you the oil change free if you get the other stuff done today. The cost for all of the repairs is $XXXX.XX.” (Now I haven’t shared the price tag, but you will notice it is a 4 digit number).

Me: “Can you get it done today?”

Mechanic: “Yep…pretty sure I can.”

Me: “Well, go ahead, but I need the car tomorrow, so only do the safety stuff and whatever you can get done today and I’ll come back for the rest later.”

I got a call to pick up the vehicle later that day. Now here is the rub. My mechanic knows me on sight and by name. To me that is kind of flattering. It shows that he recognizes loyalty and remembers. It also means that I have taken enough vehicles for repair to him over the years to make it worth remembering me. It also creates an atmosphere of familiarity that can work against you.

I arrived to pick up the car and pay the bill.

Me: “Well did you get it all done?”

Mechanic: “Everything except the brackets. I will need another day, and it would be best if you left it the night before.”

Me: “Okay…what if I left it Friday night and you took care of it Saturday?”

Mechanic: “Well, I can’t this weekend because I am going up north to put in a new heated tile floor in my cottage sun porch…which by the way you paid for today…thank you!”

Me: “………..”

I’m just saying.

The Winter of Discontent…

I live in Michigan which is a peninsula. Michigan boasts the longest contiguous fresh water shoreline on earth. As a result of this there is an anomaly known as “Lake Effect Weather” that is unique in its impact on this state. Briefly, when winter weather hits whatever the level, it picks up moisture and velocity over water and dumps exponentially more snow when it lands ashore. The [photo at left] is an  aerial view of Michigan which illustrates lake effect on Michigan. The red stripe is the portion of the state not victim of the anomaly.

Predicting with accuracy weather conditions in this state is about as useful as pealing hard boiled eggs while wearing boxing gloves.

Earlier in the week “SnowZilla 2011” was predicted; a storm that promised to dump 2 feet of snow and shut commerce down for days. Yep, God bless the weather casters. I know a local TV weather caster who admitted to me once, “Predicting weather is guesswork and not an exact science, but when it doesn’t happen as we said; afterwards we can explain with certainty why we were wrong.” The storm fizzled ahead of schedule and left behind less than half the forecasted amount of snow.
Many areas east of here got hammered and got more than had been foreseen.

More than the unpredictability of the weather it never ceases to amaze me that residents of this state, who are supposed to be used to the weather somehow over the summer to completely forget how to drive in winter. The level of stupidity among winter drivers grows to an astounding level. To make up for the forecast gaff earlier in the week, the weather casters said that on Saturday we would experience a light dusting and then have sunshine the rest of the day. With that information I headed out to visit my sister-in-law who is a 150 mile round trip drive away [smack in the middle of the “red zone]. The sun cracked over the horizon in the morning; the roads were clear and dry. Good to go! We had a nice visit and cooked a batch of chili for her to take to the American Legion Hall for a Super Bowl gathering on Sunday. Snow started to blow in and I decided to head for home just in case. What is normally a 1 hour drive turned into a 3.5 hour dredge through 6 inches of snow that dumped just east of her home. I averaged 25 miles per hour most of the trip in a blinding storm that required…patience. Along the way I counted no less than 6 vehicles that had in defiance passed me at excessive speeds and ultimately wound up in the ditch.

I have long held a theory about drivers in this part of the state during bad weather in defense of the average citizen. There is a facility about an hour north of here that is a hospital for the criminally insane. I am convinced that when bad weather hits, the staff hands each of the patients a set of car keys and says, “Go ahead…go for a joy ride!” To that end I leave you with [photo at left] the winner of the first annual “Sedan Toss”.

I’m just saying.

And Yet…You Still Keep Showing Up…

I have been sporadic about posts lately, and I won’t make excuses…life happens in spite of one’s plans. Today I read a post on FaceBook by YogaSavy that tickled me a bit. She wrote “You haven't lost your smile at all, its right under your nose. You just forgot it was there.” This is a wonderful statement and a great metaphor with good advice…but could I leave it at that…No-o-o-o-o! I responded with a comment alluding to the fact that with the size of my nose…I could forget I had feet, much less a smile. YogaSavy was right…and it was advice to keep in mind. The attached cartoon is for Savira. It is my dog Higgy, who in spite of the size of his nose…never, forgets to smile.

Anne Dickens commented on my last post that she questions the whole human to dog years conversion. Anne has Naughty George, her 16 [human years] year old dog and he is still frisky and a good [albeit naughty] friend. To that end I have to say it is less interesting to me to think of Higgy as being 70 [in dog years] as it is to remind my mother that she is 595 [in dog years].

The rest of this post is stuff I had on my mind…

The following on this blog has reached 300…WOW…even though I know only a couple of dozen folks actually follow it…I’m impressed.

I went to a movie for the first time in a very long time [forgive me Sugary Cynicism]. After getting my ticket I went to the concession stand to get some popcorn. The clerk said, “That will be $4.50.” I thought about it for a moment before handing her $5 and replied, “The last time I bought popcorn at a movie, it was 75 cents!” She replied, “You are in for a treat…the movies have sound now!”

Conversation with a client:

Client: “We bought space for an ad in “X” magazine. It’s full page and we need to get it right away.”

Me: “Not a problem. What product do you want to use?”

Client: “”XXX”, and I don’t think you understand…we need the ad right away!”

Me: “Okay, when is it due?”

Client: “Yesterday!!!”

Me: “Ummm, not sure how to do that.”

Client: “I need you to get it done. If you hurry real fast we might make it.”

Me: “Ya know…I have a basic understanding of the laws of physics…but the whole “time-space continuum thing…I need to brush up. If I need to get an ad done in the past…I’m not sure if I should work much faster…or way slower?”

Client: “Please…can you just get the ad done? Maybe they won’t notice it’s late!”

Me: “We’ll do it…but answer me something…how long have you knnown about the ad?”

Client: “About a month.”

Me: “Okay, we’ll do it…but if we create an ad that is submitted in the past…and it gets published…can I bill you retroactive for the whole month you knew about it and didn’t tell us…THAT’S going to be an expensive ad!”

Client: “……….”

I’m just saying.