Larainy Days

Secrets Were Spilled

noreply@blogger.com (Laraine Eddington) — Thu, 02 Feb 2012 03:12:00 +0000

Larainy never passes up an opportunity to ask herself to lunch and today was no exception. When I found out that two of my favorite bloggers,

Holly

and

were selfishly planning to meet, eat and laugh, I suggested in a somewhat forceful manner that it would be a very good idea to include me.

Roeann

did the same and in spite of Holly and Jo trying to misdirect us by giving us directions from Mesa to the Palo Verde Nuclear Power Plant, we were able to track them down at BJ's in Glendale.

You know, you think you know someone when you read their blog day after day, post after post. But you don't really know someone until you sit across the table from them and put truth serum in their diet beverage.

Turns out that Roeann is a totally loaded trust fund baby who insisted on buying lunch for everyone in the restaurant, tipping outrageously and then roared away in a classic Rolls Royce driven by her stoic German chauffeur, Horst.

Jo is living a quiet life caring for her dog Lola and husband, Rick in the midst of neighbors clueless about her exciting former career as an astronaut in the Russian space program. Jo says modestly "I knew it was time to quit when I just got sick and tired of circling the earth in Soviet tin can."

But the most surprising revelation was Holly's double life in product development for Post's line of breakfast cereal. Every flake, nugget and crunchy bit has to pass Holly's demanding taste buds or you will never see it on your breakfast table. She is, in fact, a "cereal killer".

One of Larainy's deepest secrets was embarrassingly revealed as she munched her Sesame Chicken Salad, but everyone was too polite to comment.

Thanks ladies, let's do it again soon!

Pumping Iron

noreply@blogger.com (Laraine Eddington) — Mon, 30 Jan 2012 15:59:00 +0000

Back in the early 80's when I used to look like this

I stayed for a time with my sweet grandma Gerda in the Mesa house she lived in during the winter months. It was a fun time in my life, working full time at a job I loved, taking a few college classes and dating, especially this guy. I have always had an attraction to men who are equipped with a pen in their pocket.

Grandma's neighborhood was full of other grandmas, great grandmas and a few great greats. Next door lived Cora who was as thin as the singular crutch she used to get around. I loved chatting with Cora. She had a sardonic wit under soft white curls. She spoke with an Arizona drawl as she told me her strategy to deal with burglars. "You see, I keep ma iron right ta the side of my bed. When I hear a burglar I'll plug it in right quick. Then I'll pretend I'm asleep and when he gets close I'll whack him right upside the head!"

I have made a lot of fun of Cora and her self defense strategy over the years, but last week she must have been chortling in heaven as she saw me read this article in the Arizona Republic.

Phoenix resident kills intruder with clothes iron

by Brennan Smith - Jan. 27, 2012 02:33 PM
The Arizona Republic-12 News Breaking News Team

A suspected burglar was killed early Friday morning after breaking into a Phoenix apartment when the tenant inside hit him in the head with a clothes iron.

Moses Taylor, 20, broke into a window of an apartment in the 2500 block of West Ocotillo Road about 2:53 a.m. Friday morning and woke up a 29-year-old man inside, Phoenix Police Department spokesman Sgt. Tommy Thompson said.

During a struggle, the resident struck Taylor in the head with a clothes iron. Taylor was taken to the hospital but died of his injuries on arrival. Police believe Taylor, who was only wearing a shirt and boxers at the time of the attempted burglary, may have been under the influence of drugs and alcohol, Thompson said. Police are investigating the incident as a homicide but believe the apartment resident was acting in self-defense, Thompson said.

I think its time for Larainy to develop a new self defense system...I'm going to call it

Tae Kwon Cora: With or Without Steam

Canal/Antartica: Two Treks

noreply@blogger.com (Laraine Eddington) — Wed, 25 Jan 2012 17:42:00 +0000

This morning I listened to an interview with Felicity Aston while I was walking briskly up and down the canal near my home.

It is uncanny how much Felicity and I are alike. We are practically identical twins in our hardy quest for rigorous challenge and adventure.

Felicity Aston just completed a 1,084 mile, 59 day skiing trek across the whole of Antartica, pulling two sledges full of supplies behind her.

I just completed a 2.5 mile walk from my front door, down the canal and safely back again pulling my booty behind me.

Felicity got emotional when she saw the coastal mountains that meant she was at the end of her journey

I got emotional when I saw that I was about to miss the garbageman as I neared my front door

Aston, skilled in physics and meteorology, used GPS to keep on course

Larainy, with fine motor skills developed through sad experience, kept on course by not falling into the canal, but walking along side it

Felicity had to fight near-constant headwinds across the vast central plateau to the South-Pole

I had to fight a breeze and several dog walkers, also a nasty whiff of hot asphalt on Adobe Street.

After 2 months of freeze dried food, Aston looks forward to a nice chicken pot pie made by her mother

After an hour of vigorous walking I look forward to a slice of sharp white cheddar on a cracker because I haven't liked chicken pot pie since a dangerous Swanson overdose during my freshmen year of college.

I may just be whistling Dixie, but I think there is a fine potential for a book/movie deal for us twins.

photos and adventure found here

Going Viral

noreply@blogger.com (Laraine Eddington) — Mon, 23 Jan 2012 17:54:00 +0000

The good news is that this weekend I got a jumpstart on my ever present weight loss goals.

The bad news is that I counted the calorie loss while hanging over the toilet bowl.

The good news is that I don't have bulimia

The bad news is that I have something shareable.

The good news is that I'm going to quit giving you good and bad news.

As I lay groaning in my king size bed of self pity (having kicked my husband out for his own protection) I tried to watch television to distract me.

Do you have any idea how many commercials include mayonnaise?

In case you have accidentally been drinking from my straw, and catch my horrible case of

Amoebic Appetitus Perhorridus

here is my survival guide to weathering a stomach storm.

Being sick in the daytime is a waste. Taking advantage of the dramatic hours of darkness adds pathos and sympathy from loved ones and eliminates annoying interrupting calls from telemarketers while you are fondling your toilet bowl
Controlling your thoughts goes a long way toward controlling the roiling stomach. DO NOT think of

Russell Brand

Joe Cocker

Or Newt Gingrich eating Cheetos

Instead, try to picture in your mind's eye...

either freshly fallen snow or a really clean unicorn. Sorry but there are really limited good choices of things to think about when you want to hurl.

The next thing to do is to look yourself in the mirror, in all your wan and rumpled splendor, and like Scarlett O'Hara, clench your fist and say through clenched teeth

"As God is my witness, I'll never be hungry again."

Then go back to bed and try not to think about cheese curds.

What is in the Royal Handbag?

noreply@blogger.com (Laraine Eddington) — Wed, 18 Jan 2012 15:35:00 +0000

I have been a bit obsessed with jolly old England as of late, and you can blame it on Downton Abbey . This has lead to an alarming preoccupation with Her Majesty, Queen Elizabeth and a burning curiosity about what she is packing around in those hefty handbags. (If I were her royalness, I would demand a subordinate to haul around my breath mints and wadded kleenex.)

As you know, protocol prevents a commoner such as myself from asking the Queen a direct question, but dear reader, once again, Larainy's crack investigative team has stealthily gathered information piece by piece and compiled a comprehensive report on the mysterious contents of the royal receptacle.

Young Liz got into the handbag habit at a young age,
stuffing it with chocolate biscuits to nibble on during
interminable boring lectures from Father/King George on the subject of
"how not to turn out like skanky Aunt Wallis Simpson"

On this occasion, the Queenly purse contained an Ipod nano with an unobstrusive wire snaking up the royal white sleeve connecting to an earbud obscured by a fashionable chapeau. Listening to Sir Elton John's "Rocketman" was far more enjoyable than the annoying rat a tat of amateur drummers

The only way Elizabeth got through an interminable visit with France's la di da first lady
was to carry a miniature chess board in her handbag, whip it out,
challenge Carla Bruni to a match and humiliate her in four moves

Nothing cheers up a grandma like tucking in a lovely photo of her grandsons when they were adorable little tykes

...unless it's the 8x10 autographed and laminated glossy of Mr. Beckham
that she carries in a special crush proof compartment

If his Holiness can wear sassy red shoes, then certainly the Queen is allowed to carry her beloved Corgi in a pooch proof patent leather handbag during a visit to the Vatican

Nothing tastes better after a road trip in the royal Jaguar than a surreptitious sip of blue raspberry slurpee from a white handbag

Here, a fellow royal catches the faint whiff of roasted game hen that thrifty Queen Elizabeth slipped into her silver doggy bag after a gargantuan state dinner

The Queen learned many years ago that nothing amuses British children more than activating the fart machine concealed in a royal handbag with the remote concealed in a royal glove. Seeing the cheerful giggles that accompany each "Brrrruuuump" as she bends over to say hello is worth the loss of royal dignity.

But the absolute favorite item that the Queen totes around in the ever present dangling appendage is a lace handkerchief soaked in her royal consort Philip's favorite scent

Circus Fantasy, by Britney Spears

Roll Out the Red Carpet

noreply@blogger.com (Laraine Eddington) — Mon, 16 Jan 2012 17:11:00 +0000

There is a special 5 hour festival of fashion and congratulations held every year to honor Martin Luther King and give starlets a chance to wear sparkly gowns honoring their golden globes.

This year's event was hosted by a funny man with crooked English teeth, and while I can't comment on his funniness because Downton Abby trumps the GGA's, I can tell you that these awards are given by something called "The Foreign Press Assocation." A little investigational digging has lead me to discover what the FPA is all about.

The sole member of the "Foreign Press Association" is a 9-year-old kid named Ghalib who writes press releases on a MAC out of his parents basement. He tivos the last half of the big night because he has to be in bed by 9:00.

This year, Ghalib requested each actor to wear an outfit as a tribute to something/someone

Emma Stone wore shoulder pads in solidarity with her little brother Everett

who is playing Pop Warner football this year.

Reese Witherspoon left her dress unhemmed, in honor of "those unsung heroes who alter clothes". The scarlet starlet wiped out three times tripping over her excess dress material and is resting today with an icepack.

Busy Phillips choked up as she dedicated her hair to her sister Wanda, who recently passed away but left her a "bump it"

The hirsute gentleman to the rear of Clive Owen dedicated his ensemble to "the sixties man...to the sixties."

Tilda Swinton blew a kiss to her twin brother, David Bowie

Pied Piper Perabo snuck in several homeless children under her voluminous gown

as a general protest against the Republican party

Juliana Margulies wore a sleek protest gown comprised of thousands of miniscule halibut scales painstakingly glued to a lightweight silk jersey by Alaskan fisherman who are out of work because of irresponsible oil spills caused by Mitt Romney

Sarah Michelle Gellar commissioned her daughter's Montesorri preschool group to tie dye the fabric for this voluminous gown constructed by the Jr. High sewing class as a reminder to "Sew as You Grow"

Angelina wore a valentine tribute for Brad but his embarrassing response was to bring the cane he uses to poke his wife under the table when she is over her 123 calorie per day allowance.

Nobody does tributes like Hollywood

photos found here

Downton Abbey is Spiffing Brilliant!

noreply@blogger.com (Laraine Eddington) — Fri, 06 Jan 2012 13:22:00 +0000

I've been so nervous anticipating the second installment of Downton Abbey that it has nearly put me off my feed Oh no! Now I've gone and done it again, throwing out a horribly vulgar American farm expression, when I have been eating crumpets and trying mightily to be worthy to watch the upper crustian Lord and Lady and the lower crustian servants in this marvelous story.

Here's a run down to bring you up to speed

Lord Robert Crawley has only one job, which is to keep the huge pile of rocks that is his boyhood home from becoming Stonehenge. This is a difficult job due to constant interruptions to open tiny little letters delivered on a silver tray by his formidable butler, Mr. Carson

Mr. Carson may look like he wants to tear out your cholesterol-clogged American heart, but he is really as gentle as clotted cream

Lady Cora Crawley was initially married for her revoltingly modern and obscenely large American fortune but her titled husband grew to love her in spite of her grating non-English accent

Lady Sybil, Lady Mary and Lady Edith are the three feminine progeny of their poor male-inheritorless father. Mary is the oldest and as mean as a rattlesnake, while Edith is as mean as a slightly homely cobra. Sybil is as harmless as a garter snake except that she likes to sneak around with the chauffeur to political rallies and once wore harem pants to dinner.

Violet, the oldest Crawley is so condescendingly English that she will make you want to give the United States back to Queen Elizabeth with a note of apology.

The staff, which works 15 hours, 364 1/2 days per year, unless their mother dies--is totally devoted to the Crawley family with the exception of O'Brien and Thomas, who have been known to soap the floor causing the miscarriage of a long awaited male heir, and raid the wine cellar, respectively.

Tune in to PBS on Sunday to find out if World War I
causes a starch shortage and resultant fainting spells.

I can hardly wait!

Resolution Dissolution

noreply@blogger.com (Laraine Eddington) — Tue, 03 Jan 2012 17:14:00 +0000

The tree is gone and I missed plugging in the lights this morning. I am always the first one up and lighting up the Christmas tree always makes me feel like Thomas Edison.

The holidays were chock full of family, because we reunioned together in California...the first time we have been all together in ages, and the last time we will be able to for a few years.

So, now it's on to resolutions.

I have become painfully aware of a deficiency in my character that I have been blind to for many years. This is something I'm not proud of and only share with you, dear readers, because you have shown yourself to be a kind and nonjudgmental sort.

Here goes.

If, by chance, you happened by for a visit to my home and were obliged to use the "facilities", you would, at some point in performing your ablutions, have reached for the toilet paper roll only to find it, ahem, starkly unadorned.

May I take this opportunity to apologize for my insensitive behavior. I know I must have offended many a delicate sensibility with the sight of this undisguised utilitarian cleansing tool.

But...the year is new and I have the will to better myself. I hereby resolve to cover each roll and protect family and friends alike from the unpleasantness of a brashly nude roll of toilet paper.

Options include:

The cupcake; for when your bum is craving something sweet

The scary baby with scissors; for when you want to caution your guests against profligate overuse of the roll

The saucy doll head;
for when your snoopy guests just have to find out what is under that blue hair

The sushi roll, roll cover; for when your body feels the need to replenish and release simultaneously


And for heavens sake, if you can't cover it up, at least do a little folding.

Here's to resolutions

we can keep!

My Christmas Mailbox

noreply@blogger.com (Laraine Eddington) — Mon, 19 Dec 2011 16:00:00 +0000

Larainy loves it when her mailbox fills up with Christmas letters. Then she doesn't have to fake it, by stuffing in credit offers and ads for National Geographic. In the spirit of giving, let me catch you up on the news of some of my friends and family

Hal, Al, Cal and Morton aka the "Quads" graduated high school and are going their separate ways.
From top right clockwise:
1)Hollywood
2)Where's Waldo Undercover Training Camp in Fargo, ND
3)Halloween Boot Camp and
4) Applebee's Headwaiter Apprenticeship

Corwin and Melvina finally gave up their tent and abandoned their
"Occupy Anaheim" protest because everyone was busy going to Disneyland
and the movement never really took off .

Cecil's only Christmas request was a mullet like Daddy's
and doggone if the Holiday hair fairy didn't grant his wish

Sophie Dilper suddenly figured out who was eating all the leftovers
when she took a good look at Muffin in the family photo

A profound affinity for Nehru jackets led Norville to the clerical life.

Co-workers at the DMV have no idea that Lucinda
spends her weekends working the pageant circuit.
Saturday she was first runner-up in Pennzoil's
"Miss Monkey Wrench" extravaganza in Abilene Texas

When Lawrence realized he wasn't getting any younger,
he rolled up his sleeves and got to work on his image.
Last year he had 52 pictures in the yearbook and this year he's going for 60.

When Eldus wrote Santa and asked for a brother,
he was informed by registered mail that they were out of stock
and he was getting a Pokemon character instead.

Princess insists she is the black sheep of the family
but everyone knows she is really a dog

Grandma taught Skippy to knit on condition
that his first project use up the leftover yarn
she has been hoarding since the 40's

Clayborne never knew that his love of country would propel
him to chairmanship of his local Tea Party (Raleigh Freedom Fighters)
but also cast him as a confident and sassy fashion leader

What's in your Christmas mailbox?

Have Yourself a Green Little Christmas

noreply@blogger.com (Laraine Eddington) — Mon, 12 Dec 2011 16:30:00 +0000

Dear readers, I know all about the lives you lead, busy lives full of mystery and intrigue, possibly including extended travel to exotic locales while wearing a poncho woven of llama hair and carrying only a worn leather satchel, a battered passport, and an adventurous spirit. Hence, your Christmas shopping is not done and a unholidaylike panic is setting in, probably settling in the area of your neck muscles.

As you know, Larainy is somewhat of an expert when it comes to gift giving. You can go here and here to be reminded of the brilliant suggestions of the past, but today, I offer to you the updated, 2011 green version. These are gifts that you can feel good about, even if no one likes them, because saving the environment is the trump card in today's society. People, we are going to save the environment even if it kills us and only the cockroaches are left to enjoy the last whiffs of green house gas in environment we saved for them.

1. Do you know that our landfills are literally clogged with mounds of old toothbrushes? If used toothbrushes were placed end to end they would reach all the way to Neptune and back except that they would probably melt on reentry into the atmosphere. Why not get rid of all that space junk and give the gift of a nice 12-pack of twigs as an organic tooth cleaning alternative. A pack of twigs and a box of baking soda will have your loved one saying thank you with sweetly scented sawdust flavored breath.

2. Remember all great-grandpa's tender stories about the outhouse and the Sear's catalog? This year, you can recycle those perfumed catalog inserts into handy wipe size toilet-paper alternative gifts.

3. Giving a pet is never a good idea, but when you give a turkey vulture, you are not giving a pet. Oh no, you are giving a multipurpose, multifunctional tool. The gift of a household turkey vulture will provide years of carrion clean-up for your yard and neighborhood. Who wouldn't welcome a hovering presence, sharp eyes in the sky that will instantly gobble up expired wildlife, instead of leaving it to stink up your pretty green lawn.

4. Don't forget gifts that will come in handy during the long hot summer that Al Gore says will start in late February 2012 due to global warming. Why not give your loved ones something that will enable them to unplug the old air conditioner and exercise those droopy upper arms? The combination of a crisply folded paper fan and an occasional mist of organic water from a spray bottle will have your giftees thinking of you fondly and often while sweat drips down their bodies in a naturally cooling experience.

5. Nothing says love like a tub full of teeny tiny carp to nibble away the dead skin of your significant other. Who cares if the health department has banned fish pedicures in your area? No one will ever forget your thoughtful concern for their podiatric health when they are relaxing their feet in a bucket full of tepid water while a hundred little carp lips are working over tired calluses. No need to buy fish food for these little workers, they survive and thrive on your dead skin cells in a wonderfully symbolic circle of life.

Don't forget the reusable hemp wrapping paper!

Bust Out the Slanket

noreply@blogger.com (Laraine Eddington) — Tue, 06 Dec 2011 16:04:00 +0000

Alright, I admit it. I climbed back in my blanket fort and ditched the gym, but people it is 34 degrees in Mesa, Arizona! If mother nature shaves off another couple degrees, the emergency sirens are going to start blaring and all the snowbirds from Canada are going to demand refunds from their trailer park associations because they can't wear the plaid bermuda shorts that match their Hawaiian shirts.

We've had several cloudy, rainy days and even got a rainbow out of the deal. Yesterday there was even snow on some Saguaro cactus and they are complaining to their union representative, Ed Prickley. Sunday brought a foggy morning that had us totally befuddled. Dust storms we Arizonans know how to handle, but fog has us speaking like Madonna with fake British accents and drinking herbal tea.

Last night I decked the halls with my decorative Christmas sheets so my flowers wouldn't die.

Seriously, I know I shouldn't complain, and yet I do, because I find if you're happy all the time, people tend to mistrust you. I was very disillusioned when my children told me that they really hated the soothing, kind voice I used over the years to wake them up in the morning for school. I should have blasted an air horn and called it like it is..."That Stinky Time of Day When You Have to Roll Out of Your Cocoon, Fight For Bathroom Time, Eat Your Cream of Wheat and Go to School".

Now we're down to one lone child at home and she (usually) wakes up on her own, perhaps to avoid the soothing kind motherly voice of doom. Last Saturday was Winter Formal and she looked beautiful.

And now it's time to write the annual Christmas letter. I wrote the first one 17 years ago as a protest against all the over achieving letters we received. It began like this...

What a boring year it has been! How to fill the empty hours! What a struggle we have had trying to keep ourselves occupied. It is so embarrassing to have to come up with any news to report. We have simply laid around since last Christmas!

I suppose it all began with the purchase of those seven Lazy Boy recliners. A sort of lethargic peace settled over us all as we sat, vegetating, gazing hour after blissful hour at the television. Oh, we roused occasionally to pop a microwave dinner in, but all in all we really were functioning at our lowest metabolic rate. Our blood pressures plummeted. We have never felt so rested.

And every year since I have produced a scintillating work of fiction about family exploits. The husband and kids are always rather frightened to read about what they've been doing.

Maybe if I wrap myself in my holiday slanket I can force my frostbitten fingers to peck the keyboard.

Squashing Cancer

noreply@blogger.com (Laraine Eddington) — Thu, 01 Dec 2011 14:10:00 +0000

Larainy is so fond of her dear female readers, that she feels called upon to save your life by reminding you of certain preventative health procedures, that although unpleasant, will at the very least make you feel self righteous. So, once again let me take you by the metaphorical hand and lead you through a

mammogram

Remember the princess? She is the one who likes to putter about among the flowers of her garden, mulching, dead heading the roses and squashing snails with a smart crack from the toe of her dainty boots. One bright autumn day, after dispatching a goodly number of snails, she was scraping the goo off her Manolo Blahnik's when she looked up and saw the wise old man. She knew he was wise because he was wearing a heavy gold chain about his wizened neck, and we all know that gold has proven to be a very wise investment indeed.

The wise old man squinted at the pretty princess, unable to see her clearly because of the gnarled tangle of overgrown eyebrows obscuring his vision. "Come here my dear" he said, waggling his prodigious brows, "For I have something important to tell you."

"Oh no" said the princess. "Not the magic powder again! I was sitting on the throne for an eternity."

The wise old man slapped his knee and cackled with unsympathetic delight. "No, no my child. This is another adventure entirely. Now listen closely and follow my instructions with care.

The lovely princess swallowed nervously and sighed. "Very well."

"First of all" the wise old man said, "You must take a wet clump of moss and scrub off all the fine French deodorant you are wearing in your armpits."

The princess looked puzzled, but nodded her acquiescence.

"Next" he continued, you must search until you find Helga.

"How will I know her?" asked the princess.

"By her large hands and forearms, and the tight bun she wears that pulls her face into a tight mask of exemplary stoicism. Oh, and she will be wearing pink scrubs."

The princess nodded uncertainly. She had never trusted women with tight buns. "What will Helga do to me?"

The old man pulled at his grey beard and continued. "That, my dear is a mystery that men like me cannot fathom. But I do know it involves..." and here he paused and coughed delicately, "compression of the love pillows."

And so it was that the princess bravely set off to find Helga, who did indeed compress, depress, constrict and wring the poor Princess' love pillows every which way to Sunday. But the Princess endured it with regal grace and then went and drank a milkshake.

Clearing Out the Blogwebs

noreply@blogger.com (Laraine Eddington) — Mon, 28 Nov 2011 19:01:00 +0000


image found here

I spent a lovely Thanksgiving week sweeping out the blogwebs from my brain.

In addition to this bit of cerebral housekeeping, I also...

Sold an old bed on Craigslist to a sweet old couple; the male half of the equation consisting of a quaint, small man who seemed to have appeared right out of middle earth (ala Frodo). My old twin bed will fit him like a California King.

Bought a new bed and sewed pillows and curtains in a creative frenzy

Welcomed home the tall boys from college

Played a goodly amount of Monopoly Deal

Ate ice cream after a bike ride through Indian Bend Park in Scottsdale

Discovered a new way to cut a tall boy's hair

Watched a great movie (on DVD), made from a great book

Enjoyed a lovely Thanksgiving dinner with family and ate a prodigious amount

...but not quite this much

Dawn Breaks at Midnight

noreply@blogger.com (Laraine Eddington) — Thu, 17 Nov 2011 18:47:00 +0000

Breaking Dawn is going to break before dawn at approximately midnight tonight.

There will be giddy teenage girls and women wearing t-shirts like these...

professing their allegiance to either the hairy modified werewolf Jacob, or the sparkly modified vampire Edward.

I plan to protest outside my favorite theater wearing my protest t-shirt

You know Dobby don't you? He's the noble house-elf from Harry Potter that bears a striking resemblance to Vladimir Putin.

Let us compare and contrast the qualities of

Jacob, Edward and Dobby

Team Jacob

Hairy

Good teeth

Protective

Good provider if you like rabbits

Gets the Native American casino discount

Team Edward

Sparkly

Bad teeth

Protective

Bad provider: never brings the venison home

Cool, marbleized skin surface very refreshing on a hot day

Team Dobby

Wrinkly

No teeth

Protective

Great provider: can fill the pantry with the flick of a wand

AND

Will sleep on the hearth, freeing up the guest room

No potential for making your husband jealous

Scares away burglars but kind to the dog

Sorry Twilight, but my magical creature

beats yours every day of the week

Lost in the Frost

noreply@blogger.com (Laraine Eddington) — Mon, 14 Nov 2011 14:39:00 +0000

image found here

Last week Republican presidential candidate Rick Perry suffered a prolonged bout of brain freeze during a nationally televised debate. His gaffe came very close to being unseen because it was part of the 579th debate held by an exhausted Republican field watched only by an audience who had been promised a frozen turkey and one can of Del Monte creamed corn for tuning in. But, due to one alert cameraman tanked up with a 44 oz. Dr. Pepper, the moment was recorded and is currently being replayed ad nauseum.

Perry's brain freeze occurred when he tried to come up with a list of three government agencies he was going to cut.

I hate to be blunt, but hey Rick...duh.

Any search for a list of more than two items through a dusty old-style rolodex type noggin covered with graying hair is never going to end well!

Larainy is sorry for getting technical, but would like to provide to you, dear reader, a scientific explanation of exactly what happened.

Perry's stress induced adrenaline caused crystals to begin forming in the cerebrum's left frontal lobe which spread through the limbic system, in turn icing the 300 million nerve fibers called the corpus callosum, which shut down the dendrites and turned the brain into this

image found here

...all in the space of 3 seconds. The drops of moisture on Perry's forehead were not sweat, but melting ice. It was a classic and highly visible example of glacialis cerebrum or brain freeze.

The President of the United States should be someone inspiring, who makes me feel good about myself, and suddenly, Rick Perry is a very viable candidate.***

***Should not be considered an endorsement. All major candidates have offered Larainy vast sums of money NOT to endorse them.

Come On Baby Light My Kindle

noreply@blogger.com (Laraine Eddington) — Wed, 09 Nov 2011 15:06:00 +0000

I spend a lot of time glued to my kindle and I'm always looking for a cheap book. After all, if I got a classic like "Pride and Prejudice" for free, why should I pay 14 bucks for something by Nicholas Sparks, who can't write his way out of a soggy Victoria's Secret bag.

But... even Larainy's cheap nature has its limits. I refuse to download the following titles, even if they are as free as 14 day old powdered sugar donuts at the dollar store.

Bunions: A Comprehensive History in Three Volumes

by Frank Corn

War and Peas: Vegetarian Activism

by Emmitt Badger

Deportment for Young Ladies

by Lindsay Lohan

The Secret Life of Beezus

by Ramona Quimby

The Cellulite Cookbook: 600 Recipes Featuring Cottage Cheese

So You Think You Can Dance...But You Can't

By the N.A.A.C.P

The Big Book of Bedbugs: Read, Squirm, Squash & Burn

Going the Distance: My Life During Third Grade

By Justin Bieber

Fashion Crime in Moscow

noreply@blogger.com (Laraine Eddington) — Fri, 04 Nov 2011 15:15:00 +0000

Whenever I get smug thinking of myself as a very grounded person with a lack of vanity because I haven't resorted to turtlenecks to cover my wrinkly neck, a memory comes trickling back, up through the hourglass that has already dispersed the sands of time.

That is when I remember Moscow and the crappy pants.   (I must apologize for my public use of the word "crappy" because my mother raised me better than this. She also taught us all not to say the "f" word which of course is fart.   Sorry Mom. I promise that I will never use the "f" word in a blog title.)

Two years ago we took a trip to Russia with my daughter and son-in-law, who had served there on his LDS mission.

We arrived in Moscow early in the morning after ~~twitching our way through the long night~~ sleeping on the plane. After a shower and a breakfast of the best yogurt on the planet, I donned the first of my carefully planned interchangeable outfits, a staple of which was an expensive pair of black ankle pants that I found on sale for practically nothing, which made them even more adorable. They fit perfectly and I couldn't wait to wear them.

We set out for the enormous Izmailovsky outdoor flea market where you can purchase matryoshka nesting dolls of anything from United States football teams to Russian czars, chess sets, enormous knives and WWII German helmets.

I saw myself reflected in a mirror and thought to myself, "Wow, those pants don't look as good as I thought". This is when I discovered the chilling truth. My cute pants were 6000 miles away and I had packed my crappy pants, the crappy pants that were meant to go in the donation pile to be recycled and sold to fulfill the life long dream of some other woman who was willing, as I had been, to wear crappy pants.

The rest of my day in Moscow I was totally preoccupied with thoughts like these.

Hey you... old guy selling chess sets, don't look at these crappy pants!

They are not reflective of American style!

Hey you...6' 6" beautiful Russian woman!

Just because American tourists don't wear stilettos to the flea market

doesn't mean they always wear crappy pants!

I mourned my egregious packing mistake during the entire two days we spent in Moscow, even after I changed out of the crappy pants

My vanity. Both crime and punishment

To Pin or Not to Pin: That is the Question

noreply@blogger.com (Laraine Eddington) — Wed, 02 Nov 2011 15:00:00 +0000

I signed up for

because everyone was doing it.

Now I have bulletin boards full of nothing
but white space--mocking me,
taunting me with their vast dull vacuity.

I am receiving emails notifying me

that people are following me

and the pressure is killing me.

What can I pin?

Can I even recognize cute?

What if all my favorite quotes come from
"The Big Bathroom Joke Book"?

Would anyone take a serious Larainy seriously?

The pressure is building

buildingbuildingbuilding

buildingbuildingbuildingbuilding
buildingbuildingbuildingbuildingbuilding

Ahhhh, now that's pinteresting.

Halloween Safety Tips

noreply@blogger.com (Laraine Eddington) — Mon, 31 Oct 2011 13:56:00 +0000

Of course, I am being totally insincere
in wishing you a "spooktaculous" Halloween

because the only wish Larainy has for this

sugar soaked night of unbridled panhandling

is for you and your little darlings to be safe.

Hence,

a cautionary list to protect you and your wee ones

1. You may think that old tales of razor blades imbedded in apples are only urban legends, but don't be fooled by the modern incarnation called "apple with a handle"

2. Avoid the home that features year-round red and orange lights, skeletal Santas and a "Haunted Christmas theme"

image found here

3. Don't be fooled when you see this innocent looking threesome. You can identify the infamous "Peavler Gang" by their innocent smiles and Snicker flavored breath. If let them get too close you will never see your hard earned candy again

4. Be aware that in Republican neighborhoods, you are more likely to get a long boring lecture about the flat tax before you get a KitKat

5. Be aware that in Democrat neighborhoods you are more likely to get a hunk of government cheese

6. I don't care how smokin' hot they make your calves look. Don't try to trick or treat in these

7. Don't drink Koolaid with this guy. In fact, run when you see him because he will never be able to catch you

8. Avoid all treats served in green tupperware labeled "meatloaf, April '09"

9. Do not accept any candy sealed in cat hair instead of plastic

10. Recognize that anyone handing out Almond Joys is trying to impress the parents and probably needs a friend

Smart People Just Say No to Smarties

noreply@blogger.com (Laraine Eddington) — Wed, 26 Oct 2011 18:38:00 +0000

STOP RIGHT THERE!!!

The cheapskate in you is considering buying a 12 lb. bag of Smarties to feed the hungry Halloween hordes, but puh-leze, I'm begging here...

DON'T DO IT!!!

I am still traumatized by a childhood of trick-treating only

in my rural neighborhood of cousins and near cousins whose families were cash poor ranchers like mine. I trudged through the cold night to homes sometimes as far as a half-mile apart only to harvest a disappointing haul of chalky Smarties and

miniscule Dum Dums;

both candies that I suspected were confiscated by thrifty aunts and uncles

from their children's meager haul and recycled year after year.

Besides, Smartie consumption

is a gateway drug

to an addiction to baby aspirin.

Which is a gateway drug to

Necco wafers.

Which, when pulverized,

look just like colorful cocaine

JUST SAY NO TO SMARTIES

For Whom The Cow Bell Tolls

noreply@blogger.com (Laraine Eddington) — Mon, 24 Oct 2011 14:36:00 +0000

Not to brag, but I have known the

Mountain View Toro Marching Band cowbell ringer since she was born.

Karen has been friends with my daughter, Corinn since diaper days,

even though both are too proud to admit that they ever wore diapers.

Karen left, Corinn right

They share a lifelong proclivity for battered tennis shoes,

battered legs and a disdain of "fake babies" (dolls)

Karen has just finished a fabulous football season as cowbell ringer.
She consented to an interview.

Me: Karen, I know you have played a lot of music over the years, 10 years of piano, 2 on the clarinet, and 5 long years on the oboe. How long have you been playing the cowbell?

Karen: One glorius year.

Me: This is a silly question, but what is your favorite instrument?

Karen: Duh, the cowbell.

Me: Is it true that the only reason you remained in marching band with its grueling early morning schedule was the cowbell?

Karen: Yeah, and maybe the band trip to Hawaii was a small motivation.

Me: What is your training regimen, is performing on the cowbell physically demanding?

Karen: It is. It takes a boatload of wrist strength and I do lots of squats to warm up before games.

Me: How many hours of practice do you put in?

Karen: Cowbell is strictly on the job. Without the energy of the crowd going wild, there is really no point.

Me: Has it changed your life?

Karen: Oh definitely. My reputation has really grown. I get a lot of respect on campus. There is a senior I am in competition with for cowbell time, but the crowd likes me waaaay better.

Me: How do you care for your cowbell? Does it have a velvet lined case? Is it returned to ol' Bossy between performances?

Karen: Naaaa, I just throw it in the cabinet. It's not even locked.

Me: How far do you think the cowbell is going to take you?

Karen: I've got the counselors searching for scholarships. I'm going to ride the cowbell wave as far as it will take me.

Me: I know that your mother, Carol, has required each of her children to play certain instruments. Will you require your future children to play the cowbell.

Karen: Of course. Actually, when they see videos of my performances they're going to beg to play the cowbell.

Rockabye Mustache

noreply@blogger.com (Laraine Eddington) — Fri, 21 Oct 2011 16:15:00 +0000

Apparently our mustachioed darling

was way ahead of the curve

when she took this fashion risk in the 80's

Suddenly, infants throughout the fashionable world

are throwing away the razors and embracing

the decoration of upper lip

Scooter knows looking a little older

is definitely going to help with getting that recording contract

His parents knew that Linford was special

from the moment he insisted that his formula

"be shaken, not stirred"

Born in Sicily, Vincenzo was controlling

the Garbanzo "Family" at the age of six months

Peter, unable to wash the innocent look off his face,

compensated with a hirsute look both debonair and colorful

Reynaldo liked to pretend he was deaf

to get relatives to lean in

and then "accidentally" spit up all over their faces

Jack Black was living the Nacho Libre lifestyle in preschool

because he knew it was his one way ticket out of Peoria

Remember

A baby without a mustache

is like

a treetop without a baby in a cradle falling out of it

Larainy

images found here

Land of Enchantment

noreply@blogger.com (Laraine Eddington) — Thu, 20 Oct 2011 15:11:00 +0000

While traveling back to Arizona from Austin, I found the west Texas landscape quite stunning...stunning as in hit by a baseball bat to the side of the noggin til your head is buzzing and each mile is deja vu all over again.

If we hadn't had this fun book to listen to, we might have given up and died on the lone prairie with Cheeto stained fingers and bladders full of Diet Coke.

As we neared the border of New Mexico I asked my husband to pull off the I-10 to drive around Lordsburg. Now, this request alone is a positive diagnosis of delirium, but hear me out.

When our first little baby was a few months old, my husband was assigned to work on a flood control project on the Arizona/New Mexico border. Lordsburg was the closest place with available "housing"

So we lived in a dusty little town with nice people and no sidewalks, broken glass and wind. The first time I tried to bake cookies I discovered my oven/range was a mouse condo, full of tunnels and droppings. Since cookie baking was out, there was little to do but breathe clean desert air, and occasionally eat dinner at the truckstop. I was so desperate for entertainment that I began watching a soap opera (Santa Barbara) and running in the evening.

But I also had all day to enjoy my sweet baby.

We occasionally dressed her up in our efforts

to provide her with a stimulating creative environment.

In spite of the tumbleweeds and no movie theater, it was an idyllic time.

After wandering around last week looking for landmarks ("I could swear it was by a broken down windmill") we found the old homestead.

If I moved back, I bet I would start watching soap operas again.

It's a Slumber Party Every Night

noreply@blogger.com (Laraine Eddington) — Tue, 18 Oct 2011 13:57:00 +0000

A few days ago I was totally obsessed

waiting for this little beauty to arrive.

How do I feel about it now?

Let's just say
that I know
why Eve chose Apple.

Analysis by Post It

noreply@blogger.com (Laraine Eddington) — Mon, 17 Oct 2011 14:52:00 +0000

You can tell a lot about a person

by reading their bulletin board.