In Praise of all Things Unusual

I’d rather be weird than boring

When I was first married, living in Edmonton, I used to ride my bike to work from the spring to the fall. Every day, I would pedal by a house where the occupants decorated their garage in a unique way. From the eaves to the floor on the one side, they had nailed garish flea market finds; brightly colored bric-a-brac, things with moving parts, bells, and chimes. My friend said it was ugly, but I was drawn to it. It was so odd and chaotic, it blared like a trumpet in a sleepy, tree-lined neighborhood. What possessed these people to start such a collection and then display it in such a public way?

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The Following is a Public Service Announcement for those Individuals who lead Incredibly Hectic Lives

I know who you are. You’re the ones who drive up behind me drinking your
overpriced, grande slew resembling coffee, with a shot of this and a shot of that, and oh, distracteddriving2yes, a  1/2 shot of that, too, please, chock full of sugar and cream, topped with sprinkles and a tiny umbrella, while clipping your toenails, and texting your BFF about the grave hangover that is at present causing you temporary blindness.
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My Mother’s Dog

One of my pet peeves is people who don’t pick up after their pets. A walk in the spring is like tiptoeing through the pooch shit.

I had a dog once. The only reason we had a dog was because one of my mother’s clients offered it to us. It was a toy poodle. It was cute, especially when the groomers didn’t turn it into a topiary tree.
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Gag Me with a Dessert Spoon

I touched an open bag of celery the other day, but quickly withdrew my hand. Yikes, that was close.

When I was child, I was a picky eater. I had an over-developed gag reflex which I honed to perfection. No green thing could touch my lips and my food was not allowed to appetite-1238251_19202congregate. I pretty much subsisted on dry cereal, cheese, corn, and buns. Many a night, I sat at the table vacantly staring at the cold, bacteria-laden dinner I refused to eat. My parents had to warn me before going to someone’s house that I was to sit by my mother and she would give me what I liked. Under no circumstances was I to utter the “Y” word (yucky). My parents were never in the habit of cursing anyone, but Oscar the Grouch was an exception.
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A Reflection on Flab

Can fat people go skinny dipping?

What is flab? According to the Websters Dictionary, flab is defined as, excessive, loose, or flaccid body tissue. How boring. I can do better than that. What is flab according to Polly? How about jiggly jelly rolls, great gelatinous mounds of flesh, or excessive excess?
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Confessions of a Frequent Farter

They’ve come up with an automobile that can run on flatulence. I can commence my plan to rule the world.

Fart is a dirty word that most people don’t want to hear much less say. Some people try to dress it up by calling it a toot or a fluff, one family I knew called it a spunk, but that doesn’t change what it is. I like talking about things other people don’t like to talk about.
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Mirror, Mirror

I’m so tired of worrying about what I look like. I’ve developed a new strategy and so far, it’s working well. I’ve stopped looking.

I’m not very good at hygiene or any kind of self-care, for that matter. When bedtime toothbrush2shows up, I have the dexterity of a drunk ready to pass out and lose the ability to use my arms. The urge to go to sleep comes on me so suddenly, so swiftly, I can barely drop my clothes to the floor, much less operate a tooth brush. In the morning, my breath smells like a fart on amphetamines and the stink wafts out of my mouth as I do the clean up. Mint toothpaste is my friend.
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Beam Me Up, Scottie!

 

 

My husband was encouraging my teenage daughter to take home economics this year.

“That’s so I don’t end up like mom, right?”

It’s true. I don’t like cooking. Okay, I’ll be more specific. I loathe cooking. I would camp out in frigid weather in front of the first store to make a Star Trek food replicator available. I find the whole process as distasteful as, well, my cooking.spices-1914130_1920
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To Kill a Plant

I’m a plant killer. It’s not intentional. I do enjoy plants. My sister-in-law has a corner full of plants and I could sit in front of them like a kid sits in front of cartoons. Their beauty and rich green life have a soothing effect on me. However, I still kill plants.
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