{November 14, 2012}
I blogged it Myyyy Waaayyyy….
{September 20, 2012}
You Are the Sunshine of my Blog…….
I have been nominated for The Sunshine Award.
I am honored yet embarrassed because I don’t know what that is….
LB of Woodgatesview bestowed this lovely nomination onto me and I am humbled beyond…well…as beyond humble as you can get, wherever that takes you…..to humble infinity and beyond….
Thank you LB for all the kind words you wrote regarding my blog agility and calling me clever and entertaining. * I’m blushing.*
And thank you LB for continuing your subscription with me whether you LIKE it or not…..but mostly; for getting my wayward humor.
Now to get down to brass blog tacks: I am to answer ten questions about myself, and nominate ten others who have shared their inspiration and made me Aspire Higher…
Favorite Color: Green…..the color of money that is lacking in my wallet right now…
Favorite Animal: ALL……o.k…maybe not the mosquito.
Favorite Number: My children’s Cell…….speed dial.
Favorite Drink: A very fine Chianti with a side of Fava beans….
Facebook or Twitter: I prefer a Face than a Twit.
Passion: yes….Yes… Ohhh ..YES!!
Giving or Receiving Gifts: Both get equal time….
Favorite Day: Everyone that I find myself awaking to….
Favorite Flower: The Rose, preferably Yellow, and given to me unexpectedly for no reason at all….
Favorite Food: Italiano, naturalmente! Ora Mangiare!!
Oh Lordy, here comes the top ten nominees for the Sunshine Award: This is always difficult, because I feel all my followers or even day trippers deserve this award for thumbing through my Blogsense….
And the Nominees are ( in no particular order…please hold your applause until the end):
1) Gaycarboys.com: Just go there and try and tell me their posts don’t put a smile on your face. My mind drives off with a new ride every time I click on their site.
2) Ronyaroshauthor.com : He’s a Poet and he knows it. He’s clever and funny. And I like funny.
3) Myzencity.com: I love how she brings NYC to my home in rural PA.
4) Ignorethebucklesonmyjacket.wordpress.com: Words can not Ignore the humor that exudes from this individual..
5) Renee Moore ( Pooter & Boogers place): Her blog is one to read before bedtime..like a great novel.
6) Offdutymom.wordpress.com: She nominated me for an award and I believe I forgot to thank her. Thank You. This woman does not sugar coat..nor is she off duty..she’s right on task.
7) Up2randomthoughts.wordpress.com: You will not get your Phil of this blog…..there is plenty to Phil your mind…
8) rtewrite.wordpress.com : Harper Faulkner’s name says it alone…
9) coffeepoweredmom.wordpress.com: Any mom who has coffee in their title is OK in my Blog….
10) Mostlybrightideas.wordpress.com: This Bronxboy55 can and will entertain you with his bright ideas. Enuf said.
11) MommyMan.wordpress.com: The bouts of rearing twins with a flavor of humor sum up this mommy man..I had to sneak him in…
Well that’s it folks, I would like to add the other 71 to the list,but I’m not allowed. Says who??
Thank you again LB for this nomination and should I get elected I promise “No New Blogs”….er..I mean..I will blog more. I promise.
Spread the Humor.
Charlywalker.wordpress.com
{September 12, 2012}
Thrill of Victory and Agony of De-Feet.
I had a big foot sighting.
It was right here in my own home.
I saw it’s hairy extension propped motionless atop a California King mattress. I stood outside the entrance to where this Big Foot was resting it’s size 13 in silence, hoping not to awaken the beast. I haven’t done any research on Big Foot and their nocturnal habits and why they find themselves sleeping until noon throughout their Teen years. I thought about grabbing an artifact from this Big Foot’s Den and poking him to arouse this body that has been Facebooking friends and streaming movies into the dawn.
I decided to approach this non- erectus Homo Sapien from another portal and cut through the adjacent bathroom to get a closer look at this Big Foot. I waded through the natural habitat left behind by this boy beast , Yet I was afraid he might awaken from his stupor and throw harried statements at me. I’d hate to have to Quash that Sass.
I tried to divert my attention to the relics covering his domain and in doing so, I managed to trip over a snowboard washed up on a wave of dirty laundry. It appears this Abominable snowboy is oblivious to the hazards that surround him and does not fear the fungus atop his half eaten sandwich lying on the night stand. This wild boy has many manifestations growing about his man cave. One might attempt to upset the atrocious smelling applecart by, say, grabbing a weapon of mass disinfectant and spraying the underbrush of his prideful dust collection into smithereens. This might cause an unruly effect as this Hairy Hominoid defends his territory from intruders by placing land mines of stray shoes disguised as trip wires upon crossing the threshold of his sleeping lair. This teen -wolf is the boss of his woods.
( Once I tried to move a blockade of unread school books to higher ground where they stood a chance to be saved and returned at the end of the year intact, but I was met with snarls and shouts that could force one to the ground, declaring me to:
“Leave his stuff alone”……. I want them there”.
I am disinclined to acquiesce to his request and overlook his adverbial particle of speech dangling like his lengthy arms…
I retreated from this Skellring of firing words and the Big Foot’s bedroom unscathed by any free-floating bacteria , only to returned at a later time after the boy beast stuffed his Big foot into his designer DC’s and left for school ).
My curiosity climbed as I drew closer to this nocturnal Neanderthal enigma, and wandered to the head that is attached to this Big Foot. I slowly circled the foot of the bedrock and noticed this distinctly human Big Foot with phenomenally long toes that would unconsciously spread while he slumbered. It took great restraint for me not to grab those giant digits and have a round of; ” This little Wookie goes to market…”, but I knew better than to startle the beast with childhood ploys. An action like that would bring this bipedal to his Big Feet screeching his mantra……..”MOOOMMM GET OUTTA MY ROOOOOM!”.
Quietly I reached the head of the beast and witnessed a tuft of stiff black bristle protruding from his shaggy chin. I noted his swarthy matted hair had taken an unusual form from lack of AXE hair products, and the odor penetrating the environment screamed of over usage of cologne the day before.
……..YOWIE.…….he needed a bath.
I did not hover too closely in fear of disturbing the Big Foot. I realized this developing inhabitant likes his tranquil rest and to provoke him would result in this Great Teen Bear to rise and KIKOMBA my ass….outta his room. This Big foot desires solitude from pestiferous parents lurking about their den of perennial inequity. A sleeping hairy big foot does not like to be encumbered with early risings and packing their goods for college.
Well…I’ll show him whose boss of these woods….I’m not gunna take it no MO-MO…..
Never underestimate the power of a MOM and her Cannon sure shot……..right SKOOKUMS???
spread the humor.
{August 27, 2012}
Eat My Blog!
Ok…bare with me….I’m going to go on a tirade that will get your juices flowing.
Recently I stopped into a Walgreen’s in search of a Slip-n-slide to entertain the twin boys next door. Now that my children are off to college and surpass the height, weight, and age requirement posted on the front of this Wham-O box, I thought I might spread the joy onto another generation.
Although it’s the end of summer and the aisle’s in Walgreen’s are embellished with Halloween decor, I just thought I might get lucky in the leftover “Summer water-fun” section and happen upon a lonely re-taped box containing a Surf Rider for the lawn. I ended up going to three different stores before I finally stumbled upon my Product of Gold. And I do mean stumbled Up On.
After countless minutes of wandering aimlessly through misdirected passageways offered up by the one purple haired texting employee, I turned toward the area that her rolling eye’s pointed to and tripped over a yellow and blue box waving it’s slip-n-slide tongue at me. I noticed the empty shelves of all the Summer days drifting away and me standing alone at the end cap of aisle seven investigating the last Slip-in Slide exploding out of it’s cardboard casket. It appears that I was not the only one in search of Summer Fun that afternoon as I witnessed a glob of amber synthetic petrochemical out pouching from it’s home. It look like another patron did a little breaking and entering causing an escapee of fire retardants to seep through the strapping tape.
I slipped the collapsed slide from it’s pocket to inspect it for flaws; as I would hate to get the three year old twins jacked up for a round of belly-flopping and later find a tear and cause their Summer dreams ripped into seams…..Well-a well-a-well a- huh…
Ok.. I’ll tell you more… tell you more…
This isn’t about the slip-n-slide it’s about the box Angry bird fruit gummy’s I purchased as an after thought while exiting the store. Angry bird gummy’s that eventually found themselves returned to the store because the Green Bird contained something dark and sinnister in it’s gummy belly. This was noted when a child was about to pop it in her mouth at the poolside. It was a good thing that this kid likes to investigate her food as if she were a cast member of CSI, before she passed it through her gums. Her keen sense of , ” Hey, what happened to this angry bird gummy”, brought my attention to the small black spot burrowed in the belly of this Angry Green Bird.
I snatched that gummy from her hand and inspected the foreign body lying inside the gummy bird. It looked like a small part of a bug. This gummy had a bug up its ass…...now I see why they are called Angry Birds.
I went back to the store to return the box of Angry Bird Fruit Gummy’s made in Mexico. I did not go to the original store where I bought them, I went to a store closer to my home which is located in a different state. I live south of the border in my state and have the opportunity to shop tax free in another state on a daily basis.
I managed to track down a manager to present my Angry Bird Gummy case and produced the body of one disgruntled Green Gummy. I told her I read the ingredients on the side of the box and how it neglected to mention any added protein to the mix.
The manager was amenable as I handed her the receipt and I explained that I bought this item in a tax free state. She counterclaimed that in my State most food is not taxed. I was dumbfounded, as I thought all food was tax free. I asked about the gummy’s status in that genre of taxation. She expounded on the difference of percentages of Fruit in the food:
“If the gummy’s contain a high percentage of fruit they are considered Food”.
I asked her where is the cap line for the gummy birds and might this Gaggle of gummy’s not make the tax free cut. Maybe the Red Angry bird has more fruit matter and carries the weight for the rest of the Angry flock. I asked if there is a flow chart that determines which gummy’s make it as food and which get (T)axed…and what about all the other products that contain Fruit. Like Orange Juice or Juicy Fruit Gum……W(r)igle(y) your way out of that one…..
I walked out of that store thinking about which elected official spending my tax dollars, actually sat down and thought this out to present to the government when the Food Tax Addendum was in session. I could just envision this appointed delegate entering the Senate with his/her box of Angry Bird Gummy’s to argue the amount of fruit contained in this Green Angry Bird. I wonder if this dignitary presented the facts based on the history of the Angry Bird’s which shows that this Green Angry Bird can spin around and smash objects from the other side and is similar to and nicknamed; The Boomerang.
No wonder it came back to the store.
spread the humor.
{July 28, 2012}
Blog of the Debate Floor
Last night I watched the opening ceremony for the Olympic’s held in London.
Last night I sat in front of the big screen with grave anticipation of a show stopper to knock my socks off, if I were wearing any.
Last night I gathered my children and duct tape them to the couch to witness an event that captures the world’s hearts every four years, instead of them indulging in an episode of Xbox or Sims.
Last night before the viewing of the Grand Dame of the Motherland, I filled my children in on Beijing’s production that had my heart pounding out of my chest along with their lightening drums.
Last night I heard the name Danny Boyle over and over again in commendation for the London festivities.
Last night I poured myself a class of bubbly and directed the rolling eyes and sighs of my teens towards the “telly” to witness something they will never see again until another four years.
Last night I listened to Matt Lauer and Meredith Viera assert Plug-ins where the show flat- lined.
Last night I joined my children in the eyerolling and sighs as I watched the works of this Danny Boyle. Who is Danny Boyle? Is he related to Susan Boyle? Is he a remnant of Britain’s Got Talent?
Oh Danny Boy….your pipes your pipes aren’t calling…..
Last night I apologized to my children for having them sit through this barrage of ….of……balderdash, bollocks, bombast, buncombe, hogwash, horse-feathers, hot air, tommy rot, tripe, & twaddle…….
If it wasn’t for Mr. Bean & the current James Bond, I may have exploded like the lights of Beijing. Some things just torch me the wrong way..
Right Then….I’ll just jog on….Cheerio.
I could manage to watch Beckham add some spice and bend it for hours…oohhh pish-Posh.
Spread the humor(?)
{July 26, 2012}
So You Think You Can Fly….(part 3)
The training process lasted a total of six weeks and most of the time was spent in a classroom of some sort, whether it contained a mock-up of the new L1011 jumbo jet or or a mirrored room full of Elizabeth Arden’s new Fall colors. Rule #6 was designed to align our faces to model Cybill Shepherd, the pin-up girl of the 70’s. I guess every era has it’s poster child.
.
Our airline’s beloved American Idol was posted adjacent to the life size mirrors covering the walls of our classroom . The new stews arrived in a timely manner and rushed to their assigned station where a glossy Mauve box the size of a mini cocktail tray lay before them. We were all into our third week of instruction and everyone was well acquainted with each other and their State of being. I was seated next to Miss Georgia who dove into her box thinking it contained a creamy nougat or two, and after lifting the lid, immediately slumped into disappointment as she faced her assortment of Georgia Peach hues….
Each of the make-up boxes that were presented to us were pre-picked based on our skin tone, eye, and hair color, by a company that originated in 1911. I guess I was thankful that by the time 1970 rolled around Elizabeth Arden was sold to a pharmaceutical company and women no longer applied freshly picked berries onto their lips and cheeks. I’m sure Ms. Arden was rolling over behind her Red Door when her palette’s now featured the added Lab-Rat Lavender and Carcinogenic Cocoa as the headliner colors.
My pretty in pink box held colors suited for the Brown-eyed Brunette, who couldn’t fall farther from the Cybill Shepard tree. I watched as a prescribed make-up artist ran around the room blaring cosmetic counsel to make sure we all stuck to the Airline code and represent the Stepford “Stews ” Standard, and not think outside our laminated pink box.
The colors illuminating from my Box screamed an assortment of Moody Blues highlighting a crystal blue persuasion of eyeliners, while undertones of deep purple gave me a whiter shade of pale. All this Beauty in a Box repertoire was accompanied by Marvin Gaye crooning over the scruffy sound system:
What’s Going On…tell me what’s going onnn…
The next step was to tackle our hair. I watched as each member of the class of ’72 received bangs. It was a time somewhere between late chic Hippie shag and early Farrah Fawcett feathering. The last thing I remember is the stylist grabbing my ponytail wielding a giant pair of scissors and me sobbing into a pre -moistened towelette causing my freshly applied make-up to run. My new doo was now light and feathery carrying less weight. I guess minimal hair presented a larger allowance for extra carry -on luggage for the passengers.
When noontime finally rolled around I skipped lunch and ran back to my room. I raced through the lobby looking like Baby Jane Hudson after she finished her audition to Edward Flagg. Too late… too late……too late to call for help… I thought to myself ,as I was writing a letter to daddy to send money for a wig….
I never broke Rule 6……..unless washing my face after class constituted a crime of fashion.
It was lucky rule number seven that nearly did us in:
There were seven deadly weigh-ins; one per week topped off with a final one just before graduation. The first six were random checks in order to keep track of who would fit through the emergency exit and who would get their fat ass stuck in the window, causing passengers to reroute……
By the sixth week our class was as thick as thieves which began a tribe of neighborhood watch at The Villa’s. The one girl, Miss Georgia, presented a problem with weight gain and squirreled packets of Hostess Twinkies in her suitcase. On her sixth weigh-in she was three pounds over weight and could face banishment if she did not lose that cream filling by graduation.
There was a lot of buzz roaming around the Stew Zoo with regards to Miss Georgia’s weighty situation and none of us wanted a member of our class to fail, especially because of her love for yellow spongy cake hosting a shelf life of 25 years. We were a band of ingenue’s sticking together like the lavender varnish on our polished hands. There was a secret meeting to be held around the pool after dinner hour to discuss Miss Georgia’s cuisine habits. They thought posting a 24/7 shift of weight- watchers by her side to monitor her Twinkie intake might secure the issue, but that could heighten the Airline Gestapo’s suspicion and a few of us still felt the sting from breaking rule number One. So……after little consideration of the outcome, and by unanimous vote, the decision to break into the class weigh-in room and rig the scale won by a landslide.
Come morning weigh-in, the entire class registered three pounds lighter………
After completing the six week training for this eastern airline, a few of us went into Miami to celebrate and tip the scale of success for the graduating class of ’72. As we approached the restaurant I noticed a large picture of Cybill Shepherd smiling from a drug store window as she touted her Cover Girl make-up. I walked over to study the poster and laughed hysterically as I noticed her eyes were fixated on the props piled up next to her:
Tastefully sinful……
spread the humor….
(There will be no more “parts” to this as I have decided to continue my saga into a “diary of a mad flight attendant..featuring many not for prime time adventures”…..CW).
{July 7, 2012}
So You Think You Can Fly…(part 2)
Rule number two was written in bold type with massive underlining and Italics.
CURFEW.
I thought I left this behind after graduating high school. It made me wonder if all the “New Stews” parents held a meeting with the airline presenting their list of wrongs. I left my family back west purposely to break the confines of parental controls.
CURFEW… try telling that to my empty stomach at 10:00 p.m. My tummy had jet lag and was still adjusting to the three hour time difference as East met West in my digestive organ.
Miss Midwest and I missed our dinner bell and the Airline Gestapo sent us straight to our room without dinner. Just like in Junior High ,when your mother got mad just because you were sent home from St. Luke’s Catholic school for setting the goldfish free in the holy water during set-up time for the Church Bazaar. Anyway, as Midwest and I sat in our double occupancy suite rifling through drawers for signs of pre-packaged sustenance, I noticed a pair of eyes peeking through the gape of our drapes covering our partially opened window.
I whispered to Midwest that someone was outside our room. She walked over and flapped the curtain open and standing like a deer in headlights was the Bell hop from the Villa’s. We stood there glaring at him as he squeezed his face partially through the window and spoke in broken English:
“Are chjew gurlz mucho hungree?”.
It was Jorge ( pronounced: HORE-HAY). The Cuban bellboy that befriended a few Stews at the villa’s. He was our only connection to the outside when forced into solitary confinement. Jorge knew everyone and everything about the Villa’s. Jorge was able to get you Anyone and Anything at Anytime from the Villa’s.
We pleaded our gastronomic case and asked if he could fetch us some food. He stated he could but we would have to accompany him. Miss Midwest gave me the same look she gave as when I pulled her into the Bentley earlier that day. We had made the time constraint of the late night bed check, but we still needed to cover ourselves should the airline gestapo happen to sleep walk. We stuffed our beds with pillows and blankets to form an “S” shape resembling two laid out Stews. After shutting the light, we proceeded to crawl out the window with the assistance of Jorge who had a golf cart waiting behind a palm tree.
Jorge ushered us into the cart and drove us to the Villa’s Restaurant, which is excluded to New Stews and open to visiting vacationers. The one thing about an Airline School in the 70’s, is most of the students are pegged the moment they arrive, and are easily identified by staff and visitor’s. I was still in my Miami white attire and Jorge was dressed in his Villa’s employee uniform. I asked Jorge to loan me his tie and red jacket and walked through the Staff entrance to the restaurant kitchen. It was there I picked up a serving tray and started to slam salami and crudites onto a pile, followed by a stash of French baguette. The kitchen staff rambled something in Cuban pointing and laughing as I paraded my silver tray through the aisles of leftovers. I turned and popped them a smile and a Gracia’s and raced back to the golf cart where my cohorts in crime anxiously awaited.
Miss Midwest et all laughed up a storm as they saw me exit with a tray of delights wearing the Bellboy’s jacket and a black bow-tie. Jorge let me drive back to our room and as I parlayed the Cart in reverse and darted with full throttle in the dark, I neglected to look behind me and rammed another cart that approached from the rear.
Two well dressed “Suits” stepped out of their golf cart and stood hovering above us ready to land their disgust with this minor accident incident. Both gentlemen cross examined Miss Midwest and I regarding our status at “this hour of the night”, and “are we employed by the Airline?”. I conceded and offered up our feeble excuse while slowly removing my rented costume and returning it to Jorge.
The one Suit who was missing his tie stepped closer into the light and leaned into our golf cart and spat out:
“Do you know who I am? I am the V.P. of the Airline that just hired you”.
I was hoping at that time I was not going to crap my Miami white polyester pants.
Mr. Veep scolded us and threatened to have us returned to our homes. It was then I realized I should have listened to my dad and applied to law school. He always said I could argue my way out of going the wrong way on a one way street.
I pleaded with the “Pinstripes” and begged forgiveness from the courting of the idea of; maybe, just maybe, a sentencing of no breakfast in the morning? I ended with my closing statement describing the heartbreak and disappointment our parents will endure as a result of us being thrown out of “Stew School”. I sniffled a sentence or two referencing my “stature as a temporary college misfit and winning the Flight Attendant lottery with your Esteemed Airline, and how this is a child’s dream come true to one day turn in my Miami White polyester for the Noble Blue Uniform of the Wings of Man”. Then I eeked out the airlines rusty slogan in the key of “E” flat with hopes of my cohort butting in as a back up singer:
“You gotta Belieeeve in Eastern……”
The V.P. nearly peed his pants to suppress his laughter. He took our names and numbers and ordered us back to our rooms. He instructed Jorge to drive us back safely. Miss Midwest and I crawled back through our window and fell onto our beds hardly sleeping, and thinking about our demise facing us in the morning.
It was 8:00 a.m. and the morning Gestapo shift entered our room to announce that “Miss Midwest and I were Grounded for a week”, thus being responsible for the breaking of rule’s #3 and #4………
Never miss class and Never miss your Familiarization flight……
It was then I started to study the tactic’s of Gandhi and missing a meal once in a while to prevent any uprisings. Plus, how was I to know that having Hotel Staff loitering outside your window after 11:00p.m. was breaking rule #5……..
(to be continued……)
{June 20, 2012}
So You Think You Can Fly… (part 1)
Continuing on with the parody of entering the Airline world, back when the dinosaurs roamed, and First Class served meals on real china…….not made in China……..
My adventures with this airline flew me across the country miles away from my family and landed me on a small island in the Caribbean. It is pronounced Cah-RIB-Be-an…if you are to be a local. Most folks take on the pirated Johnny Depp’s annunciation: CARE- a -BEE-an. Well, if Johnny Depp was pilfering Puerto Rico when I was living there who in their right mind would focus on Grammar……
My first stop before heading off to the assigned base in San Juan, was a six week layover in Miami for training. I managed to meet up with another chosen trainee on my flight to Florida, as she was from Oregon, and after chatting for what seemed like eight hours, we decided to share a cab to our hotel; The Villa’s. aka….Stew Zoo.
Ms. Oregon and I were not accustomed to cabs and neglected to add a tip to our fare as we wrestled with our chump change laughing at the bottom of our purses. The driver stood in disbelief as he fingered the coins and darted after us yelling something in Cuban. Ms. Oregon turned around and flipped him an added gesture with her free hand. I stopped to dig deeper in my pockets while Ms. Oregon was long gone halfway down the walkway to The Villa’s. I was left with Scar face wielding and empty open palm in my direction. I felt my Airline funding from my parents was dwindling before I even started the job…..
When we entered the Hotel, the lobby contained two genre’s of patrons: “New Stews” and ” Lot’s of off the cuff men lingering after a busy day at Hialeah Race track. The “Stew Group” sat in a designated mosh pit and awaited their Commander and Chief to assign their rooms and deliver vagrant instructions. I was hoping to room with Ms. Oregon, but ended up with Miss Midwest.
While unpacking our allotted one suitcase only, my roomie and I went over the itinerary and rules for our six week stay:
1) There will be Three meal times: 8:00am Breakfast, 12:00pm Lunch, and 6:00pm dinner. Should you miss any of these time you will not be allowed in the cafeteria, and no compensation for missing meals.
2) There is a curfew: In rooms by 9:00pm and bed check at 10:00pm. Should you not be present during these times you will be sent home.
3) Never miss class, unless there is an emergency or illness.
4) Never miss your assigned Fam Flight. Familiarization flight, there is only one, and no make-ups.
5) No bringing anyone to your rooms. Cause to be sent home.
6) There is one day dedicated to make-up and hair, must be present and abide by the Airline standard.
7) There will be random “Weigh -ins” at the Airline’s discretion.
8) You must present yourself professionally at all times, remember you are representing the Airline.
9) No alcohol.
10) Welcome aboard “The Wings of MAN”. See you at 8:00am sharp!
My first week there I broke rule number one.
We had some free time and I went to the beach with my roomie. We managed a ride out there and did not secure a return trip back to The Villa’s. We were about eight miles from our Villa and it was getting to the dinner hour. Most of the trainees came with a minimal amount of money as the airline suggested, and thus money was to be used to secure your living quarters when you settled at your new Base. Not for shopping. My roomie and I used some of it in a few designer stores that screamed our names out as we passed by. We bought new outfits during our “free time” at the beach. We also realized we were short funds for a cab and the clock was ticking for our nightly room visit by the Airline Gestapo.
As Miss Michigan and I started to walk , and she was complaining about “not getting back in time”, and “getting thrown out in our first week”, and “these stupid shoes are killing her feet”. I wanted to stick my thumbs in my ears, but decided to flag my hand out and trail my thumb along the roadside towards traffic. My roommate was horrified and slapped my hand down and proceeded to lecture on “deaths of hitchhikers”. I told her who in their right mind would mess with two sunburned girls wearing new designer clothing?
I stuck my thumb out again. She slapped it down..again. I slapped her hand back and there we were having a hand slapping conversation along the roadside dressed in Miami white pants and matching peach tops scuffing our decorative jeweled sandals. As we stood there slapping Patty-cake, a vintage beige Bentley pulled up with a shaggy haired bespectacled -what looked like an aging rock star- behind the wheel and he asked us if we needed a ride.
I grabbed the door handle and then said “yes” before Miss Michigan objected. I tugged her too tight top into the back seat and blurted a “Thank you” to the driver. He asked our destination and I told him “The Villa’s”. He asked if we were Flight Attendants. I said yes we were and we needed to get back to our rooms before curfew.
Our ride was not that long, and started out in complete silence. My roommate kept darting hate stares at me and whispering heated words about , “Duct tape and Pick axes in the trunk……”.
The shaggy driver asked us if we “liked music” and stated he had “started a new band” and would we “like to hear his tape”. Simultaneously we said Yes. Miss Michigan leaned over to me and exclaimed in my ear: “Music soothes the savage beast”…apparently she still had shades of Ted Bundy running through her head.
The driver and I conversed about his new band and as we were getting closer to our destination I asked him about his Old Band. His former band. As he pulled into the back parking lot of The Villa’s and stopped to let us out, he turned around and said: “Oh.. I was the key-board player for The Doors.“.
I popped out of the car and smiled at my roommate. Ray Manzarek was our driver. THIS is why you buy designer clothes when attempting to hitch hike…..
As it turned out we made it in time for bed check, however, we neglected to eat anything and my stomach was aching. Mostly because I could have held intense conversations with Mr. Manzarek about Jim Morrison, but, instead, chose to fan off the continuum buzzing in my ear from my mid-western roommate about Hitch hikers and Serial killers.
It was my stomach growling that lead me to break rule number two………
( to be continued…)
{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..
