Owl be sad if you don’t have a Happy Thanksgiving.
Archive for the ‘Humor’ Category
So this afternoon I picked up grandsons Daniel (7) and Gabriel (4) at school, as I usually do on Mondays and Wednesdays. They are loads of energetic, joyful fun (well, except when they are trying to reach across their booster seats and hit each other in the face, and I have to threaten to call the cops). Today, after Daniel went on and on and on about how he could most definitely beat any fifty boys in his school in a footrace, Gabriel finally loudly interrupted him and asked me, “Abu, could you please put on some rock music?”
Since I just had Susan Boyle handy, I had to turn on the radio (did you KNOW that cars still have radios?!), and found “Eye of the Tiger,” the lyrics of which both boys immediately starting perfectly belting out: “I am a champion, and you’re gonna hear me roar!”
“Aww, so cute,” I thought. “So positive, so uplifting.”
The next song that blasted in my little Scion I had heard only once before, back in October, at a quirky little place on Bourbon Street in New Orleans called Café Lafitte in Exile: “All About That Bass.”
As soon as the tune started, both boys started yelling, “It’s all about that bass, bout that bass, NO TROUBLE! Yes, it’s all about that bass, bout that bass, NO TROUBLE.” (I found out later that the actual word there is “treble.”)
In case, you haven’t heard it, here’s Meghan Trainor singing her hit.
(It’s sorta PG 13ish, so be forewarned.)
(Note to self: remind the boys’ parents how old the boys are.)
What a difficult-to-get-out-of-your-head tune!
And before I realized that Meghan had used a couple of less-than-four-year-oldish-appropriate words, we were in the boys’ driveway, stopped, listening to the final minute of the song, while mom stood at the front door awaiting a kiss from her boys.
When I got back to my place, I COULD NOT get the song out of my head. So I YouTubed it. (Can you use YouTube as a verb?)
BIG MISTAKE. There are upteen versions and parodies of “All About That Bass.”
Here’s my favorite: “I Just Need Some Space” by a mom, singing about the travails of motherhood.
And here’s a Guy Version:
And, look, here’s a version with Jimmy Fallon, The Roots and Meghan:
Okay, I have to stop this. It’s getting ridiculous. It ain’t ALL about the bass.
Isn’t it simply grand to be able to simply walk on the street and, you know, just feel so protected and simply safe?
They’re simply everywhere I turn these days!
Who let da punkins out?
(Sorry. I sorta fell backwards in the pic above.)
But, seriously? Nearly 800 pounds?! (The pumpkin, not me.)
Hello there, tens of blog followers! I hope you’ve had a stellar Saturday. I have. Isn’t it such an incredible joy to be alive–and waking up on the right side of the dirt?
But, goodness, so many chores! Petting Bonz, my kitty:
Teaching my bird, Old Black Eyes, to talk:
Walking my dog, Herman:
Showing love to my big spider, Arach:
Teaching kitties to kiss:
Pets are fun. But SO much work.
So today I ate lunch at Savannah’s hip Green Truck Neighborhood Pub on Habersham Street near Victory.
Here’s how the story went down.
As some of you know, I no longer bring meat into the house–it’s all vegetables, fruits, legumes, nuts and seeds there. But I occasionally indulge while eating out. And for some some reason, today I had an all-too-powerful-to-ignore-or-resist hankering for a hunk of grilled meat. So I pulled up to the Green Truck, bellied up to the bar to avoid the table wait and ordered the Green Truck Classic Burger, described in their menu as “plain and simple as an old truck: lettuce, tomato, onion and our soon-to-be-famous house-made pickle.” (I added cheddar.)
Yum. No, double yum!
I kept furtively looking around to see if any of my vegetarian friends might have followed me inside. I was nervously poised to slam my meaty plate in front of one of the folks on either side of me at the bar.
Anyhoo, I savored every moment, every bite. (Do Not Tell Anyone About This! It’s Just Between You And Me.)
Well, when I finished, (and be forewarned, the rest of the story is probably TMI, so stop right now, if you like, and you will still have my burger story), I went to the non-gender-specific bathroom–I’m so 2014– before waddling back to the car.
There was the coolest retro sink inside.
And the typical cabinet.
But for some reason I glanced at the cabinet again …
… and thought, “I wonder what’s in that little cabinet? And if the contents are also non-gender-specific?”
(P.S. When inviting me to birthday or Avon parties, put some of those plastic child resistant lock things on your cabinets. I’ve never been able to figure them out.)
So, of course I reached up and opened the cabinet door. Wouldn’t you? No?! (I also opened a door in a huge hallway in the Biltmore House in Asheville some years back, and a piercing alarm went off, terribly embarrassing my family and friends. Me? When things like that happen, I just try to go to my Happy Place inside and block out externals. There might have been an “Alarm Will Sound” notice on the door, I can’t remember, but really, how often would the Biltmores have changed the batteries?)
Lo and behold, an alarm of sorts also went off when I opened the cabinet door inside the Green Truck’s non-gender-specific bathroom. Here’s what was scrawled on the inside of the door:
I walked out of the bathroom beet red.
(P.S. II: I was so taken aback by the message that I completely forgot to see what was inside the cabinet. If someone wouldn’t mind, would you rush over to the Green Truck, pretend to have to use the bathroom, and snap a pic or two of the inside of that cabinet so I can go to sleep tonight? Thank you.)
Do other folks out there do what my family does? All get iPhones and set up a little Family Group Messaging System? Well, my two daughters Amy and Emily, along with Donna (even though divorced now, we remain the best-est of friends) have done just that. And it’s such an incredibly efficient strategy for staying in touch, bothering each other constantly and having SO MUCH FUN!
The other night, daughter Amy (wife of Orte and mother of grandsons Daniel, 7 and Gabriel, 4) sent us this text.
I LOVE faith-stretching strategies such as that! My response:
A bit more of Amy’s explanation:
End of discussion until a couple of days later when we received this text from Amy as she, Orte and the boys were driving down to Florida for the weekend:
Family … magical.
Maybe that’s what family is … Magic Dream Spray.