If you use Google Voice, you know that it has a transcription feature. At its most useful, this feature allows you to surreptitiously read a voicemail when you cannot listen to it. At its worst–or best–this feature can make it seem as though a lunatic has left you a voicemail, as though Google Voice is actually a psychotic poetry generator. So today I present to you a poem by Google Voice, which we’ll call:
Amid all those Oh-My-Wonderful-Sainted-Beautiful-Mother posts today, I thought I’d throw something together for the rest of us, who give out of obligation, not love.
Unless you’re a tragic figure, a la Andy Stitzer in The 40 Year-Old Virgin or committed to becoming a Nun, you’ve more than likely had a first sexual experience. Chances are, you are even less likely to have had it go smoothly. So without further adieu, I present my top five reasons why this first slice of paradise by the dashboard light, sucked. Continue reading
Happy Saturday gang. Since the weekend is here it is time for our cartoon fix. Her’s some great stuff to sit and watch on the couch when you should be cleaning the house or mowing the lawn. Don’t worry, your chores will still be there tomorrow.
It’s for protection. I swear.
I’ve been keeping a collection of the mad nonsense that comes out of my kid’s mouth for a few years now. I’m fairly certain that this breed of insanity crosses the lines of parent and non-parent so I hope you enjoy. Continue reading
Gam’s outfit in the coffin was all wrong. I know Ma wanted her to look good, but Gam wouldn’t have picked that blouse. It was a deep navy, polyester posing as silk, with ruffles down the front. Continue reading
Hi everyone. I’m still alive. I just had to have some unexpected surgery that kept me out of commission. Thanks for all the nice notes of encouragement 🙂
I just know y’all are going to add some great stuff to this list. I can’t wait to read the responses. Continue reading
Do you ever watch TV and see an advertisement for some food item that conjures the worst feelings in your normally placid yum-place, but really you just want to know why? Why does this particular thing exist? Who buys it? And just who is in the food laboratory wearing their “find something weird” hat and thinking up the most excessive, noxious thing ever slapped between two pieces of bread and making the decision that, “Yup, a veritable horde of people will eat this!” All you really know is that guy should be slapped with a heaping KFC slop bowl.
Continue reading
This spill…was special.
I knew I was in trouble after I’d spent ten minutes crawling around on concrete in the 25 degree weather, in the icy breeze blowing off the lake, looking for a tooth that may, at one time, have been in my mouth, without success. The part of brain not in crisis mode and still well-acquainted with my Girl Scout training said, “Say, I understand you’re concerned about spitting out mouthfuls of blood but do you think you should still be on the ground in icy weather when you might be going into shock? I mean, don’t you think your dentist could just make you a new tooth, if need be?” This is the part of my brain that likes to sprawl on a ledge overseeing the panic neurons as it relaxes with a glass of Riesling.
It was Spring. I remember it vividly, because it was a cold Spring. We were still getting snow in late May. We lived in a large rental home with a very small fenced in backyard. It was nice and grassy and good only for the patio space for grilling, but nothing you could run around in. We left food out for our neighbor’s cat. Her name was Zoey and the owner was never home and she loved us, but we couldn’t let her inside because my male cat is a complete asshole when it comes to other animals.
We had these double French doors that led to the back yard with big panes of glass in them. The cats loved to sit there and stare outside and soak up the sun. We even installed a squirrel feeder on the fence so they would have some “TV” to watch. My cats are indoor-only cats, when I was a kid I was losing a cat every six months to some speeding jackass in a car, so we adopted de-clawed ones and kept them inside. They live longer and so does my furniture. Dusty, the male, would attack the glass every time he saw another animal in our backyard. Just because he couldn’t go out there didn’t mean it wasn’t his territory.
