Charlywalker's Blog

I’m off to the Tuscan sun (37 degrees) in 12 days and I am starting to feel elated. There is still a big part of me that harbors a shroud of anxiety at the thought of leaving my quasi adult children to roam in my home sans mommy. That is why I am a big supporter of Neighborhood Watch.

This is no ordinary watch where the “hood” posts glow- in- the -dark signs on dead trees only to be read by  passing fluorescent headlights; this is a watch that includes designated specialized attention from lovely neighbors who volunteer to randomly check in at my house unannounced on Friday and Saturday nights dangling their secret key.

This action keeps my teens on High Alert.  Kind of like Publishers Clearing house ,  the way the marketing Team of Todd Sloan and Associates  keep a close eye on the prospective winner before they pounce on them to present a  a giant cardboard check during halftime at the Super Bowl.  The contestant has an inkling of being followed but writes it off as a minor paranoia accompanied by an occasional hallucination of a Navy Blue Van.  It’s the same feeling I inject into my Teens when I plan to go away for a few days; that feeling of someone possibly stopping by for a cup of sugar at midnight who entertains the same suspicious glare unlike myself….That look that can clear any house of unwanted public

Needless to say it helps a mom sleep comfortably at night when she is out of town, far, far, away, sipping her Chianti Classico with a side of Fava beans…

I have lived in many a neighborhoods throughout this fine country and I have to say that where I have landed now harbors some of the most eclectic group of people, and I enjoy everyone of  them. Well, almost everyone of them.  There are some that have gotten lost in translation, which can happen when you live close to one another over a five year span. It’s a lot like having room mates at times. Some you enjoy sharing your intimate pasts and some are just too high maintenance and add too much drama to an already infused Camille society.

I no longer have issues with whether or not I like my neighbors, I have a sixth SCENTS in regards to  people. Albeit..Charly. I now leave that ability, in my dogs paws. Charly has a great sense of ” I don’t like you ” smell. He is very protective of our domain and lashes out at the ones he feels are a threat ,and  yet,on the other paw, he acts like a bouncer at Club Rave and sorts through the melee with his snout in the air, and upon his approval, let’s them pass through the threshold with a tail wag.

I think dogs have a sense of self worth and who is worth sensing. Sometimes Charly-dog has a gaze that looks through your soul and if he could verbalize to someone he would be spouting worse than a tea kettle on high.  Charly is relentless when it comes to visitors that rub him the wrong way. He is a high strung combination of a couple of breeds that should never have mixed in the first place, yet when he chooses who he wants to befriend, he is all over them like a cheap suit licking last nights after shave off their satin cheek.

Personally, I think my dog has better judgment of a persons character than I do.  When I walk him around the “hood” he has  become very selective as to which car he wants to chase after. It use to be all cars, but now as he watches them drive by he methodically watches and contemplates which neighbor’s vehicle is going to get the Charly rant.  Funny, it always ends up to be the same ones. And , oddly enough, they happen to be the neighbors I can no longer tolerate other than a passing wave from my free hand. Keeping it on the down-low… Now on the other hand, Charly charges towards the ones he likes. It’s all about the scent.  Think about it, does anyone really like a not-so nice-smelling- person?  I think my dog is on to something that Freud or Jung never tapped into: The aura of aroma.

As long as the sniffing stays above the waist………………

{May 22, 2011}   Handwriting is on the Blog

I recently watched a movie the other night that happens to be one of my favorites; it’s called The Bucket List.  It’s a movie about a list of things a person wants to fulfill before they “kick the bucket”.  It made me think: Why would a person wait til they are about to die before they think about doing  the things they really wanted to do while living?  I have always done whatever I set out to do.  I personally think my bucket list was handed to me in my Rubbermaid pail when I was able to walk; along with the matching shovel.  I learned at an early age to kick your bucket aside and use your shovel to bat the sh*t that flies off the fan…………I was an intense toddler.

  I had a list of things written in crayon that I wanted to accomplish, which I did, and I’m still not finished.   I think when my time comes and I will be asked about the “things I wanted to do, but never got to”,   I will probably just respond with:  “I’ve done them thank you, now go fix me a dry martini and change the channel on the TV to Mob Wives…I’m tired of listening to that Sajak guy  blowing vowels out his ass…”.

This “Bucket List” topic sparked my interest one night while catching an episode of the Wheel- of -Fortune.  I like that show. I get to watch Vanna White grow old in designer gowns. She keeps getting thinner and thinner and before you know it they’ll be rolling in her Versace on a skeleton wearing a blond wig.  Pat Sajak will drop his choppers on the Wheel bending over to spin and gumming out the letters for the Bonus Round: “O.K.  Vanna, gimme an R-Eth-Teeth-L-N-Eeeeeeeee”( that’s Pat suffering  vowel incontinence).

The “Bucket List” came up while Pat was doing his 30 second interview with the contestants.   One girl mentioned she had a “Bucket List” and that she has completed most of it, (mind you, this girl was attractive and I assume in the mid 20’s range of age).  I asked out loud: “Why would someone so young be concerned about something like that at such a youthful time in their life?”.  No one answered me because I was watching the show alone with my dog.  If my pooch  did respond to  me……well…. then…..I guess I would have to face the obvious:

….that being,…my stray came from the same litter as David Berkowitz’ dog…………

This vibrant young lady seemed thrilled to tell the world she had a “Bucket List” on national T.V.  while the other two candidates  just gave “shout outs” to their peeps and dispensed free advertising to their workplace.  I still couldn’t shake the notion of this unseasoned woman and her  desire to do what exhausted elderly accede to teetering on their last leg.  The strong leg.  The one that has to kick the bucket.

But then..WHAM!  It hit me like a ton of bad lyric’s thrown by George Michaels; (no, not wake me up before you go-go..)..

Why not pursue a “Bucket List” because you want to; not because yo think you feel pressured to.  Life is a bucket of cherries waiting for you to take a bite and spit the pits back into your pail……….with or without dentures.  I think this Wheel lady had it down to a science and mapped out her  List constructed to fulfill her Fortunate life.  I think she was sending a message over the airwaves to entice the audience to re-think this “Bucket List” operandi.  Maybe make this list accessible to youngsters who complain too much about their cell phones not being the latest model.  Maybe we should make a Bucket List mandatory and have it notarized and produce them adjacent to a birth certificate to hand out to the next generation.  Maybe this Bucket List will start with small ventures, like:

1) I will be potty trained before I reach pre-school

2) I will brush my teeth as often as the dentist tells me to after my braces are applied.

3) I will complete my homework and hand it in on time.

4) I will not exceed the speed limit when I’m 16 while carrying a freshly pressed driver’s license.

5) I will not party to excess in college and wake up kneeling over the porcelain god sporting a tattoo I don’t remember getting in Vegas…

6) I will listen to my parents and take out my Ipod earphones when doing so…..

7) I want my Laundry List completed first…

8) I will kick the bucket if it’s left in the middle of the hallway full of dirty water for me to trip over…..

Oh this list could go on until I kick the bucket, but apparently buckets are hard to find these days since the cleaning lady switched to the Wet Jet Mop.    I guess we’ll have to change ‘Bucket List” to “Swiffer Starter Kit”.

spread the humor

I have just received an  incredible Honor in the blogging world which was passed on to me by:

She awarded(?) me with the “Versatile Blogger Award”, and upon receiving this I would just like to say” Thank You very much…… and You like me, you really, really like me…..well Sandy says she does……….”

I am not familiar with this award, but none the less, it is something that I can hopefully add to my resume of achievements along with learning to change diapers, taxiing teens, spoon feeding life into my family, conquering menopause without taking out a post office, and avoiding my puppy’s plot in trying to kill me……..

I have found that everything in life does come with strings attached…my children entered that way….and with accepting this award there are rules that must be obeyed and conveyed.

First: I must post the Link that nominated me:

Secondly: List 7 random things about myself………So….here’goes:

1) The Girl in Green that is posted on my blog is a silhouette of my body 20 years ago……(you just scrolled up..didn’t you…)

2) Charlywalker is not my real name…..although I’m thinking of changing it to avoid creditors….

3) I live in Levi’s, loafers without socks, cashmere sweaters, and a HootersAir cap hosting a pony tail….

4) I will retire under the Tuscan Sun….even if it’s the name of a local restaurant…..

5) Speak, Write, Serve me anything in Italian and I’m all over you like a cheap suit……………

6) I like funny. Anything Funny.  I like people who like funny………

7) I will continue to uphold my motto: Spread The Humor………..

Now there are many people and blogs I’d like to post but the rules of engagement are to list only 15.  I have 52 blogs I would love to tout so if you could find it in your blog-hearts to nominate me 3.742 more times I would be able to give them all a  just due mentionable…..

Thirdly: I Google(d) the definition of versatile and it states: “capable of doing many things competently; having varied uses or serving many functions; changing or fluctuating readily”.  I can state that by this definition, Versatile applies to many bloggers, but you will never find me fluctuating in public.  Here are my first fifteen:                               

Now, just in case I missed a few:



belleofthecarnival,kimeling,cdewine,Thevividwriter,coopernicus,cheeseschipsandgravyplusfootball, thedailydish,artswebshow,brokenalabasterbottle,cocorivers,oldbentnail,theteachingwhore,joysinmylife,


Normalstepfather,Martinimaidens,Ocinthered,Onemixedbag,momintraining13,pccadvantage,oh, and Salt & Pepper(?).

And all the SPAM one blog can NOT allow…….

Thank You.

Charlywalker…….spread the humor.

Ain’t marriage grand? Don’t you just love the long silent pauses and passing each other by the bathroom like two ships in the night with only one fog horn that is actively tooting. Isn’t is amazing how twenty years can sneak by faster than gas escaping my husbands ass during an afternoon nap.  Much like I have been experiencing with my new puppy. Charly and my husband have many similarities that they don’t even know exist. They both run around on … Read More

via Charlywalker’s Blog

{May 13, 2011}   Dumb as a Post

I am having great difficulty in trying to understand the workings of a seventeen year old boy’s brain.  I can understand a seventeen year old girl’s brain a little better because I was one…once..a long, long, looonnng time ago. My son is  a very clever chap and highly inventive with a heart of gold and yet manages to make me crazy and is driving me to pull out a rare bottle of Lafitte Rothschild that is  hidden behind a glass case.  There is a brass chain holding a plaque and a mini mallet on the outside  that reads: “Break glass in case of emergency”.

What is it about a teen  boy that makes their brain stop working and  experience hardship in the “logic” area.  Is that part of the lobe on a continual lunch break?  I know my son can put two and two together, but it’s when he has to think about putting them together is when the trouble begins.  He will find a loop-hole to master mind a scheme between the TWO'(s).  I have spent a lot of my” mom” time ascertaining “mom” knowledge that is based on experience with a little pinch of hindsight.  I have pitched independence and autonomy to my son and  left him  to hold the cards until they spring out like a magician who has  lost control  of his deck.  Maybe I should switch to Domino’s, at least they fall in consecutive order.

My son has been preparing for his SAT’s and  I have left him alone  with only minor nagging in order to conquer this feat .  A feat that is to predetermine where his future college will be.  A feat  that was developed to stir anxiety in a teen just by uttering the words” number two pencil”.  A feat to jam his feet into over-sized Ive league loafers.  He managed to sign himself up for the test center and print out his golden ticket for his special day.  He  also arranged to buy the Study guide and prep until he was too pooped to prep.  He announced in his big -boy voice  the evening before the big exam that “he is ready“.   READY...for what? Is he ready to get into the car, is he ready to get out of his flannel Guinness pajama bottoms and put on some Khaki’s, is he ready to possibly clean his room, or is he ready to PREPare some breakfast?

I asked my son what time he needed to arrive at the testing center and he assured me it was to be bright and early, “around 7-ish”.  It was the ISH that worried me.  I asked him to check his Willie Wonka ticket for the arrival time, but he pooh-poohed that notion, and had it in his head that he knew the time. ” I got this, MOM“,   were what I believe to be his exact words.  It takes approximately 25 to 30 minutes to reach the testing site.  Halfway there a light bulb exploded in his head and he decided to pull out the chocolate bar that held his winning ticket and read the instructions that listed the necessary protocol for SAT test taking.  It was now ten to seven and I was breaking the law in two states to get him there on time. My son mumbled the direction section and then I heard him yelp in a broken teen voice.  Under the list of necessities and PERTINENT information section; it stated in bold print that he needed his student I.D., and, “oh yeah, it says to bring your ID and arrive by 7:45” ………CRACK!…………..

That was the sound of  my  breaking the Lafitte Rothschild glass container………not a car accident.

I turned the car around and returned home so he could grab his ID and have a little time to, oh, I dunno…..THINK about what just transpired with his independent brain…...oh I got it mom…..  “ That’s OK son, mommy doesn’t mind getting up at 5:30 a.m. on a Saturday to prepare a healthy breakfast for you so your brain will have all the enriched nourishment it needs to remember all that information you study from that big fat Prep book that cost a small fortune. No worries, it’s just a test that determines the fate of millions of kids each year.  Maybe you could borrow an ID from one of the Princeton candidates”.   We drove all the way back home and then back again to the test center in order for my son  to make his scheduled debut.  My last words to him were;  well my second to the last words were; ” Phone me when it’s over and I’ll pick you up here..right here…same spot… don’t wander….don’t move”.

He phoned me when it was over and I told him I’ll be there in about  a half hour.  I arrived at the school and waited outside for a few minutes. He was no where in sight, mind you,  he’s six feet tall and not hard to miss.  I went inside the test center and there were a few students  left lurking in corners violently texting on their cells..  Probably got their results already and are forwarding them  on through the  Harvard information super highway. I returned to the car and waited another ten minutes. Still no sign of his blue sweat shirt. I saw a message on my phone from an unknown number and I listened to it.   It sounded like someone gargling salt water.  I returned the phone call and there was no answer.  I do not like chasing a teen down and I was never a fan of the game Hide-n-Seek…………SMASH!…………

…………..that was me stomping on the case holding the Lafitte Rothschild.

He phoned me and wanted to know where I was and that he decided to go over to his friends house who lives a few blocks from the testing area. He said he left me a message.  It might as well have been a message in a bottle.  I staggered  to erase my menopausal anger for a few moments to collect my thoughts to navigate  my car over to pick him up.  When he jumped into the car all he could manage to say was how tired he was from taking the SAT’s.    Oh my heart goes out to him for having to endure such pain in filling in Scantron circles.

I blurted out:  “Son, what part of DON’T MOVE don’t you get?”. …..” What intricate part of your brain told you to send me on a wild goose chase to locate you.  What part of the garbled message from Jacques Cousteau was I suppose to interpret?”  He retorted back: “you need to have more understanding.”………SCREECH!………

That was me reaching for the emergency corkscrew in the glove-box……

“Oh I understand you had the wrong time scheduled in your brain, and I understand you forgot your Identification card, and I understand the unlimited mileage and gas used in  transporting you to and from and to and from again, and I understand you’re borrowing an unknown phone, and I understand messaging can get distorted, and I understand enduring twenty hours of labor and pushing out a nine pound baby boy can be hazardous to one’s brain; But I don’t understand your logic right now”.

He states emphatically: “Because I wanted to go over to Josh’s house”.

………and  POP!  goes the cork…….

I want(ed) to thank Carl Brigham for his insight and development of the SAT’s.  ” He derived that they could be used with accuracy to predict a person’s innate mental capacity;  however,  these tests failed to help with knowledge of baseball trivia, brand names, and cuts of beef.     AND also to help a son to stay put when his mother tells him to stay put…….

Ahh…pour and sip…….

{May 7, 2011}   Blog It forward

I love Karma.  I used to think it was something that was oozing from the center of my Milky Way bar.

Lately I have been saddled with the Blahgs and lacking inspiration to write anything down.  I started to read other blogs to see if I could gather any pertinent information or  possibly a lead-in to strike some creative output.  Maybe hijack another blog and call it my own.  Maybe I could take parts of someones work and tie it into my blog, what(?), with all the millions of readers out there who will notice? I admire the blogger that can whip up words and blend them into a captivating story of nonsense.  I especially love the readers replies to the nonsense, begat(ting) more nonsense.  I love a readers comments that are nearly as long winded as the article. Personally I think they are looking to grab a little free real estate and advertising space. Maybe they do this because their writing just doesn’t contain that “zing” to grasp a readers attention.  Maybe they have too much time on their hands and have nothing better to do but coast and attempt to replicate some weird periodical.  Maybe they like to stalk their prey before they latch on to a site that is more notable than their own.  Maybe they’re alone and lonely and seek cyber socialization because crawling out from behind their computer is to scary for one to attempt solo.

I think when a blogger uses parts of someone’s work for their own personal gain could be considered  a form of flattery to the Blogster that came up with the concept.. If someone’s creative blog helped another blogger to blog something, well that’s just paying it forward and presenting a nice Karmic Keyboard.  Although, if this person chooses to continually gain inspiration from other blogs, what will become of the blogger should they no longer have that venue for their own amusement? What if the blogger they gain added insight from decides to stop blogging…will the writer fall short in their monologues and be at a  loss for topics?  Is stealing someone’s ideas a form of Blogsphemy that invites bad Karma.  Why is it called karMA?  Why be gender specific, why not call it karPA or karKids….

I like a good karma, it’s such a feeling of quintessential “goodness”, but how does it work? It has been described as memory coming into consciousness, or , one meets self, or a way to heal your past and commit to your present, or being a victim to hundreds of past lives.  Yikes, I’ll stick to my candy bar, it’s simpler.

My memory comes into consciousness every morning at 6:30 am when I wake my son from his teen coma and get him started to get his Self out of bed hosting eyes at half mast trying to meet his bowl of Cherios floating in a milky stream of consciousness. If he’s a victim of past lives, I may not live to finish this one.  The only way I can get him to commit to my present is if it’s gift wrapped and can be used on a snow covered mountain.   My family has had to deal with a lot of my past lives embedded in this present one.  I believe a few hundred house keepers have embodied my being in the past based on the hours of  upkeep needed to  keep up with a teenager.  I think I may have been a chauffeur or a Cabbie  in my former life.  I have driven all over this country and spent endless days and nights transporting  my children to their destinations du jour until they were able to drive themselves. I may have been a GPS system as well, because I can locate anything in this house that has been misplaced by family members.

But what brings about the bad Karma? Maybe stealing or cheating or being a lousy cook? Maybe some see this as a form of punishment. ( bad Karma that is, oh, and possibly being a lousy cook is punishment enough on my family).  Do we attract and repel certain experiences that bring about this Karma.  My dog attracts fleas, is that good karma? And if I chose to use repellent to obliterate the infestation is that considered bad Karma… My son attracts lots of teenage girls, is it bad karma to swat them off like flies so he can study for his SAT’s…

I dunno. So much to think about.  I think I’ll just retreat to reading other Blog’s and chew on chocolate until someone’s topic catches my eye and maybe spark some initiative onto my screen. Maybe I can copy right off a page or two…no that would be bad blog -karma…….

spread the humor.

{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…

{March 20, 2011}   The Tail Wagging the Blog

Fasten your keyboards….. it’s going to be a bumpy blog.  I love flying…in an airplane. I love being 35 thousand feet up in the air and staring down at the back sides of cloud formations. I love the feel of the jet engines revving as the plane bolts down the runway for take off.  I love the ascent at a 45 degree angle where my belongings escape their captivity from under the seat in front of me. I await the clatter of the landing gear as the axle stretches to secure the bald Michelin’s into their hiding place. I love when the “OK” light goes off so I can plug my earphones into the armrest and settle in to their 90’s Muzak system. But my favorite airline attribute is having my  very own video screen located on the seat in front of me to view the latest Blue Ray release…..uninterrupted…….except by the captain…..every 15 minutes…to give us an aerial tour guide of the earth below.

I don’t want to hear how the Rockies are “lovely this time of year covered in snow and temperatures below zero,” spoken to me with a voice that keeps clearing his throat of last nights frivolity with the crew.  I want to land my eyes and ears on Brad Pitt in his  tight WWII uniform spewing mean words from his bleached teeth and not some Inglorious Basterd breaking in on a scratchy Boeing 757 microphone to update me on demographics of geographics. 

NOR do I want to be disturbed by the swishing and hustle of a flight attendant who doesn’t fit down the aisle holding a giant GLAD bag to retrieve garbage.( They really need a scheduled pick -up time).

Nor, do I want the constant undecided passenger in front of me whose seat houses my screen, to continually hold an argument with the recline button. You will not win.   And if one more two year old stands up in their seat and hurls their sippy cup over the head rest for me to pick up…well…I’ll start throwing my miniatures back at them.  Just see how they would like it if my Vodka splatters on their face and their adorable overalls…  By Gosh….. Just try to explain that one to the grandparents when you land……

Oh, long are the days when Airline flights were a luxury  and you could un-flex those tired legs and extend them past a 90 degree angle. Oh, those good times of not fighting over the arm rest and ending up in an elbow altercation over some space. Which is now an added fair to your ticket along with luggage fees.   “Please stow your arms at your sides and sit on your hands until the captain has turned off the No Elbow Room sign”.

I miss those days of taking a stroll about the cabin during your flight and possibly stopping by to chat with fellow travelers and sharing a Bloody Mary or two, but now the aisle only accommodates the passing of one thigh and it better not be attached to Fat Albert.  And, God forbid, you should need to get up and use the latrines during the food service. That happened to me once and I waited in the rear of the plane until the entire 280 passengers were served. Then,  after the food conga line had cleared, I noticed the flight attendant was wearing her yellow life jacket and holding up a stop sign to ensure that traffic flowed in the right direction.

Oh, and let’s touch base with the cuisine featuring a pretzel bag no larger than Barbies Evening in Paris Purse or the  over priced mystery meal sealed in a plain white box that was probably processed via irradiation on the catering truck.  And you wondered why the salami was so shiny………Once I found four grapes running loose under the cellophane wrapped cheese and crackers that had escaped from the vine and the flight attendant  confiscated my box from me claiming “I received a First Class Meal by mistake…..”.  How  did they know?     ohhhh They heard it through the grapevine…

Once upon a time , many many many years ago, there was a lovely East Coast Airline that had jumbo jets that served a three course meal in first class featuring  a roast that was carved right before your eyes and all the fine wine and champagne you could endure on a flight from Puerto Rico to New York City. A service that started with a fresh Caesar Salad and ended with a chocolate torte. The entire meal was displayed on real china plates with silver utensils that had serrated  knives to slice the succulent roast, and a glass filled with a fine Bordeaux that you held by the stem, and a pristine white cloth napkin draped across your belted lap to catch any crumbs that fell from a turbulent fork.

All of this fancy food rolled by on several carts ushered by Stewardess with manicured hands and were required to pass a weight standard. And if you were in coach you were served a fully heated meal on a tray with an offering of two Entree’s to choose from. There were passenger lounges in the front and aft of the plane equipped with couches and end tables with reading lamps adhered onto the top where passengers could sit and mingle and enjoy the bar cart. There were closets aboard to house your garment bags so your Brooks Brother’s was protected and assured a wrinkle free trip. There were toys for tots stowed in a cardboard trunk to keep the little ones busy.

The flight was all about fun and keeping the passengers happy and safe until a Big Bad Merger came along and ate the little airline and ripped apart the galley’s and lounges that occupied vital space needed to be utilized for more passenger seats in order to stretch and cram people in tighter that a pair of spandex pants covering Oprah’s ass. Leaving souls to never again recline comfortably or to be free to walk about the cabin without hazard lights flashing or Nazi Cabin Crews dictating who gets to keep their carry on luggage on board and who gets to fight the crowd in baggage claim.


This is your Blogger speaking…. and thank you for flying

et cetera
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