Category Archives: Humor

My Russian Connection

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Matt ate dinner with his Uncle Richard tonight.  Uncle Richard is a really nice man, but I think one of the most interesting things about him is his wife, Ala.

Ala is Uncle Richard’s Russian bride.  Well, actually, she is from the Republic of Belarus.  I think that her father was somebody in the Communist party, so she has all these stories of traveling around Russia (oops, the U.S.S.R) while she was growing up.  Her sister is married to the current Belarusian ambassador to the United Kingdom, so she can move in some highfalutin company.

She speaks English really well, but she still has some problems with phrases and words.  Every time we get together, she always says to me, “Cristy, it’s so good to meet you”, like it’s the first time that we’ve ever met.  I just always tell her that I’m glad to see her, too.

I love hearing her talk about growing up in a Communist country, traveling around Eastern Europe, etc.  Matt loves to drink vodka with her.  At Christmas, we were asking her questions about Belarus, winter, vodka, etc. and she told us about how the Communist party strictly controlled alcohol during her younger days.  She said, “You know, a man would be scared to have an affair with his secretary in his office, you know with his office door closed.  Because people might have thought they were in there drinking.”

Like Southern Baptists.

On another note, I found the coolest thing.  Remember my drawing of a Dead Horse, perfect for your soul-sucking meetings?

Well, there is a place where you can send your drawings and they will bring your drawings to life.  Ok, not really to life, à la Frankenstein, but at least a stuffed version.

www.childsown.com

Isn’t that the coolest thing?  Get your own Dead Horse to beat yourself with!  Or your co-worker.  Your choice.

**9-11  I’ll never forget **

Lottery Thoughts

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There is a PowerBall drawing tonight worth $100 million.  I don’t normally pay any attention to the lottery because I know the odds of winning are stupid.  You know, like you’re 30,000 times more likely to get hit by lightning than you are to win the lottery, or whatever the statistic is.  (Of course, one of my aunts, my sister and my cousin were struck by lightning while they were in the car, driving down the road, and apparently that’s like supposed to be super-extra rare,and it happened to them.  So, the improbable does happen.). But I’ve been having a tougher time than normal at work recently, so I have been spending time fantasizing about being independently wealthy.

Any time I think about the lottery, it makes me think of mine and my sister’s babysitter’s husband, Roger.  Roger is one of the sweetest, kindest men that I ever met in my life, and as a distant cousin, my mom and my family have always known Roger and his family.

At our wedding (Susan Roark photography)

Roger used to talk about winning the lottery.  He had a plan.  And he always included giving part of his winnings to my mama, to help her pay off our mortgage.  When I was growing up, I thought the only reason that my mama had to work was this nebulous thing called a “mortgage”, and if this was gone, she could stay at home with me and Ashleigh, so I LOVED Roger’s plan.

How awesome was it that Roger was going to give us part of his winnings?  I don’t know many people who would give me any of their lottery jackpot…

I haven’t seen Roger in a couple of years.  The last time that I saw him, he didn’t remember or recognize me because of dementia.  I reminded him that I was Libby’s daughter.  To which he replied, “You’re Ashleigh’s sister, right?  You used to be the pretty one, but now she’s the pretty one.”

I agreed with him.  My sister is the pretty one. 

And she’s been hit by lightning.  Dang, she does have the luck.  Maybe I can get her to buy me a PowerBall ticket.

Truth, As I Declare It

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I was driving to work this morning when I got behind one of those trucks that hauls gravel or other construction materials.  You know, the ones that have the sign on the back that says “Not Responsible for Broken Windshields”?

source:  http://significantblog.wordpress.com/2011/08/

My thought was (as always when I get behind one of these trucks) “Really?  Just not responsible?”

It would be one thing if the sign read “We will not take responsibility for broken windshields”.  That I could handle.  But this categorically states that they Just. Aren’t. Responsible. Period.

Are trucking companies the only entities that can make a truth just by stating it?  You know, like Rene Descartes wrote, “I think, therefore I am” is there a corollary that is “I say it, therefore it is the truth”?

Let’s ignore the internets for the moment, where truth plays no role, and just ponder the ability to make something A TRUTH just by declaring it to be so.

Here is what I would declare to be my Top 10 Truths (ignoring logic, science and evidence to the contrary):

  1. Politicians are honest, scrupulous individuals, working for the best for the nation.
  2. Chicken McNuggets are 100% real chicken and a nutritious and healthy, anytime meal.
  3. I can drink as much as I want without getting a hangover, becoming obnoxious, talking too loudly or falling asleep by 7:30 PM.
  4. Nice guys finish First (and second and third, but never last).
  5. No one cares about Brangelina.
  6. I have a beautiful singing voice.
  7. There is no such thing as “bathing suit season”.
  8. People want to take accountability for their actions.
  9. Restaurants cook their food with the same attention to cleanliness as I do in my own kitchen (which is a lot).
  10. My tax money is being spent with care, forethought and in the manner that benefits the most members of my community, state and nation.
Yep, that’ll do it.  And guess what Mr. Dump Truck Driver?  If I ever kick a rock up into your windshield, I am not responsible for any ensuing damage.  Neener neener.

Accidental Eavesdropping Is Never Good

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Matt comes home.

me:  I can’t wait to tell you what I heard at work today!

Matt:  It’s going to have to wait until I change my clothes and I eat.

15 minutes later….

Matt:  Okay, tell me what happened.

me:  So, I’m sitting in the canteen this morning, working on my computer between meetings, and these two guys sit down at a table near me.  And this one guy is talking really loud.  I’m not trying to eavesdrop, really. I don’t wanna hear what they’re talking about, but he’s so loud.  He’s talking about going to the doctor, and he’s talking and talking.  And  I hear him say, “And then the doctor’s holding my genitals.”  And I’m like, “Really?”

Matt:  Is that it?  That’s kind of a let down.  I was expecting more after such a build up.

me:  Yeah, well, if I could have told you immediately after you came home, it wouldn’t have been such a build up.

*silence*

me:  And the guy that he was talking to didn’t say a word.

Matt:  It was probably his boss.  What could he say?  He had to listen.

me:  I mean, the other guy couldn’t have cared about this guy’s balls?  Right?

Matt:  I don’t know.  Maybe it was like a warning.  Maybe the doctor was an eye doctor and the first guy was like, “Dude, don’t go see this guy because an eye exam ends up with your dick in his hands.”

Excellent point.  I would warn all my girlfriends if I went to the dentist and a speculum made an appearance.  I’m only “opening wide” at one end at a time.

RAY & REYNOLDS UPDATE

Where is Matt?  I think he’s in the bathroom….

This Woman Is From Mars

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I love to watch true crime TV shows.  I love 48 Hours Mystery, Dateline, Snapped, etc.  I get caught up in the stories, especially the ones where one spouse kills another.

Matt hates that I watch these shows.  He just doesn’t understand the appeal.  I’m not quite sure why I love them either.  Part of it, I guess, is that most of the shows are produced and aired after someone has been tried and convicted of the crime, so there is some feeling of vindication and justice, some security in thinking that in the end, people don’t get away with committing these crimes (though I know that it does happen, at least on these shows, it usually doesn’t).

One day last week, I was watching Deadly Women on Netflix when Matt joined me on the couch and watched (suffered through) the last 15 minutes of an episode.  One of the people on the show was describing the deadly woman being profiled, saying “She used all her feminine wiles to get her way, to get all the things that she wanted.”  I looked at Matt and said:

me:  Do I use my feminine wiles to get my way?

Matt: (immediately)  No.

me:  You answered that with no hesitation.

Matt:  You don’t even have any feminine wiles.

me:  I don’t know if that’s a compliment or an insult.

Matt:  It’s neither.

me:  Do you want me to have some feminine wiles?

Matt:  What if I say that I do?  What are you going to do?  Read a book?  Watch a video?

Well, yes, smartypants.  I am.  I found a blog that tells me how to use my feminine wiles.  Here it is.  It sounds really stupid, but if I have to, I have to.
_________________________________________________________________________________

How to Use Your Feminine Wiles

How to Use Your Feminine Wiles

By Terry Mulligan, eHow User
Using your feminine wiles to create a spark in a new or existing relationship should not be a bad thing. On a first date, it’s refreshing to see the feminine side of a woman. In an existing relationship, it’s good to hold on to your feminine side — but, never in a contrived way. Being an alluring woman should never mean being trashy or dishonest. It should just be a catalyst to sparking a possible attraction.

Things You’ll Need (Tap on items you have)

  •  Limits on personal information
  •  Feminine, slightly revealing clothing
  •  Moments for light contact
  •  Lady-like vocabulary
  •  Ideas for a little fun
  •  Smiling eyes

Steps (Tap on step to mark as complete)

  •  Step 1 of 6 
    Be mysterious. Only reveal partial information about yourself. Tell your man he’s not ready for all of you — although you wish he was.
  •  Step 2 of 6 
    Dress feminine and slightly revealing. Wear slightly revealing clothing like a sweater innocently failing down one shoulder — never something totally see-through. Wear stilettos — even with jeans — if you dare.
  •  Step 3 of 6 
    Have a light, flirty touch. Flirting shouldn’t be obvious. It should be incidental by a quick, simple, soft touch. It should leave your man wanting more, not overwhelmed with too much upfront contact.
  •  Step 4 of 6 
    Speak like a lady. If your date wanted a truck driver, he’d visit a truck stop. Feminine wiles should not have a masculine undertone in speech or word.
  •  Step 5 of 6 
    Be a little naughty, but honest and nice. Only suggest what you’re able to offer. A little teasing can go a long way but it’s only nice to be honest about what you’d like to do.
  •  Step 6 of 6 
    Smile, even if when you’re not. Everyone wants to share pleasant moments. Even if you’re frowning in disagreement or playfully pouting, smile with your eyes — it shows respect for the man’s strength and opinion.

Tips & Warnings

  • Letting light-hearted conversation flow is all part of enjoying each other — at any stage in a relationship.
  • Being yourself should always be put above trying to stimulate attention.
_____________________________________________________
Uh, does anyone think that last one is little contradictory to the rest of the article?  I do, but I’m going to ignore that “ping” in my head, put on my feminine, flirty clothes, smile with my eyes, be naughty, but keep my language clean and keep some secrets.  And TOTALLY lose my mind in the process.
I think that I’ll just be happy that I’m wile-less.  Matt, I love you, but I can’t wile my way around you.

Postscript to the Letter to My Husband

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Used dirt bike for $2500 that you rode for 90 minutes
Emergency room visit for $16,573.91 that lasted 2 hours
Having something to say to you everytime you want to do something dangerous — “Do you remember the dirt bike?” — that lasts the rest of our lives
BEST MONEY YOU EVER SPENT!

Headache Central

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I have had a headache for the past four days.  When I have one that lasts more than a day, I am exhausted when it finally goes away, and (dare I say) a bit fearful of it coming back again.  Eventually, I begin to feel like myself again, even though I know that another one is inevitably around the corner.

This is what I feel I look like when I have a headache.  I think that we can all agree that it is a good thing that this isn’t reality.

Feels like my head is twisting itself

Several months ago, I was inspired by my headache to write this poem.  It’s not much, but I thought I would save it rather than trash it.

RASPBERRY

Lights are flashing
Hands are shaking
Who lives in my head?
Please stop partying!
Turn down the music and quit jumping on the floor!
Don’t you have to work?
I can’t believe my mind tenant is so lazy
Here’s the deal:  I’ve sent your resume to some employers
You have to move
I’m evicting you
I’m THE landlord of my head and I want you gone
And I’m keeping the security deposit for punching holes in my walls

Let’s See You Match Me With This

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We hardly ever watch network TV in our house, but we have been watching the Olympics since they have been on.  I guess the Olympic-watching crowd is mostly single because I have been overwhelmed by the number of match.com and eharmony.com commercials that come on.  Every time one of these commercials comes on, I think, “I’m so glad that I don’t have to date anymore.”

Matt tells me that I am the worst dater that he has ever met.  He says that he didn’t like me the first, second or third time that he met me.  On our first official date, I remembered that I had a prescription that I had to pick up before the pharmacy closed.  I thought that I was being extremely flexible when I told him that I had to go to the drugstore so we could (1) go together, (2) I could go and he could wait for me at the restaurant or (3) we could call the evening done and talk later.  Matt has said that it wasn’t being flexible, it was being the worst date ever.  (By the way, he opted to go with me to the drugstore.  I told him that I could have bought a bunch of yeast infection medicine and foot fungus treatment and then he could call it the worst date ever.)

My bad dating skills aren’t the worst around.  Recently, we had a girls’ weekend at my mom’s house with my mom, aunts and cousins.  During the course of the night, my Aunt Margo told the story about going on a double date with her ex-husband (her boyfriend at the time) and another couple back when they were all in high school.  I can’t remember the names of the other couple, and it really doesn’t matter, but the story goes that as they were driving through town the other girl yelled, “Stop the car!  I gotta shit!”

Even as I laughed, all I could do was think a couple of things.  First, I was surprised that the teenagers of what I’ve always thought of as my mom’s squeaky clean background would use the word “shit”.  Then I kept wondering why the girl (let’s call her Jane Doe), why Jane Doe would think that it would be okay to just yell out “I gotta shit”.  Did she grow up in one of those houses where talking about that was normal?  Like “I’m thirsty” or “I’m hungry”?  I’ve never been in a house like that, but surely they exist.  Or maybe she was trying to turn off her date?  I guess we’ll never know.

Then my Aunt Bobbie piped up and told us about one time when she was out on a double date.  My Aunt Bobbie worked at the hospital for 30+ years and was working there as a young woman during the time of the story.  She and her companions were out on their date when she realized that she needed to check on a patient that might be released.  She said to them, “We need to run by the hospital so I can check to see if I have a discharge.”

I laughed even harder at this story because this would So. Totally. Happen. to me.  I misunderstand people and they misunderstand me all the time.  Just word choice, I guess, and where your head is and their head is.  Like recently, I had to have a colonoscopy.  Which means drinking this nasty stuff called “movi-prep” the night before.  The next day before the procedure, the nurse asked, “Did you get clean from the movi-prep?”  And I said, “Yes, I took a shower this morning, so I don’t have any on me.”  She said, “No, are you cleaned out?”  Oh, yeah, that too.

And I just realized that my story and my Aunt Margo’s story both come back to poo.  Maybe I do know one of those households and it’s mine.

Doodle Dee, Doodle Dum

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I go to a lot of meetings at work.  Some days, it feels like I do nothing but sit in different meeting rooms around the building.  On good days, the topics are different.  On difficult days, the topics sound eerily similar, and an 8-hour day can seem like that movie Groundhog Day — a day that lasts forever.  Or actually, I guess, it would be a day that plays itself out over and over and over again.  Whatever, let’s just say that those days blow.

The ability to amuse myself during l-o-o-o-n-g meetings is one of the only ways that I am able to keep my sanity and my patience.  When the topic is something that doesn’t concern me, I have to find a way to recharge my batteries while sitting still.  Recently, my iPad has helped me refresh and renew my mind with my Noteshelf app that lets me doodle (while appearing to be taking notes).  I am NO artist, but I wanted to share my recent artistic endeavors.
Do you notice a theme?  I want a dog in theory (not so much in reality), so I spend a lot of time thinking about getting a dog.  Right now, I apparently spend a lot of time drawing dogs, too.  The dog above has a really big tongue (“the better to lick you with, my dear…”)
The next one is my favorite:  I drew it during one meeting while we were talking about a topic that had been discussed ad nauseam.  i.e. we were beating a dead horse.  You are welcome to print out my dead horse for use in your own meetings.  (I’ve been asked what the red blotch is in the middle of the horse — it’s his intestines to indicate that he’s dead — I was a little afraid that the word “DEAD” wasn’t enough.)
Next time you see me on my iPad, you can ask yourself “Is she taking notes or is she creating another Doodle Masterpiece?”  Only time will tell…

Happy Birthday to My Mother

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Today is my mom’s birthday.  I called her tonight to wish her “Happy Birthday” and she was getting ready to have dinner with some friends.

Growing up, my sister, cousins and I used to have the best birthdays.  They weren’t huge parties and they didn’t involve huge cakes or mounds of presents, they just included small parties at my Mamaw and Papaw’s house.

Wendi, Matt, Birthday Girl JJ, Cristy & Ashleigh

On the Sunday closest to the birthday, after all the lunch dishes were washed and the kitchen table was cleared, the birthday cake was brought out and placed before the guest of honor.  The rest of us gathered around and sang “Happy Birthday”, while our aunts and Mamaw looked on, then we got down to eating cake and opening presents.

Ashleigh, Birthday Girl Cristy and Matt
Aunt Baby, gamely wearing her headdress

I don’t remember any of us having big parties where lots of people were invited, where school friends came, where venues were rented out to entertain all the attendees.  Instead, I remember these simple Sundays at Mamaw’s with just my family.

One birthday that stands out was either my cousin Matt’s or my cousin Wendi’s.  I know it was one of them because the mother of the birthday girl or boy was responsible for bringing the cake and on this birthday, the cake had had an accident.  My Aunt Mary June (Wendi & Matt’s mom) had put the cake on the roof of the car while packing the car, unlocking the door (back in the day of inserting a key into a door lock), etc. and she forgot it was on the roof.  She drove off and the cake fell off.

The damage was minimal.  We only had to pick a little bit of gravel out of the icing before we cut into the cake.  We kids thought that was hilarious.

Front:  Birthday Girl, JJ, and Cristy
Back:  Mamaw, Aunt Margo, Mom and Aunt Baby
(One of my FAVORITE pictures–love my Mamaw in a birthday hat)
Birthday Girl, Ashleigh

If it wasn’t our birthday, we didn’t expect to get any gifts.  Only the birthday boy or girl had presents to open, and the rest of us were okay with that.  But, the birthday guest of honor usually let the others play with his / her presents.

I hear about the parties that parents throw their kids these days and I’m a little astounded.  They seem like very complicated and expensive.  But I don’t have children, so this is a current mystery that I just cannot answer.

But I can say with complete confidence that these birthdays of my youth were wonderful days, full of laughter, happy expectations, and feelings of being special for the day.

I hope that my mom is having as wonderful day today as she provided for me all those many birthdays.

Happy Birthday, Mama!