Tag Archives: Where is ma chocolate?

WTF? A Question Without An Answer….

Posted in Misguided Musings by

Good morning/afternoon/evening/whatever the fuck time zone you are in readers and welcome to the first installment of WTF?  A new series dedicated to the bizarre and often strange happenings of not only the universe pissing its inane sense of humor on all of us unfortunate beings, but the strange reaction we beings seem to have to this pissing match.  Let the urinating begin!

-I don’t know what the strange orange crap is that appeared on my keyboard today, but I’m hoping it will kindly disappear from whence it came. Apparently the disinfectant wipes don’t fucking work on orange crap.  Awesome.  Thank you.

-My daughter is reading Macbeth in English class…she is not impressed so I decided to text her a quote.  I think I’ll text  a whole soliloquy later just so she can be astounded and amazed by my awesomeness.  That’s how it works, right?  Quoting Shakespeare to your seventeen year old daughter?  Yeah, I’m so cool right now.

– The rattling noise in my car is still there.  I’ve wisely decided that it is intent on producing such harmonious sounds so as to extract a venomous reaction from yours truly.  I’m choosing the Penny solution.  I know it’s there, I’m hoping it will go away.  I’ll just ignore it until it falls dead on the road or it silently fades into oblivion.  There.  Problem solved.  The League of Nations should be calling me soon to solve the world peace issue.  I’ll just wait here patiently by the phone.

-Stuffing money down your bra when you’re hammered at the poker table and think you’ve just won a million dollars by beating every sober person around you, counts in real time poker too.  Where’s Bestie’s bracelet?  Vegas baby!!!

-My explanation for the downfall of my previous blog has hit all new heights since everybody now thinks I’m dead.  They think my old blog has been imploded due to my untimely and grisly demise.  Death by blogging.  A truly horrific event.  I think there’s a dedicated Facebook page in my memory.  Please sign and let me know you care…or cared…or… yeah.  I expect awesome eulogies, and sentimental anecdotes.  Father Leslie is not invited…nor should he be notified.  He might say something like “her math was terrible, but what a good housewife she was.”  Is it blasphemy to swear at a priest?   Hmmm….Should I care about that if I’m dead?  OH!  Don’t forget the bringing of flowers.  Lots o’pretty  flowers….awww….

-In other news totally unrelated to anything news-worthy or logical, a Dutch airline is holding an investigation into an alleged copilot allegedly sleeping while allegedly operating a plane.  The pilot was out of the cockpit taking a …well, leak…bathroom break…draining the main vein.  You get my drift.  He tried to get back into the cockpit but was locked out.  Seems co-pilot was too sleepy to let him back in. It’s all quite speculative right now.  I think if the co-pilot fell asleep, he no longer qualifies as ‘operating’ the plane…that means while the pilot was out relieving himself and the co-pilot was snoozing in dreamy-dreamland, then logically…THERE WAS NOBODY FLYING THE DAMNED PLANE!!  Where’s Samuel L. Jackson when you need him?  Ugh.  So, congrats to the Dutch airline for broadcasting this tiny flaw in the airline biz and the balls to come out and say that co-pilots pretty much do squat.  Awesome.  I think my next career is set.  Co-pilot for the Dutch airlines.  Do I have to speak Dutch?  Hmm….Oh, right.  I’m dead already, so I can speak whatever language I choose!  I choose the illustrious language of pig latin.  Iway ockray.

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A Conversation

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It’s Sunday evening.  The house is quiet.  The D’s are hidden away in their rooms and Hubby and son have gone off to hockey, leaving me alone with the chocolate cookies and a football game on TV.   Yeah.  Football.  The strangest game on earth.  I don’t understand the joy people seem to get from guys ramming their heads into each other and throwing a ball around.  I guess you have to be a guy to understand it?  Although there are women who enjoy this too.  I can see them in the stands…and the scantily clad ones cheering…hmmm….maybe that’s why guys watch the game.  I’m starting to understand this now.

Why are there no cheerleaders in hockey? They don’t want to get a puck in the nose.  Soccer?  They don’t want to get a stray ball in the side of the head.  Baseball? Waaaaayyy too long a game.  Cricket?  Wait…what? WTF is that?!  A game with a broad stick, a ball and running around...sounds a lot like baseball.  It’s not.  Oh.

Congratulations, you have just witnessed my first schizophrenic conversation!  How do you feel?  A little disturbed?  Slightly uncomfortable?  Awkward and a little unsettled like someone that has been staring at you just a tad too long?? Yeah…I hear ‘ya.

I was checking out some websites of authors.  I’ve decided I don’t like them very much.  They have ‘webmasters’ who design things for them and create their site and decide how everything will look.  It’s like having somebody raise your kids for you.  You don’t actually do anything interactive with them…you just claim their parentage; their blood line.  All the work and enjoyment lays on the hired help.  Congrats!  You are a parent of no one.  A master of nothing.  You post a blog and claim to have worked on it.  Uh, no you didn’t.  You just showed up to the party for the refreshments and the accolades.  Fuck off.

Ugh…I’m complaining about nothing important or relevant.

Awesome post, Rogue! Please continue with your mindless chatter about nothing!

Thanks! Okay.

If I was following my Kingly advice, I should be reading something right now.  But I’m not.  I’m rambling instead.  Filling up space.  Killin’ time.  Foolin’ around.  Such a productive use of time.

What’s new?  How’s life?  Read any good books lately?  Seen any good movies?  No?  Me neither…thought I’d ask….

I’ll get back to trying to figure out the football thing and stare at the last chocolate cookie in the box like it was the last morsel of food on earth, at which time I will stuff it angrily into my mouth and throw away the evidence before anyone discovers it’s gone.  You go back to whatever it was that I so rudely interrupted.  Nice chat.  Let’s do this again soon.

Sadly the cookies are gone.  Bring some next time, will ‘ya?  Thanks.

 

The Taller The Chair, The Harder I Fall

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I had a post all ready to go in my head at 7am and now it’s gone.  I hate it when that happens.  I should have immediately gotten out of bed and written the damned thing down.

Who am I kidding? There’s no way I would have gotten out of bed at that hour on a Saturday morning just to write something down.  Pfffttt….

I think the post had something to do with the Stephen King  book I’m rereading…or the stories I’m trying to write…or …hmm…I can’t remember.

I’m thinking it was King’s advice on writing that has me almost on the edge of throwing myself from the tallest chair in my vicinity and ending it all right now.  His expression of ‘there are bad writers everywhere’ has me hoping his finger is not pointing in my direction.  Not that it should…or it would.  I just think ‘Gawd, I don’t want to be that girl.  The girl who writes so badly everyone holds their collective noses in disgust and turns in rapid repulsion.’    Geesh…that would be just, just..fucking sucky.  Ugh.

I like that he suggests writers should read as much as possible.  I like that he attempts to be encouraging without trying to be too condescending or arrogant.  He actually comes off as your buddy who’s just trying to help you out a bit and he may have a few words of advice for we lowly lot…Not that he’s any good himself or anything.  Pfftt…he’s only Stephen King for God’s sake!!

Since my infamous and showy New Year’s resolution to ‘write more’ takes the cake in articulate and profound proclamations,  I guess the King advice may come in handy.    Then again, my new chairs are just the right height….