Charlywalker's Blog

{April 29, 2011}   In Cold Blog

I think my dog is out to kill me.  My mutt is a cross breed of Chi-hua-hua, Cocker Spaniel, and..after DNA testing, probably a little bit of Beagle.  I call him a Chaniel, pending the DNA results. If the bit of beagle comes into play then he will be a Speagle, or a Cheagle, or a Chow-wow..or he can  just remain on a shelf with the rest of the Chia -pets.  In the meantime I  think he may have also put a hit out on me.   While walking him one day ,a neighboring canine ran up and lifted his hind leg onto my Levi’s and then ran off.   More like a hit and run.

My Black and white miniature cow has been lurking around corners and staring at me through squinty-eyes.  He started to conceal his dog tags in between his teeth  like a bayonet and slither  through the Polyester Pile on his underbelly so I won’t hear them jingle when he sneaks up on me.  He lays across the room spread out in a full Monty  sleeping with one eye open.  I’ll take a break from the computer and stroll downstairs for a cup of java and find him already at the espresso machine foaming an additive into my cappuccino and slowly stirring the contents.  He was wearing the same facial expression of Hannibal Lecter when he offered Clarice a glass of wine….

My dog has been with us for nearly two years and we have had a despicable time of it lately.  I don’t know if this is a product of the “terrible twos” or maybe he’s having flashbacks of his “night of neutering”.  Maybe I needed to do a little more research on what happens to young pups who have their valves shut off so early in life.  Maybe I cut off a very important life line…....Maybe I’ll just phone a friend or ask the blogiance…  In the meantime his behavior is out of sorts and he is regressing back to his puppy-dom and completely obliterating any training he may have had in the past.   I tried enlisting him in the Marines but because he was a rescue of some kind we are unable to locate his birth certificate for verification. It seems I’ve pulled the trump card…….. Sending him to boot camp would be fruitless.  He defies authority and goes commando baring his canines;  and, thanks to my husband feeding him gourmet delicacies from Dean & DeLuca, he would never handle the canteen cuisine.  Plus I doubt the high ranking officials would allow him  to curl up like a cooked shrimp under their sheets in the officers quarters.

Lately my pup has been grabbing items from his toy basket and leaving them strategically about for me to trip and fall and ending up in the emergency room. Knowing my dog, he would  re-set the ambulance GPS to deliver me to his Vetinarian’s office.  Once I was comfortably situated on the family room floor watching the Dog Whisperer scream at a pair of Pit Bulls, and my precious pooch dragged his faux marrow bone and dropped it onto the top of my head.  This startled me to rise quickly and catch the corner of the coffee table with my right temple brandishing a two inch scrape above my right eye.  He pranced over to the corner carrying his rawhide in his smug mug leaving me behind to lick my own wounds.  Ha! in a pig’s ear…   

I can feel my pup watching me. His bulging eyes rotate around the room following every move I make ,exactly like the pictures  that hang in Disney’s Haunted Mansion. I just know he is planning my demise.  His favorite tactic is to jump on my chest when I am engrossed in sleep apnea and plant his poundage on my blood supply …I’m sure he’s trying to regulate my blood pressure to increase beyond repair.  This hound basks in his little villa parading around in all his black and white coat of Paws, and doesn’t think twice about trailing his kibble and bits down the main staircase knocking about like a pool of marbles.  He knows I run around barefoot throughout the house . He’s turning my feet into arch enemies with the hardwood floors.

I caught my pupster running off to a neighbor with a distress bark in his throat trying to get them to call the PETA hot line because I no longer set his dog dish by the glass  slider  so he can have a window seat during dinner.  He has their number on speed dial.   One  time a neighbor galloped over in a heated rush to check if the dog was  “alright”, because he had outlined “call 9-1-1” onto the  foggy window with his cold snout.  I reassured her that my puppy was fine and that he was just upset because the high humidity was causing his tail to curl up and fray on the ends….

My doggie likes to disappear out back when he is released into the fence-less yard. He likes to try to get out from under my view and hide behind the large pine trees and slink into the tall grass and watch me running circles around the house yelling his name in a panic.  One day I had him followed when he went on one of his escapades and he was later caught in a neighboring yard plotting with another raggedy mutt.  I think there may have been some treats exchanging in  little paws.  My dog was seen leaving with cookie contraband dangling from his snaggle-tooth.  I ran twenty-five minutes between houses before I could manage a noose around his neck.  Yeah..his tail was between his legs as I led him back to the gallows……

I was so angry I was sputtering single syllables like Porky Pig. I was walking so fast in a dither and spewing doggie expletives while dragging my mangy mutt to his den of inequity, that I failed to notice he was not on the other end of the leash.  Houdini managed to escape his full metal jacket.

I found him lounging in a chair on the Lido Deck extending a four-paw salute………catch me if you can….

He’s killing me….


{April 27, 2011}   Lock, Stock, and Blog

I like checking my blog stats and I want to thank all of you that have taken the time to drive by and park it for a minute or two…. I  especially want to thank every blogger that took the time to leave a comment even if it made me jam on the breaks and manage a head -on into my dashboard.   That collision made me re-think what exactly is the sole purpose of having a Bar graph to size up the amount of viewers who possibly read, but mostly skimmed through one’s material.  I fancy a Bar that can graph two points  of vodka and  one point vermouth to meet in the center of my open triangle glass.

My Graph looks exactly like the results of my last stress test, It’s either over the top in jubilation or barely audible teetering on the  DNR line, ready to activate the code blue team.  Maybe a little mountain dew will help. (Oh wait , for those who don’t Get that, it’s about a Code Red Drink…).  Maybe I should pull my blog over to the side-bar; I might be tagged with a WUI. Writing Under the Influence…

My stats have sunk to an all time low and are in need of a little CPR, (collective public reading), and I only have myself to blame. It has been difficult to jostle my brain and center some assembled thoughts due to an unexpected situation which I can’t bring myself to write about………just yet.  I pulled the emergency stop and let Charlywalker off at a local stop to try and catch another passing blog.  Maybe to tackle some fresh air or use the bathroom, albeit that today’s local  Rapid Transit seem to be missing toilets.  It’s interesting to see the dramatic drop in the charts when one is M.I.A.  and lacking words to press onward. My bar graph fell below the poverty line which leads me to believe that this avenue of exploitation is limited and contains boundaries that do not extend past the freshly pressed crowd.

When I surf  the turf  and leave a reply or five, I notice the Bar has risen and the hits just keep on coming, but if one does not pass the days responding to other posts, the towering lines falter and your blog becomes yesterday news and too Blog(se).  Everyone wants a fresh piece to stimulate the blog brain, and ,who really takes the time to read and review older posts?  How far back will readers go on a site until they have seen enough to satisfy their curiosity.  This is not a venue that has a beginning, middle, and end, this is a continuum of  daily blurbs to enlighten or heighten our day.  Our stats report the daily dose of drive -bys, but do not forecast the future of long time devotees.  Our bar height is in the hands of fellow readers who hold the power with  the click of a Like button.

I would Like to express that when my graph is at it’s peak it is thrilling to know that a chosen few are possibly enjoying what is being written;  I’d hate to think that the visit was just a ploy to boost ratings or a self promotion via bootlegging a more popular blog.  Some replies have a response that are longer than their initial blog entry for the day.  I found I needed to take a coffee break in order to finish reading them…….which then led to a future bathroom break…..which ultimately led to an unscheduled stop.

My stats graph may be under par, but it is still colored in with incredible folks who I have never met yet display great character in their being. I can tell this because my graph is highlighted in neon and it glows.  I know when a Soul has dipped into my blog and pounds the wood-gated entrance onto my dashboard.  I can feel when someone Makes that Face reading my blog and getting the Jones -on in order to Spin liberals and drop an Anvil on the blog-heads. This is just One Mixed Bag of terrific people that help my Bar stool reach new heights and I say thank you to all of your compiled Random Thoughts that help me see the Maniac in me and to start again with A Clean Surface.  Gee I hope I didn’t Burn any Bridges….ohhh What The Fluffy……I’ll just belly -up to the Bar.

Still trying to spread the humor.

{April 12, 2011}   The Blog Less Traveled

Is this venue a Blogularity contest of folks competing to be the best in Blog or is this just a case of diarrhea of the diatribe.  If someone were genuinely writing to express their emotions on, say, such subjects as motherhood or fatherhood, in hopes that their editorial would bequeath down to their offspring as a little light reading of parental aspirations….well…It just makes me reach for another round of Pomegranite Martini’s.  How much can a person endure and or find interesting of someones cutsie Kid anecdote,  Rumball remedies, or how one managed to be the greatest “whatever” they can be.  After scanning the Blog waves I have truthfully found that my attention span can not endure paragraphs that contain T.M.I. (Too Many Idio-syncrazies)   Some posts have me at Hello and some have lost me at the Title.

Maybe the blogging’s are individualized because they are vented around a personal genre that only the Blog-head that wrote them can understand or *get*.  oohh help me Obi- Blog-Kanobi…..

I *get* the posts displaying food, in fact, I get those cuisine commentaries so much that I put on ten pounds just drooling over them.  They are so life like that I cut and copy the articles and paste them onto my families dinner plates. If there were an aroma tab in the drop down menu I’d have it made…..

I *get* Blog-fomercials that instruct on the adversity of  the diversity of Chiropractic care of an unused clavicle and the pro’s and con’s of Transformer’s vs. Toy story.  I understand clicking on a useful site to gain pertinent info that might be useful to  our Blog alignment yet  can also carry us back to our childhood action figures. What I fail to *get* is the bait-n-switch routine once my mouse has clicked into the vast unknown.  Some of the deceptiveness has risen it’s ugly blog and turned into an advertisement for something that should enhance my life and enlarge my milieu. If I had one….a milieu that is…..

I *get* the ramblin’ blog who’s insight ,via their own eyesight, is the never ending story that temporarily perks my interest at The End.  I know love and life are hard…so are the other four letter words…….

I *get* the Sci-Fi and Mad Hatter routines using anonymous fillers for entertainment value to coerce a firing of rapid responses.  I’ll even throw in the Techno crowd-pleasers with their abundance of orchestrated graphics and pie charts.  ummm..pie (chart)..makes me want to return to the Food Blogwork…..

I *get* the poetry section?  Well I try to.  I can barely follow the alliteration of Dr. Suess‘ One Fish..Two Fish… I know that has a deeper meaning attached to it some where located on the Discovery channel.  I can follow the Blog-alligory  set in motion by the ingenious minds  masked behind a comic relief.  I GET humor. What I don’t get is someone so far removed that they don’t *get* the GET.  That could be a diagnostic dilemma in the getter or the getee….Hmm this proses a problem.

I *get* the travel section and reading about expeditions and exotic camping equipment , it’s riveting and has me on the edge of my Blog and makes me want to jump into an action packed Wrangler toward the end of the horizon. Although the scenic one’s that picture white sandy beaches and a coral reef  keeps me in a trance until my stomach growl’s…..which makes me return to the Food blog network…

I *get* the Kid’s periodicals on their growth charts and the parental expletives of the undertakings of their underlings.  I am particularly fond of the ghost writer posing as Dr. Spock, who blog-ly goes where no one has  blogged before.  I’d like to review those credentials….ohh were makin’ Wookieeee…

I *get* Humor.  The  Good,   The Bad, or The  Ugly….I *get* it.  The left brain function is logical enough to disentangle  the right brain creative force enabling the egghead to look at the whole picture in detailed funny.  Some folks can’t grasp the different depths of Funny…Lot’s of people are Off The Wall……Take Humpty Dumpty for instance…even he cracked up.

Well, if I had my say, which I do because this is my venue where I stand too tall in my platform shoes; I believe  most reader’s contain a humorous bone in their skeletal Blog. Even if the writings are subject(ive) to one’s own mind using a Forced energy to  Sabor our  thoughts throughout the Ja-wa sisterhood.

MUMBO-JUMBO NUMBER FIVE…..a little bit of blogging in my life…

{April 11, 2011}   Get a Bolg in Edgewise

What is the point of going to a gym to work out where the surround sound is blasting it’s predetermined tune, and the T.V.’s are all set to CNN with subtitles, and you are vehemently perspiring on your Mega machine absorbing all the white noise, and  before you can step up to a reasonable speed, a giant woman saddles her Nikes on the pedals of the adjoining ride and blasts her own personal I Phone to  blare Jay Z and Beyonce for all to hear…

Apparently she had not  yet heard of the great discovery of EAR phones. Although, by the SIZE of things, there could be a little TOO much Skull Candy on the menu.  This woman’s not -so-smart-phone was wailing everything form Lil Wayne to Waylon Jennings over the all- encompassed distorted made- in- China-speakers that BlackBerry can cultivate.  This is not a piece of technology that entertains Bose woofers that tweet with a mild base;   this was a phone that projected music through it’s 1 Gee- got -no -reception- network -of mangled wires that were held together by electrician’s tape. This woman proceeded to ferry herself onto her exercise equipment in all her glory smacking Juicy Fruit and jiggling her Juicy Couture.   Her obtrusiveness was making it hard for the other “attendees” to enjoy their workout time without listening to her vibrant near nineties tunes screech at the top of her mega bytes.  The mere fact that she was oblivious to people around her and ignoring any consideration of their right to pump iron , all the while being held captive to her outmoded music.  This woman was persistent and kept increasing the volume of her phone.  I tried to ignore this intrusion  that was causing irreparable damage to my ossicles and just focus on the t.v.’s subtitles that appeared to be typed by  Marlee Matlin, but this woman’s Not-so -smart- phone was irritating the entire gym nation.  I just wanted to confiscate her Blackberry and throw it into the fruit compost pile; but instead I handled the situation in a more diplomatic fashion…….I raised the volume up on the TV until we had reached dueling broadcasts.  Wolfe Blitzer was barely audible in his tree next to Spandau Ballet.  I didn’t want to turn this exercise room into a situation.

I can her Wolfie now on this decibel dilemma as he straightens his Windsor knot and stares blankly at his teleprompter: “What. is. the .most. important .impediment .that .you. are .facing .right. now. with .this. happening. in. your. country?”

Well Mr. all started when the Sony Walkman was entered into the Smithsonian and Ma Bell monopolized the phones and got  extremely wired-less and crossbred with various Fruited microcircuitry and gave birth to a lot of Smart systems to sell to our lovely Circuit City of people with too many Chips in their shoulder bag already….

I tried to be patient with this I- haven’t-been-to-the-gym-in-years- woman, and I understand she pays to be there just as much as everyone else does, but does that entitle her to blow-out Smashing Pumpkins for all to endure through her Itchy and Scratchy speaker system?  The best part in all this was watching her tread on her stair-master and answer her cell in between bursting her greatest hits.  I watched as she attempted to punch the mute button with what was left of her Press On nails to answer an incoming call.

I couldn’t believe the fortunate luck I was having……now I get to bear witness to a lengthy conversation about weeds killing her prized Apple tree. Now I get to listen to her fruity phone call… Well the McIntosh doesn’t fall far from the Blackberry..

I don’t understand why people feel the necessity to talk unnecessary nonsense while trying to better their bodies. The only pertinent conversation she might want to consider is with 9-1-1……….when I finish my workout with her………I’ll ruffle that couture covering into juicy-juice until that Smashbox runs down that earphone-less face, causing the thermal  resisters to experience an antenna switch outage, making her capacitors incapacitated and processed into a fruit compote……..

Oh , my, was I blogging out loud? I beg your pardon it must be the menopause talkingthat progesterone certainly packs a punch. Why I would never ever consider any undo harm to someone’s Cell Phone…...

Spread the humor.

{April 5, 2011}   Look On The Blogside

I would like to address the seriousness and importance of one of our constitutional rights: The right to Bare Arms.  I know that this is an important stance in our Bill of Rights, but I am beginning to re-think this right as more of an earned privilege.  Has anyone witnessed over the many years  the  grouping of esoteric arms that are on display?  Personally I think some of these upper extremities need to be hidden and retract into their  over priced Hollister button downs.  My concern is for the public at hand.  I recall strap hanging on the N train during the dogs days of summer and commuting from the City to Brooklyn during rush hour. I was accosted by more arms than Goetz carried on a lonely afternoon. It didn’t matter which way I faced in that car,I still had a bare arm hitting me in the face, the shoulder, the back, and the top of my head.  These arms were tattooed, flabby, bony, massive, hairy, and smelly and were attached to people of all races and creeds. Some of these  arms had the barrel of their pit shoved right between your eyes and you couldn’t see the forest through the trees.  It was simply hair raising.

I’ve seen Arms loaded with sweat and ready for action as they pump the Irony throughout the Gym. I watched arms dangling from pick-up trucks as their joints loosen from the bumps in the road.  I’ve seen triceps wiggle to the tune of Katey Perry as they fist pump into thin air creating a drive-by of near misses with the slippage of tank tops.  I have seen Arms that are larger than life that could be put to great use but choose to remain stagnant and lie dormant from lack of use.  I have seen some of these Bare Arms remain at an arms length when it came time to raise their arm for a cause. I cringe at the sight of a Bare Arm flapping like a seal at Sea World while it dives into its third round of French fries.  And I don’t much care for that Bare Arm that has been discarding their empty Frito bags onto the sides of the road.  I simply can’t handle the Bare Arm that reaches underneath the sneeze screen and stretches to reach the lettuce on the opposite side of the salad bar and their exposed armpit has a brush with the radishes. I really have a problem with the odoriferous Bare Arm at any level.  I think those should be BANned.

Do I like the right to Bare Arms?  Yes, if they are not used in an offensive way and cause undo underarm harm.  I’d hate to see Bare Arms attached to the wrong hands. To Bare Arms is the Secret Old Spice of life that holds us to a higher Degree and helps us to stay clear of the Red Zone.

And, besides,  I like to Bare Arms, even if the result is a Farmer’s tan.

et cetera
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