Charlywalker's Blog











{May 15, 2012}   Battle of the Blog’s

My Grandfather had a tool shed and in it he stored his shovel, hoe, rake, axe, hammers, and the likes of any tool displayed at a local hardware store.  He had many tools because his family owned a hardware store.  When I was young and would visit my grandparents on my father’s side, I loved being out in the garden and was fascinated by my Grandfather’s Tool Shed.  I think that is where I learned  a lot about different tools and their purpose in life.

I carried that  TOOL knowledge into my adulthood as I love to garden and perform yard work.  I found I utilized Tools in my career as well.  When I worked in the operating room and assisted in orthopedic surgery I grew efficient in operating  pneumatic 3M drills and saws.  It was there that I had the gift of memorizing drill bit sizes and millimeters of screw lengths.  I never realized how TOOL knowledge could come in handy.

My father was a lawyer yet, he  too had Tools other than the hammer of justice.  His Tool Shed lived indoors and had it’s own private section in the garage.  My father liked to tinker with tools.  On what spare time he had he would build things with the assistance of a table saw that snarled at me whenever I entered the garage.  I use to study the sawdust dangling from the teeth of that giant blade.  His Tool Shed consisted of drawers  full of nails, levels, wrenches, along with the latest power tools displayed on the wall like a specialized department at ACE Hardware.

When my son was young I bought him his first Tools.  It was a Junior set from Home Depot.  We never really built him a Tool Shed, because our lives were  far too busy to bother.  Like my father and Grandfather, my son enjoyed building with his tools. His Tool Box contained a mini hammer, a screw driver , a needle -nose pliers, a few non traumatic nails, and a retractable measuring tape, all of which carried the bright orange Logo representing the hardware giant.

I use to love seeing my son don his software  apron loaded with his hardware as he would venture out into the garage and find something he could take apart and put back together again.  He would remove his sisters roller blade wheels and nail them to a 2 by 4 remnant and adhere a large cardboard box on top and explain to me  how he was going to use this on the road in the neighborhood.

I watched as he towed his Indy 500 Box down the driveway drag strip and pushed off and jumped in to race down the block.   I watched a headless  brown carton sail past me as he was on the  down low.…..riding dirty…..because the box he emptied was the one I emptied my yard waste into………

Now my son has grown into an 18 year old young man and he has long since dumped his Tool box by the roadside and replaced it with a new and improved TOOL SHED that is up to his speed.  A TOOL shed his Grandfather and Great Grandfather are now rolling over in their graves with delight……………………………………….

And please note the  AXES in the front row……………minus the Hoe’s…

                     

spread the humor.  another generational mishap..




I have made  passing references about my past as an airline flight attendant, but did I ever fill you in on how I became one?

First I should inject that this was a career I had over thirty years ago and the Airline is no longer in service.  No….it is not in the Smithsonian………but parts of it are in the Museum of flight exhibit.  I happened upon this when I took my kids on a trip to Washington DC to view some history.  Little did I know I would stumble across a notable prop plane with my daughter at my side pointing out to her friends that it has the same Logo that is on her mom’s  Stewardess wings now collecting dust in a Jewelry box…

When most high school graduates were sending in their SAT scores to prospective colleges, my mind was set on traveling the wonders of the world, and I did not see my self scoring a place and having to SAT my seat in front of a desk thumbing through textbooks.  I knew what I didn’t want to do but not quite sure what I wanted to do.  I was the last of four children and I’m sure my parents were tapping their happy feet for me to venture out.  OUT of the house.

I came home one day and told my mother I decided I want to be a flight attendant.  My mother’s reply to that staement went a little like this: ” Why?….Any idiot can do that.”.  Well, being that my grades were in the toilet at the time, and Harvard and Yale were not Knock-knock-knockin’ on my door…..in fact no college was knocking….not even a light tap-tap was audible;  I decided to succumbed to my  mothers statement and went to all available ticket counters at our local airport to  fill out an  application that might send this Idiot abroad.

My first interview and rejection was from a large airline that UNITED their fleet all over the globe.  I returned home feeling distraught and feeling the FOOL and now realizing that I’m one less idiot that can’t make the cut.  My mother sat in the living room reading her morning paper and sipping a cup of java as I entered the house with my head lowered fighting back the tears and laughing on the wrong side of the mouth.  I crept in down the hallway and headed straight to my room to wallow in my defeat.  Without looking up from her Dear Abby column she slung the words toward me:

“So..how did it go?”

I gave her my results through a broken voice :

“They said  Thank you for coming……………NEXT!

My mother folded the Times and placed it on her lap and looked at me. She could see the disappointment I endured and then uttered a few sentences that went like this:

“You know why they didn’t hire you?  You’re too pretty for that airline.  Your father and I fly that airline all the time and those girls are not easy on the eyes.”

Then she offered to call my father who knew the CEO of that airline to help me along with the process.  I rolled my teary eyes at her and her backhanded compliment and declined her offer.  This idiot doesn’t need a helping hand……

Out of the Ten or so applications I sent out to become a flight attendant three responded back with proposed interview dates.  The first was the afore mentioned above, the second was from an EASTERN company that I had never heard of because I was a local from the Pacific Northwest.  I had it set in my mind to handle this interview differently. I decided to let fate and nature take its course.

I borrowed a suit from a girlfriend that was one size too big, and clipped my long brown hair into a studious undocked tail of a pony.  My make up was subdued and my pantyhose the color of the Ivory coast with my feet locked into someone’s leftover Nun’s shoes.  I was the ugly Idiot determined to go abroad…..

I walked into the entrance of the building shuffling my shoes along the linoleum when something hit me in the pit of my stomach……….

It was yesterday’s enchilada.

I raced to the concierge for directions to the nearest restroom and made it to the porcelain thrown as chili peppers held an emergency evacuation of last nights dinner.  I sat there in all my glory emptying contents and thoughts of missing my interview based on some bad beans.   I fled from the scene of the chyme and raced upstairs to make my appointment.  I hurried to the designated office and flew through the doors only to be greeted by a room full of life like Barbie’s.  There they were aligned in a U- shaped formation around the room……….forty girls, beautiful, tall, perfectly postured, trimmed, sleek, impeccably dressed with Ultra- Brite smiles.

I crossed the room to take the final seat and sat there as my pony tail flogged the person next to me and my stomach growled Beethoven’s 9th……

An Airline rep entered the room and called out half the names to follow her and the second half remain in the room.  I was left in the room.  It was then I was ready to accept the fated realization that who in their right mind would hire this plain Idiot in an over sized hounds tooth printed attire shifting in their chair stressing to suppress  a symphony of Gas.  I should just relieve myself of this ill-fated agony ……Well that would be one way to clear the room of competition….

In those hours I managed a few trips to the ladies room, hoping I wouldn’t be marked “absent” for my upcoming interview.  I was the last person called, and as the interviewer approached me I detected a wince emanating from her face as she ushered in her last candidate into her office who looked more like a Cabbage Patch Kid left out in the back yard too long  than a prospective Airline Stewardess.

The Interview lasted over an hour and most the time it was filled with visual scrutiny and few ” ah yes….” and “Hmmm” as she scribbled addendum’s into her notebook.  She ended with the usual  “Thank you” and shook my hand.  I walked out of her office knowing there was no future in this company for me and said “Thank you” in return.  As I took three steps down the hall the interviewer called out to me and said:

” Say…would you mind changing your hair style?”

I spun around and looked her in the eyes and smiled my reply:

“If you can do something with this hair I would be grateful,  I have been trying for years and can’t do a thing with it”.

It was a week later I got a call for a second interview and this is how that went down:

I wore a nice suite that fit, I wore wedge heels, I  applied make up, and I didn’t eat any Mexican food the night before.  I made the interview on time and noticed only one other girl in the waiting room.

I was called into a small dimly lit room with a leggy blonde sitting at a desk that held a smoldering cigarette in a glass ashtray.  She stood up to greet me and we shook hands. She asked me to have a seat. I sat as she discussed the Airline’s back round and what is required of a  Flight Attendant who  works for this airline.  I listened intently and answered when asked.  She then told me there is certain protocol with this airline and there fore I needed to be put through some tasks:

One task was to see how you walked, carried yourself, stature, balance, and posture.  She asked me to rise and walk about five feet and turn around to face her.  I rose out of my chair and in doing so my nylon clad foot slipped out of my backless wedgies and I toppled to the floor.  I got up from the cold tile and I turned to look at her and said:

“Well, that went well”.

The Marlena Dietrich Interviewer didn’t even flinch, she lit another cigarette and  blew a puff of smoke in my direction and muttered:

“Continue”.

I walked  the allotted five feet steady as she goes, and spun around to return when she shot a command of :

“STOP. Stand right there.”

And I did. Frozen in step.   Then she ordered another request:

“Raise your skirt up so I can see your thighs”.

Okaaayyyyy……yeah…….uuuuhhh…..yikessheesh….now wait a minute sister……can I have a nurse in the room?

I stood across the room and questioned the thoughts going through my head.  I looked back at her  through another puff of smoke as her head glanced down at a sheet of paper filled with check marks.  I stood there with  my eyes closed as I grasped the bottom of my skirt and fanned the hem high above my waist resembling a card board cut out of a Can-Can girl………minus the kicks.  While poised center stage flashing my Moulin Rouge,I heard the interviewer cough a chuckle and state:

” You can put that skirt down.  This year our Flight Attendants are wearing Hot Pants and we need to see the size of the legs to see if it is a right fit for the uniform”.

Strike two….I’m batting a thousand..I’m sure I’ve nailed this job…..what…..starting with a fall , followed by flashing my panties with Thursday written all over them…..as if she needed reminding of what day is was…..

She walked me to the door and said: “Thank You”.

I reiterated the same and tried to leave with what dignity I had left, and as I took another step she called out to me:

“I forgot to mention where you will be based, you have a choice  of New York or San Juan”.

I told her San Juan is fine, being that I was from the Pacific Northwest and we use to boat around the San Juan Islands all the time and I would be close to my hometown of Seattle.

 She blew her final puff of smoke and went back into her office.

A week later I received a packet from this EASTERN company announcing my acceptance to the airline and  a welcome aboard the “Wings of Man”.  I was so excited I rallied around the family and told them my base is really close to home.

“It’s San Juan”, I scream with delight.

My sister read the fine print of my contract and stated it was a base in PUERTO RICO……

Idiot Abroad…..

spread the humor.




I received something the other day in the (e)mail. It is entitled:

The Kreativ Blogger Award

No, I did not misspell the word…I’m not that Kreative…

I would like to extend a modicum of appreciation to all the Blogheads out there that actually take the time out of their hectic days to unravel my sardonic pen and ink……..er…contents of my motherboard……

This is my second honor bestowed upon my Blog and has been brought to you by:

thewritersescapewithwords.wordpress.com

I would like to send a simple and humble Thank You to this inspirational artist that awarded me this honor and it couldn’t happen at a better time…..just after the Oscars….

Unfortunately CW was unavailable to be here to accept this gracious award so she sent her Charly -Dog on her behalf:

Now let us commence with the program:

Here’s the rules of engagement:

1) Thank the person that Nominated you:       THANK YOU! & See above in RED…

2) List 7 interesting things about myself:       1 through 7, please refer back to my Versatile Blogger      Award…nothing has changed except I am aging…

3) Nominate 7 more Blogheads: My choices are based on the humor these Blogger’s Kreativly Inject and don’t realize how Kreativly funny they are:

woodgatesview.wordpress.com    Ignorethebucklesonmyjacket.wordpress.com  up2randomthoughts.wordpress.com

pooterandboogersplace.wordpress.com   passionateaboutpets.wordpress.com    souldipper.wordpress.com

gaycarboys.wordpress.com     mostlybrightideas.wordpress.com  myzencity.wordpress.com  sandysays1.wordpress.com

bridgesburning.wordpress.com  leftwingnutjob.wordpress.com  newsanvil.wordpress.com digitalbungalow.wordpress.com

misswhiplash.wordpress.com  thegreatgoodsby.wordpress.com

and any food, travel, picturesque, blog I may have missed but always enjoy : I tip my Blog off to you.

As you can see I added more than the allotted 7,  I believe rules are made to be broken……

Thank you to all my faithful followers and I tip my funny bone off to you all!

Spread the Humor: CW





I like the sound of my house in the morning. It begins with a serene calmness surrounded by an abundance of quiet, and ends with a clamor of energies erupting from a mixture of tyrannical teens, a traveling husband, and a wayward dog.

I fancy the stillness to inspire me to write…or…er..scribble down thoughts, however, the only thing materializing in my brain is “still” trying to transpire.  I need a muse.  Maybe the sound of music  might amuse me and become museful to help with motivation which could  ignite and spark a plethora of  musettes to clear the cobwebs visiting my minds museum.

Too much quiet seems to have a Sesame Street affect on me and it’s forcing me to spew an assortment of M’s & more M’s.  Might as well face it I’m addicted to love  of alliteration. It’s a nasty habit, but it’s really just for the pun of it.

For the new year I was trying to get a blog in edgewise at least once a week, but I would find myself sitting and staring at the computer hoping that the keyboard would miraculously take it’s alphabet and form an idea or two….

Sometimes I rest my hands on the keys in the typewriter formation that I learned in eighth grade from a teacher who was missing three fingers, and I would sit in a trance awaiting  an idea to hit that compels  my fingers to vibrate across the raised letters like a divining tool over a Ouija Board.

Sometimes I find myself sitting at the desk with my head in my hands closing my eyes with all my might in hopes that an anecdote will squeeze out from the darkness.  The only things that appear to pop through from that ritual are new wrinkles in the corners of my eyes from clamping my lids shut.

Sometimes I walk around the house looking for anything to stimulate a brainstorm , but, usually I end up facing a  few messy rooms that look as though they weathered a storm and curse at the dirty laundry that  is multiplying faster than bunnies.

Sometimes I jump into my mom uniform and take the crazy dog out for a walk in the “hood” hoping to grab some outdoor information that could trigger some hyperboles of life.  My dog was my original muse when I started this blog adventure, but now we both just walk amongst ourselves  in silence soaking in scenery and leftover urine floating atop the grass. Even my dog carries the “No Vacancy” aura atop is pea brain.  Lately it feels like I’m taking Eeyore for an apathetic walk…

Sometimes I check my email and witness an assortment of blogger’s have been busy at blogging.  I admire the folks that are able to write once a day and even sometimes twice a day.  Sometimes I find my Inbox is inundated weekly with subscriptions that I am too caught up in reading and I find I have left no time to formulate my own  mental material. I wish I had the time to blog every day or even every week.  I tried once, on January 1st of each year since the onset of this blog, I tried with all my mighty imagination to transcribe daily.  A day turned into two days….then three days….then a week….then a month….then I found myself caught up in living life instead of attempting to write about it.

Sometimes I load my brain cells with caffeine to try and jump start a synapse.  I step and fetch myself a warm cappuccino thinking the lovely aroma of my Italian espresso blend will activate an afflatus.  All it seems to produce is a  mild movement towards a quiet ladies room.  I never afflatus in public.

Sometimes I just want to stop all this blogsense and quit.  Maybe free up my stagnant legs that  hide under the desk while the varicosities await their first thrombosis.  Maybe give the chair cushion a break and let the micro-foam have a breather and work the dent out.  Maybe give my eyes a break from the vibrant glare on my screen….oh…wait…I have transition lenses.  I utilize the Hunter  S. Thompson technique….minus the cigarette.

Yes, I like the sound of my house in the morning that harbors a unique calmness before it’s inundated with the walking dead teens and  a tumbling dog chasing a husband who checks in and out and leaves his keys at the front desk.

My Desk.

The desk that shelters the immobile legs and supports the bent elbows that hold the hands that clasp the head which contains the brain that is trying to channel amusements blogged by a jack of all trades…….

spread the humor.




The WordPress.com stats helper monkeys prepared a 2011 annual report for this blog.

Here’s an excerpt:

A New York City subway train holds 1,200 people. This blog was viewed about 4,300 times in 2011. If it were a NYC subway train, it would take about 4 trips to carry that many people.

Click here to see the complete report.



{October 25, 2011}   Put on The Blog

I think I may try to post something once a day to drive the readers crazy or to possibly have them ask for more……

Last night I had a dream about Bill Gates. I have had dreams of famous people before but never one of this caliber or fortuitous in nature. I don’t know why Mr. Gates decided to pop into my castle in the air, maybe it’s the menopause gods messing with my brain; but he landed there anyway and the dream took place in an automobile.  He was driving of course, and I was in the passenger seat.

The car in the dream was not the one I actually found myself leaning on one cold afternoon outside the Westin Hotel while waiting for the airport Taxi to arrive. In the dream, this auto was a very sleek Cadillac Escolade with tinted windows…

  I have never had the pleasure to meet Mr. gates. I have only seen pictures of him on integral publications. I knew his dad was a lawyer in Seattle like mine was, and maybe, just maybe, they crossed paths a few times in the court house elevator to exchange briefs…….

Anyway….. as I was heading back to Los Angeles and awaiting a transport vehicle to pick me up along with the other less fortunate’s who couldn’t afford a cab, the “Sit-n-Wait” bench was occupied and I was left with standing room only. Nestled under the car port in the semi circular drive to the entrance of the Hotel I noticed a Mercedes abandoned sitting close to the pick up area.  I mozied on over and leaned my too- tired-to-stand-anymore- rump against the rear fender with one leg  propped atop my Hartman carry- on, balancing  the Times on my knee working on a  puzzle I started three days earlier. Just when I finished filling in an 11  letter word for Mega rich person who monopolizes the computer industry……….

I heard an attendant scatter about rustling a set of keys and running after a man walking towards the Teal car where I was resting my laurels and he tossed out a quiet yell:

“Here’s your keys Mr. Gates”.

My tuschie came off the back end of that car as if it had just sat down on  a wet seat on the Subway  headed to Coney Island. I slowly looked to my right to catch a glimpse of what I presumed might be the Billionaire,  (it could also have been my eighth  grade science teacher. Same name different incomes outcomes).  It turned out to be the Microsoft Mogul and I was hoping  he wasn’t going to instruct the attendant to have me removed and get his car dusted for commoner butt prints….

What I actually witnessed was Bill giving me a double take. He looked at me twice before he opened his car door to get in and didn’t utter a sound.

There are only a few reasons I can think of when someone looks at you twice:

one: you think you recognize that person,

two: you like what you see and you have to have seconds.

three: “what was this girl thinking resting on his specially made Teal Sadies as if it were a hitching post equipped with a watering hole. Why the nerve of that girl placing her back pocket of her designer jeans against my hand crafted rear panel indulging in the New York Times Puzzle. What,…..  she’s too good for the Seattle Times Sudoku??”.

O.k…That actually happened…..with the exception of the NY Times…..I  was reading the Horoscope section holding a pen………

My dream  last night about Mr. Gates opened with the two of us riding about in a giant SUV and he was yakking about how we were going  to go swimming at a club that my family belongs to.

He was very concerned about my “knowing how to swim”, and “do I like swimming”.( I didn’t know how to respond because it was 30 degrees out and snow was still on the ground and swimming was the last thing on my mind.)  As I sat there in the passenger seat groping for an answer that would honor the Mega- Trazillionaire, my puppy , Charly-dog, popped onto the dashboard and rummaged through the front seat of Gates car as if he owned it.

Mr. Gates started quizzing me about Charly-dog and asked: “what kind of food he eats” and “if the food was expensive” and “was it tasty“.

I informed him of the brand and mumbled that I had not yet sampled it.

Then I woke up. I woke up with a feeling that I had just held a private meeting with one of the top richest men in the country and our conversations centered around swimming and dog chow, instead of  great stock tips or insight to a new pc product.  I was left drowning in a  Pool of Purina……..

I don’t know about anyone else, but conquering menopause without medication is starting to have it’s effect on me.  The estrogen has now hit the subconscious below sea level. My anterior pituitary has reached its last droplets of hormonal secretions and is casting its FSH out to the sea of dreams. Flooding the GATES of  REM.  I use to have dreams that had me floating atop the clouds care-free……with no Dog interruptus……….

Thank God my puppy was there to witness the whole thing, he smiled at me in the morning as if everything went swimmingly well…..

spread the humor.



{October 25, 2011}   Another Blog Faced Liar….

So Charlywalker added a photo to her blog in hopes that some day the Freshly Pressed Gods will smile upon her and iron out the wrinkles in her writing…maybe add a little more starch..maybe have it permanently pressed.

I’ve been hiding behind my Gravatar because it is ageless and I am incapable of mastering Photoshop.  I have read many blogs, responses, and comments on this lovely WordPress wonderland and have found that most of you Blog-heads out there will use your likeness in your Gravatar…so…….I felt it was my duty to come out of the Gravatar closet and stop hiding behind my screen.  If you find this photo offensive kindly let me know and I will return to that sassy photo I have used in the past and , which I feel, truly depicts my lovely sarcastic nature.

If you take the time to read the blogs posted on this lovely word pressed outlet mall, you will notice a barrage of precisely chosen Gravatar’s that suit the Blogger’s genre.  I have decided to comment on some of my faithful followers pictures used to represent their Blogs, and I would love to commend those folks that actually  use a photo of themselves as their Gravatar.  Personally, I think  that takes a lot of guts to do. Guts….something we are all  equipped with, but usually it just lies dormant in a hollow cavity waiting to spill out and expand among the readers. Guts I did not possess until now.  Guts to actually locate and download a photo that I find acceptable..and er…airbrushed.  I do not like to have my picture taken, unless it’s by accident…… taken in Black & White…..from three miles away on a crowded island……without a telephoto lens.

Some Gravatar’s I have witnessed really suit the Blogger and their field of blogging.  Some of the most bright ideas face me with their intense yet quizzical look thinking to themselves: “Who is this person behind that fifties photo OP, and does she really wear her  hair that way?”…”Does she actually blog in pearls?”.

Some pictures merely depict just a portion of one’s head or face.  That bothers me.  When I see the partial head shot I feel as though I am back in Dial-Up Days waiting for the download to complete.

One picture shows a “Gent” sitting upright yet listing like a sailboat to the port side as if someone just threw a pie at him and missed.

I adore(?) the Cereal Killer’s mug shot…..the one who aids and abets in nectarious nectarine recipes that cause me to drool incessantly leaving traces of DNA on my keyboard.

I love love love the cartoon characters……..come out from behind the mask Batman..you have me Hooked.

You certainly can’t beat the animal Gravitars…GRRRAnimals.  The dogs & cats melt my heart…..although I know one Dusty Cat that can scratch a mean Post, followed by an ordinary bloke who blogs behind one tiger with bad hair…..I can’t get my Phil of his posts.

I am, however, puzzled by one Gravatar of a lovely caricature of a petite red  Blog-headed woman who sends lovely comments to me, yet I can never get onto her site to send the same in return.  Every time I click on her blog name I am sent to Cyber-space.

I can’t take my eyes off Mr T. Gravatar.  When visiting his blog I “sense the intense” and I “Pity the fool” who doesn’t take the time to discover him.  My first inclination when I stumbled upon his moniker of IRRATEBASS; I immediately thought he was either a really angry fisherman, a mad saxophone player or he just hated his guitar……..

I admire the Gravatars that actually define what their blog spot is about and try not to throw you into an S-curve of figuring out what that Roschach represents.

There are so many Gravatar’s i collect in my dashboard and too many to mention.  I am thinking of developing a Gravatar Award.  Kind of like the Versatile Blogger award, but I might add a Psychological profile to the addendum……..

Sincerely, Charlywalker……you were expecting a guy?   Spread the humor.




Well…I’m heading out West soon for a family wedding.  This could either be a great time or a prelude to a Muppet’s reality show..

The trip started with my two kids , Sweetums and Scooter  being yanked outta the airport security line and experiencing their first Pat Down.  I ventured through the X-ray machine first followed by my son Scooter wearing his hipster cargo shorts that carry more compartments than a B757-200 freighter on it’s way back from China. Lagging behind donning her jewels of the Nile draped like Christmas lights, was my daughter Sweetums.  I gave a pre- flight demonstration the night before we were to depart to the West explaining the list of; What Not To Wear when flying.  My Coed daughter assumed this pertained to Mr. Blackwell’s list.

The first shiny badge to grab me was Fozzie Bear asking if I was the mother of young Scooter behind me.  Three seconds of thought had my mind grabbing my items and race down the corridor to see if  there was a solo seat left  on any flight to Italy and enjoy the Tuscan sun, instead of joining the cast of characters that awaited our landing out West……

I conceded that he was my son and Fozzie said I needed to watch as they Pat Down my teen….with emphasis on his Cargo room.  My son glared at me when I tried to suppress my grin as his six foot frame was experiencing the blue hand grope assisted by Grover.  My son is a character all his own.  He doesn’t need any help from anyone to produce a stand-up routine and gain attention from a crowd.  It comes naturally to him.  When Assistant Grover started the Pat Down procedure  on  Scooter with Fozzie Bear supervising, Scooter decided to give a low groan of “ohhh yeah….”  just as Grover’s Blue paw passed the no FLY zone on his Cargo pants.

I shot my son a lightening stare of a cross between; “Just wait til I get my hands on you, and ,my God I’m going to burst out laughing“.

My daughter, Sweetum’s was snatched by Rizzo the Rat and thrown into a glass maze.  I was made aware of this by the noise her colossal earrings made when they hit the side of her jaw as her head turned to find me. This sound proof booth was a check point for explosive residue.  I watched  as Rizzo  nabbed an instrument  and slowly swept Sweetum’s body with a Geiger counter spewing gusto as if it witnessed the aftermath of a day at Chernobyl.

I saw Sweetum’s leer at me with  worried wonderment and I  returned her gaze with a  reassuring  Cheshire grin through the looking glass.  A smile that carried a bulletin of: Now do you get that mommie doesn’t just blow hot air through your auricles to land on deaf ear-lobes  that dangle designer plastic hoops…..

We made it to the plane and my two darling puppets started to argue as to who will get the window seat. (As if it really mattered and they really wanted to view the geographic’s of our lovely globe.) They both spent the entire flight electronically connected to some type of computer generated apparatus.   Scooter won the window seat lottery and viewed the  whole flight via Ipad Navigator.   Sweetum’s clung to a stuffed bear given to her by her absent boyfriend and plugged herself into her Ipod and lost herself in mood music.

I tried to flag down a frazzled flight attendant to order a bloody Mary and I was met with Miss Piggy pushing a beverage cart down the aisle and yelling at  Steward Beaker to get more cups. Every time Miss Piggy turned to face a passenger someone sitting in the the aisle seat got a shot from the hip. At least it was a padded blow to the head.  I jokingly asked her if she could remain standing there for the complete flight so I could have a head rest and grab some shut eye.  My son laughed at that one.

We landed on the West and were being picked up by my older sister who I haven’t seen in years.  She text me to describe her gold luxury 300G and said  she would be getting us outside the baggage claim.  My children and I grabbed our bags and rolled on out to the crowded arrival deck. We located a Gold Sporty SUV  idling with a woman in the drivers seat staring straight ahead who resembled my sister. We all waived in unison to flag her down and approached her car smiling with glee and started to load our luggage into the back of her car. As I lifted the first suitcase we heard a honk from  the car behind us and it was my sister; Foo-Foo.

Foo-Foo drove us to her lovely home on the water where we  were to stay for a few days before we headed north to attend a family wedding of my brothers son.  Foo-Foo, Sweetum’s, Scooter, and I enjoyed our time together until Foo-Foo’s husband, Oscar-the Grouch, came down with walking pneumonia and made our stay short lived.  Foo-Foo ferried us to my mother’s  (Camilla) place packed in her Luxury Gold SUV for a two hour ride to a charted island.  There we would be met by the Skipper and Gilligan; a millionaire and his wife, the Professor AND Maryanne……….

We stayed between Camilla’s house and my Brother Elmo’s place at the beach house which harbored the likes of:  The Swedish Chef concocting the most delectable treats roasted on Elmo’s Fire, Pops in his walker which was stolen and used as a wheelie- toy by great grandson Kermit.  The cast of relatives included: Rowlf the Dog, Hogthrob, Dr. Teeth, gaffer, Various, Waldorf, Uncle deadly, Julius Strangepork, Floyd, Robin, Thog, Lew Zealan, Gonzo, Dr Bunsen Honeydew, Zoot, Muppy, Beauregard, Janice, Wanda, Hilda, Sam the Eagle, Statler, Wayne, Crazy Harry,Sue, Lips, Nigel, and, last but not least, Animal on drums.  Most of whom began their day with beer and dough nuts and ended the night with fantastic stories which made you laugh until your stomach hurt. Each of whom could capture and carry the most renown version of  Marty Robbin’s song of El Paso in the key of F (flat) to be sung all through the night in various locations in a sleepy town 78 miles north of the Emerald City.

The wedding was a smash hit especially with the Muppet clan singing El Paso as the Bride and Groom took  their fateful walk down the aisle of Marriage into the reception hall.  I loved this group of Muppet misfits and I am proud to have been a part of them during this glorious time.  I didn’t know what to expect  given the horror stories of family gatherings, but this by far was an  unexpected pleasure and sheer Puppet mastery with no strings attached.  Well, maybe with the exception of Crabby Patty resurfacing on shore trying to keep his claws out of the drink.

This was your Muppet News woman reporting……..spread the humor.



{July 2, 2011}   Any Blog In A Storm

God hates me.  I have been blessed with the sarcastic gene in my family.  All my life I have worked very hard to be compliant and follow suit with the more serious society,……. but I can not stop my eyes from rolling to the Heavens every time I see something that strikes my feather brain fancy.   I’ll need to Iron(y)- out that problem later when I visit the Optometrist…….or possibly a shrink.

I just found out that I have a new hobby that I was totally unaware of  until recently:  I am an avid SPAM collector.  I do not intentionally attract spam, it just seems to coagulate around me of its own choice.  I have located spam sitting on my desktop and now it’s following me to my dashboard.  I think I may have a hard drive ahead to try and avoid this spam that is lining my mega mother (cup)board, or maybe I’ll just have to  Byte the bullet and band with the other network of canned  (s)hams…

I decided to open one of the recurring spams whose label spelled out an invitation of flattery.  I   guess  inside this self contained canned junk are ingredients to saturate the eye sites of people caught up in a web of nonsense.  I think my spam collection really came to fruition when I started  visiting various avenues in order to site see more effectively.  Some of the venues I  managed to stumble across made me absorb the contents and forced my eyes to roll causing an infused  feeling of Ad nauseam.

I also found out that my spam collection is not solely set in a National genre,  it has spread  it’s little spam cans..er legs….Internationally as well.  I have collected a lot of Love From Russia which scared the Living Daylights outta me when they headline their specialty spam: For Your Eyes Only………

My spam is compiling on a daily basis and I am starting to wonder if I have a problem.  Maybe I can try to clean my desktop and rid my cluttered dashboard of all the hazardous spam that I have accumulated from different cities.  I thought about setting the spam collectibles on the shelf next to my shot glass collection.   It  could be quite the conversation piece  when I offer  my guests a shot of  International spam to go with their cocktail weenies…

I was just thinking if there might be a spam headquarters that is operated by a head cheese who controls  the outflow of spam.   This product is so amass in daily life,  that I find myself being unable to avoid collecting it.  No matter how many times I empty the spam into the trash it still resurfaces around me and multiplies faster than my sons TI-84 during a Calculus exam….

Maybe I’ll need to join spam anonymous to rid the  addictive cycle that burns hard  and can d(e)rive chaos onto a  pristine dashboard.

Maybe they can get to the core reason as to why I decided this late in life to start collecting spam; or tap into my Blog-havior that  attracts this unsolicited call of doody…  This is a techno ataxia of  a spam-nation. This is a mystery meating  of my desktop  in cohabitation with a special product of Austin Minnesota that is surely out of my control.

Maybe I’ll just have to acquire a taste for spam since it is so readily available….I could top it off with some drudge and a side of crhackers…

Maybe I’ll find something else that tweets my interest so I stop this spam consumption before I hack-n-eye.

spread the humor


et cetera
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