Eavesdropping at NBC

As you know, I am a shameless eavesdropper and take copious notes. Although I cannot reveal the circumstances, or my nefarious methods, I know you will be interested in the following exchange. I have changed the name of a popular NBC morning news anchor to protect his identity.


Cob Bostas: (on cell phone) …you too Lindsey, I know, I’m going to miss you too. Don’t forget, we’re going to have a crew there to film your flight home, including your purchase of a Cinnabon at the airport. There will be another crew waiting to film your arrival, documenting the exciting moments when you arrive at your house, check your mail and throw out all the stuff in the refrigerator that has gone bad. Uh, Lindsay, wait a minute, there’s someone invading my personal space here, I’ve gotta go. I know, me too. Kiss kiss.


Asbjorn: Excuse me, are you Cob Bostas?


Cob: Sighing, whipping out sharpie to sign an autograph. To whom shall I dedicate my salutation?


Asbjorn: I don’t want your autograph. I want to know why NBC didn’t say anything about my Olympic accomplishments.


Cob: Arching a neatly plucked eyebrow. And just what did you accomplish?


Asbjorn: I won a gold medal in the Nordic sharp shooting slushy luge combined downhill and another in the Aerial Super G Skeleton Obstacle Course.


Cob: For what country?


Asbjorn: Finlanostanislavia.


Cob: Slowly shaking perfectly coiffed head in exasperation. Let me explain something… what did you say your name was son?


Asbjorn: My name is Asbjorn


Cob: Well Assbeeyorn, first of all you are not an American, nor do you have an American name that I can say with confidence. Secondly, you must not have a compelling story.


Asbjorn: What do you mean? I won two gold medals!


Cob: Snorting at Asbjorn’s naivety Let me enlighten you on a little American network secret. We here at NBC have a criteria that is strictly adhered to. Anyone who gets airtime must be able to answer yes to two or more of the following items:


• Do you compete for America, the land of the brave?

• Do you now have, or have you ever had a terminal illness?

• Is any member of your family likely to die during the Olympics?

• Can you flash a blindingly white toothy grin on demand?

• Do you have any prosthetics or something like a rod of steel instead of a spine…something that will show up well on an X ray?

• Were you plucked from the arms of your nursing mother to train in Colorado Springs?

• Do you have a girlfriend that can triple triple an axel lutz?


Asbjorn: Sullenly kicking at snow bank with Soviet made moonboot.   No.

Cob: Well there you go son. You have something to work towards during the next four years. And Assbeeyorn, because I like you, and because I am the kind of cool guy who believes in reaching out in the hand of fellowship to the little people, I’m gonna let you in on another little secret. As far Olympic coverage goes, NBC stands for “Not Before Crying”. We like competitors who cry and we like competitors who make people cry. You got it?


Asbjorn: Thank you Cob. Starts to cry.


Cob: Slapping him on the back as he takes out his cell phone to see if Lindsey Vonn has called.  It’s a start son, it’s a start.

Chinese take out

 I can't believe I slept in and missed the Chinese New Year. If you have ordered takeout recently, you know that we are now in the year of the Tiger  Maybe that's why I growl when I get out of bed.

 Since I am totally against the Chinese telling me what to do, even though the Chinese government has a huge red lacquered warehouse full of money and  the American government has a dusty cellar under  the Capitol full of I.O.U's to the Chinese: I have developed my own calendar.  And since I believe in democracy, not communism, you get to pick which sign you want to be born under.  

So there China!

Swan (Element - feathers)  

Fluffy, good swimmer, likes fish, squawks really loud when startled

Ghost (Element - ectoplasm)  

Sees dead people, scared of dark, hates Halloween but likes candy corn, prefers urban, high traffic areas to spooky old farmhouses in the isolated countryside next to mysterious neighbors.

 Lizard  (Element - leather)  

Tough, sinewy, prefers jerky to cheeseburgers,  gym is natural habitat, but can also be found basking in a tanning bed or on a lounge chair next to apartment pool.   

  Cockatoo (Element: hair gel)

Assymetrical, sassy, noisy, can be found in the basement or garage, a loner who has read the Hobbit three times, prefers Pop Tarts to toast.

King Cobra  (Element: venom)

Large head or big hair, mesmerizing eyes, often seen carrying scepter that disguises hidden knife blade dipped in deadly poison, delusions of grandeur

Pumpkin (Element: mayonnaise)

Squishy tenderness masked by debonair exterior, always wears a pinky ring and prefers boxers over briefs, can be counted on to help with the dishes

 

 Wookie (Element: chewbacca)

Burnt out rockn'roller, sleeps until 2 p.m., vows to make a comeback on graduation from rehab, hates Harrison Ford but loves Carrie Fisher

   Computer (Element: floppy disk)

Old fashioned, questionable taste, lives with mother and sleeps in twin bed in childhood bedroom, can be found only in chat rooms or in Old Country Buffet

 

Cowboy (Element: pinto beans)

Sleeps in hat, has never actually been on horse except for that Shetland pony at Suzy Gibbon's birthday party in 3rd grade, holds up Wranglers with a bullriding championship belt buckle purchased on ebay. 

All photos lifted from sexy people

The Devious Domestic Tip #2

 

 The Devious Domestic

 

Tip #2

No one will notice that you served 

frostbitten wieners

 that you chipped out of the ice 

in the bottom of your freezer

and defrosted on the grill...

if you present them wearing long red gloves with feathers.

Bon appetit!

Two-facebook: an Antisocial Network

I came up with a really great idea while watching Masterpiece Theater and eating a huge ol’ bag of kettle corn. Jane Austen movies are on Masterpiece Theater about 74.5% of the time and they make me feel an urge to be more polite and bow to people in the grocery store. Well, not really bow, just nod in slow motion while shyly allowing my lashes to close over my downcast eyes that are the color of a stormy blue sky. 

 


Jane Austen is the opposite of the Olympics. You would never see Jane Austen’s girls tucking their little curly heads into helmets and their bosomy highwaisted, flowing dresses into baggy snow suits to hit the half pipe. 

None of Jane’s girls would be persuaded to give up all sense and date a flying tomato before they had the sensibility to be properly introduced. Those girls have too much pride to overcome their prejudice against speed skaters with gargantuan thighs that look like permanent jodphurs.

Anyway, back to my really great idea.  I am going to start an

ANTISOCIAL NETWORK. 

I am going to call it 

TWO-FACEBOOK. 

I plan to siphon off all the meanies that currently feel so out of place on the “social" networks. I am going to give them a place they will feel comfortable, where they can rant and rave and cuss and say bad things about all their antisocial associates.

On Two-facebook


• You won’t add “friends” you’ll add “enemies”
• Your personal information will be called “Profilers” since all information will be right out of an FBI handbook on abnormal behavior
• All photos will be in black and white
• The home page will be called “The Cellar”
• Lots of fun apps will be available to install viruses
• Find your enemies with the “Search and Destroy” feature
• You won’t “share” you will “inflict”

 
I’ll keep you posted. 

I’ve got to go buy another bag of kettle corn so I can figure out the rest.

Sports Illustrated Spandex & Feathers Issue

Yevgeny Plushenko reacts to the news of his loss to American, Evan Lysacek.

 In retribution, he casts a spell on the other American figure skater, Johnny Weir, turning him into a girl.

Despite advice from 9 out of 10 hairstylists polled, Plushenko refuses to get a new hairdo-- one that does not include a mullet and bangs that point like a neon arrow at his least attractive feature.

Portrait of Tiger Woods

The best picture ever of a tiger in the woods.  

He looks a little nervous huh?

The Devious Domestic

Devious Domestic Tip # 1

Fill a pot with a few cups of water.  

Don't measure because that would be too difficult

 

Dig out the jumbo pack of cinnamon 

that you bought back in 1995 

 

Shake or sprinkle (your choice)

into pan of water that is warming 

on your stove

Soon your house will fill with a delightful cinnamony aroma and when your child comes home from school he/she will drop a 90 lb. backpack on the floor and look at you adoringly

Hopeful child:  Did you make cinnamon rolls?

Devious domestic:  No.  Here's a carrot.  Go do your homework.

      

A Beginner's Guide to Figure Skating

If you are a woman and hold the power position in your home, or if you have more than one TV, you will probably watch some figure skating during the Olympics. Now figure skating is a complicated sport, involving teeny tiny girl-women and men that look big by comparison. Here are some tips to make watching figure skating a truly memorable experience.

• Don’t worry about the women who look like they have blades surgically attached to the bottom of their tortured little feet. These women are all so small that they can’t find nude-colored leotards that are short enough and so they stretch them all the way over their skates. Isn’t that clever?


• Skaters receive extra points for every bit of fabric that flutters, making them look like they are wearing a string of prayer flags in the Himalayas

 
• In the horrible event that a skater falls on his/her bum, extra points are awarded if you don’t wear a bum shape ring of ice chips for the rest of the routine.





• All routines contain “elements”. If you want to sound knowledgeable when watching, just say “Wow! Now that was a nice element!” Or you can shake your head sadly and say, “Jeepers, they totally missed an element.” You’ll sound more intelligent than Scott Hamilton.

 

• All costumes are fashioned from a base element—yup, it’s our favorite, the nude adult onesie. Figure skates basically keep the nude adult onesie industry profitable. If you want to become a figure skating costume designer, buy yourself a nude adult onsie, add some flutters and voila! You are in business. 

• There is no such thing as a "private part" when you are a pair figure skater.

Sadly, the Russians’ couple figure skating dynasty crumbled like the Berlin wall on Monday night. Because I am a concerned global citizen, I have a suggestion for next time. Russia, get yourself a more substantial girl, say one of your shot-putters from the summer games. Let her be the one that throws a teeny tiny man around for a change. You get a woman tossing a man across the ice, or hefting him so he spins like a merry go round and you’ll even get some men to watch.



Now that would be an element!

An Environmental Romance Part Eleven: The Final Chapter

WARNING:  You are about to read the FINAL CHAPTER in a challenging piece of romantic literature.  If you have not followed the sensuous tale of Flora and Conrad Conrad from the beginning, you owe it to yourself to drink deeply of their story from the beginning; which can be found in its entirety here.

So put on your silken robe, let down your hair and pour a flute of Martinelli's finest bubbly apple juice. Cuddle up with your man and read to him the tale of two lovers who overcame every obstacle to be together.  

Flora: An Environmental Romance

Installment numero once:
Conrad stuttered with embarrassment, realizing that he had committed the most common and discomfitting error made by the sighted when they are conversing with the sight deficient. He had said to Flora “There is something I want you to see”. His handsome face colored as the blood rushed from the unclogged arteries of his healthy heart and sent a red blush across his chiseled cheekbones. “What I mean is… I want to show you…I brought something you might like to…” His resonant bass voice went up two octaves, ending in a squeak.


“Don’t be silly Conrad.” Flora’s voice was soothing. “What I cannot see with my eyes I can feel with my fingers.” She reached out a hand, her delicate tapered fingers brushing against him. “I can also smell, taste…and I have very good ears.” Conrad stared down at the top of her head, suddenly wild with the desire to bury his face in the blonde tendrils and use his own olfactory skills to inhale the intoxicating scent of the organic shampoo which Flora made herself from yucca root and wild strawberries. He swallowed and cursed silently, telling himself to focus.


From the back pocket of the 50l’s that gilded his brawny buttocks in soft washed denim, Conrad drew a sheet of paper, carefully unfolded it and sat down beside Flora on the porch swing once more.



He took a deep steadying breath, his voice as serious as a door to door pest control salesman. “Flora, ever since the button popped off my shirt and took your sight, I have been devoting my life to finding a cure for your blindness. During the past three years I visited ophthalmologists from California to Calcutta. I consulted with medical doctors and witch doctors. 

I climbed high into the mountains of Tibet on the back of a Yak to meet with a famous healer. After two years of research I came up with an idea and for the past year I have been facilitating a partnership between a brilliant eyeball transplant surgeon and the National Organization for the Harvest of Overpopulated Deer.” In his eagerness, Conrad words were tumbling out faster and faster.


Flora’s beautiful blank eyes searched Conrad’s face in vain for understanding. “A partnership between an eyeball transplant surgeon and a hunting organization? What do you mean?”


Conrad’s lightly furred knuckles gently enfolded her tiny hands like a fresh tortilla around a burrito. “If you let me take you to the hospital right now, there is a pair of donor eyeballs waiting for you. Dr. Frances Stein can transplant those eyeballs this afternoon and by morning you will be able to see the sunrise.”


Flora gave a little cry of joy, but then hesitated. “But…but who donated…where did the eyeballs come from?”


“That’s the beautiful thing” Conrad said proudly. “They were humanely harvested from an orphaned baby deer that couldn’t survive without his mother.”


Flora’s mind was reeling. To see again! To see the face of the handsome man beside her, the faces of the forest creatures that she had only been able to smell for three years. Her full red lips trembling, Flora pondered; can I rob a little fawn of his sight? Suddenly she remembered that this little fawn was already dead and there was nothing she could do about it. Somewhere, some little cousin of Bambi had given his eyes to her. For the rest of her life she would be seeing through the lens of a woodland creature. She gave an involuntary little sob.


Conrad put his arm around her shaking shoulders, alarmed. “What is it? Flora, you’re not angry are you?”


Flora brushed the tears away and reached both hands to Conrad’s face, her touch sending an electric shiver down his body that made his oversized metal belt buckle gleam. “I have just one question dearest.”


Conrad said “What is it?”


“Will I be able to see in the dark?”


Conrad’s lips met Flora’s in an answer that wasn’t an answer, but was better than the answer she had wanted in the first place.


In Flora’s cottage, Conrad’s despicable twin Wendell struggled in vain against the duct tape that held him bound as Albert the goat licked his face with a raspy tongue. In the forest the wind sighed through the mighty Ponderosa Pines and the forest creatures rejoiced that one of their own had been able to repay, in a small way the great debt they all owed to the lovely Forest Ranger Flora. And somewhere, in that heaven where the souls of forest animals run free amongst celestial streams and sunshine, a little blind fawn kicked up his heels.

THE END

The birthday suit magnet

You drag yourself to the gym like a good girl and go into the locker room to stash your purse so the crackhead who lives in the parking lot won’t smash your car window and steal your Target purse full of used Kleenex, seven dollars and a half a roll of Mentos. You pass the aerobics room full of flailing limbs and cruise the 21st century torture-machines, looking for one that is directly under a fan and not directly under a speaker blasting Madonna squealing “Like a Virgin”. You do your time and return to the locker room, which will be empty except for the completely naked woman and her bare bum that are parked right in front of your locker.





This, my friend, is the law of the lockers.





It doesn’t matter which locker you choose in your hopeless childlike naivety; it will draw a naked woman like a magnet. The brazen nude might be big and broad and bulgy, or she might be tanned and toned and tiny. But she will be naked…and she will be sitting, or bending or lotioning in front of your locker. You can bet your inhibited little psyche on it.

To Know Me is to Love Me

I owe you, my beloved readers a heartfelt apology. You have come back week after week, post after post and I have been avoiding writing about our favorite subject, which is….ME!


I know we have discussed vital topics such as technology, prom, romance, fashion and goats. By loyally following this blog you have received a boatload of education/knowledge. But these are meager wisps of wisdom compared to golden anecdotal nuggets from my life. Let us proceed with answering your questions.


Brilliant Blog Follower Fernando asks: You seem to slip back and forth effortlessly from English to Spanish in your writing. Where did you develop your language skills?


Thoughtful Answer: Oh Fernando, I didn’t think anyone noticed my incredible facilidad with the language! I studied Spanish 101 under la profesora buena who gave me an “A”, and ten anos later took Spanish 101 again from la profesora ridiculo who gave me a “B”! Since that time I have been furthering my language by listening to Luis Miguel and ordering at the Filiberto’s drive through. I am becoming mucho inteligente and bonito.


Brilliant Blog Follower Bob asks: Who is the most famous celebrity you have met?


Contemplative Answer: Ah, this takes me back to 1978. It was Thanksgiving Day and I was a naïve young college student studying for a semester at BYU-Hawaii. There I was with friends on a tour of the big island—perched atop the Waipio Valley Lookout when who should appear but the world famous and brilliant comedian/singer, Mr. Jim Nabors; also affectionately known as Gomer Pyle. While I am comfortable with royalty and all manner of greatness; I found myself speechless in the presence of this man; a man who talks like a hillbilly and sings like Pavarotti. I will never forget the moment our eyes met and my moist palm was enfolded in his manly handshake.


Brilliant Blog Follower Ingrid asks: Although I am not an American, I love the USA and wonder what you think is the greatest thing that America has to offer the world.


Erudite Answer: That would be french fries. (duh!)


Brilliant Blog Follower Cynthia Fronske-Leibowitz asks: Who is your favorite author?


Humble Answer: That would be the brilliant novelist, Rhoda Peters. Although she is currently unpublished, her potential for writing greatness is unsurpassed.


 

Brilliant Blog Follower Bubba asks: Who is your favorite NASCAR driver?


Angry Answer: I think it is about time that the world was rid of NASCAR. So many of you sluggish-brains have forgotten that NASCAR is an acronym, and if that isn’t bad enough, it those letters actually stand for something. N.A.S.C.A.R means something people! Good grief how can you support an organization of  

Nasty Animals Spitting Chew and Racing? 

But to answer your question, it's Jeff Gordon

Brilliant Blog Follower Lenny asks: If you could have one wish, what would it be?


Unselfish Answer: I would wish that all the people in the world could have a computer and high speed internet so they could read my blog, which would result in an population so educated, so happy and joyful that mean guys would put down their rocket launchers and plant gardens and bad guys in prison would quit giving each other ugly tattoos and get their G.E.D. and drug pushers would start giving hugs not drugs and the Dog Whisperer would train dogs to clean up their own poop so humans didn’t have to do it.


Anything else you need to know?

What not to do at a Super Bowl Party

• Don’t sing along with the national anthem in your Bee Gee voice

 • When someone asks you who you are for, don’t say “Team Edward”


• Don’t mute the commercials so you can tell everyone about your hernia operation


 

• Don’t clip your toenails and put them in a little pile next to the guacamole








• If you are hosting, don’t make everyone chip in for your utility bill



• If you’re a guest, don’t tie up the facilities by taking a bubble bath during half time.


• When a sensational play is made, don’t launch into long story about your Pop Warner glory days

• Quit expressing admiration for Usama Young's hair extensions. We’re supposed to think they are natural.







 



• Don’t talk about the dream you had last night about John Madden—that is not what the fantasy football league is all about







• Don’t let your potbelly pig snuggle with your guests

• Don’t do a play by play in Howard Cosell’s voice—no one liked that voice when he was alive.






• Don’t show your ignorance by asking if Peyton Manning was named for New Orleans Saints Coach Sean Payton. 

 He is named Peyton because they pay-him-a-ton. Duh!

Not everyone is excited about the I Pad

"My granddaughter says she's going to buy me an I-pad

 

but I think I'll just stick with Depends.