Blog Crickets

Do you hear them? I do. That's what happens when inspiration strikes and you get this idea that you want to start a blog, but you have nothing noteworthy or interesting to write about while you're actually sitting there with a blank screen in front of you. It seems the greatest ideas are always conceived under the most inconvenient circumstances; the greatest revelations always occur when I'm sitting on the crapper... or elbow-deep in dish water... or driving... whatever the case, my hands are nowhere near a keyboard. Today is no different. Nothing particularly profound is running through my head today... in fact, I'm spacing off right now and tracking a fly.  I seem to recall saying that I planned to write in this frequently; however, I've been in a foul mood a lot lately and have felt anything but humorous.  I don't have anything profound to rap about today, so I'll just throw something random out there for the sake of posting something.


So... we recently started attending a new church.  Today we took communion.  They passed around the shiny plates and one of them had these little white squares on it.  Hmmm... never seen these things before.  They didn't have these at our last church.  I wait till they give the nod and I eat it.  I keep waiting for flavor... there is none.  I can't help but notice that the flesh that was broken for us tasted much better in the form of an oyster cracker.

Then we get our little cups of juice.  I have my head bowed and I notice something is floating in mine.  Ew.  I start to blow in it.  My daughter glances over at me. 

"What's wrong?"  She whispers.
"There's a crumb in my blood!"  I hiss back.

I'm grossed out.  The prayer is almost over and the thing won't budge.  I have no choice but to hook a fingernail in there and scoop it out.  While they pray a blessing over us, I'm praying that no one sees me finger-angling during what is supposed to be a serious, solemn moment.

We drink.  While we're supposed to be reflecting on the great sacrifice that was made on our behalf, I look at my empty juice cup and start picturing all the crafty things I can do with it. 

I love God, but I reckon I don't make a very good saint.           

Stick And Move

There isn't really an elegant segue into this topic, so I'm just not gonna mince words here.  I HATE going to the store to buy tampons.  All these years later, there's still a shame factor that exists every time I walk into greed mart to snag a box.  I know it's totally natural and all, but everyone knows what they're for, and... how they're used.  It's not a matter of just strolling in there, grabbing the goods and chucking it in the basket like it's a pack of gum or a box of sandwich bags.  This is one of those things that if spotted by other shoppers, could provoke a whole slew of unflattering thoughts and mental pictures starring YOU.  Living in a small town greatly increases the odds of being spotted again on a later date, prompting points, giggles, and mutterings of "huh huh huh... there's the tampon chick."  To avoid this, I've developed a sad routine to avoid embarrassment as much as humanly possible.  It usually goes something like this:

1.  Go get the stupid stuff.
2.  Casually walk to the end of the aisle and make sure there are no dudes passing through.
3.  Hold up.  Walk backward down the aisle and do a double take of the incontinence products that are designed to look like boxer shorts.  Wha... wha... when did they start making THOSE???  Pretty spiffy looking pee-pants.  Anyhoo... I digress...
4.  Set out to retrieve the next item on the list (something big enough to hide the box under) which is, of course, on the other side of the store.  Utilize mid-sections off the beaten path and deserted aisles where pride-killers are less likely to be loitering.  Check around blind corners before negotiating them.  Otherwise.... BOOM.  Headshot.
5.  Keep truckin.'  Almost there.  Here comes a dude.  Mild heart attack.  Shirt too tight to stuff basket under.  There's a clothing rack.  Let's hide in there.
6.  Frozen food aisle.  Grab them chicken nuggets.  Liberally cover that box before some lost soul looking for fro-yo comes meandering down the aisle and spots the thing whose name we won't mention.
7.  Finish shopping, anxiety free.  That is, until you get to the checkout.  Clusters of nosy looky-loos everywhere.
8.  Panic attack.  Briefly consider shoplifting, but decide against it because you're not slick enough to pull it off without getting popped, and getting busted stealing pooter plugs would just be idiotic.  What is WRONG with you?
9.  Find a checker whose line has no dudes in it.  Get in it.  Leave the stuff covered up until previous customer finishes and walks away.  Wait nervously.  Glance over shoulder two hundred times while current customer bitches about those 'Memorial-Day-marked-down-leftovers-are-still-priced-too-high-and-that-price-is-wrong-I-insist-you-call-someone-over-here-because-I'm-not-moving-until-I-get-my-fake-silk-flowers-for-twenty-five-cents.'  Dude approaching.  RED ALERT.  Abort.  Get in another dude-free line.  But first, consider kicking this chick in the teeth. 
10.  It is now crucial to find an empty line and get out of there ASAP.  Look around.  Dudes everywhere.  Scanning... scanning.... oooh, an express line!  Checker smiles.  Her teeth sparkle.  Let's DO this.
11.  Bag of chicken nuggets.  Another bag of chicken nuggets.  Eh... pack of gum, too.  The stuff.  Stop talking to the checker next to you and get that thing in the bag already.  OH!  There it goes.  Yeah.  Just throw that chicken in there on top of it so no one sees it through the bag... now that these things have turned into total crotch popsicles from sitting under the bag of frozen chicken nuggets for like five hours, what's five more minutes?
12.  Pay and get out so those puppies can thaw.  Oh yeah.  Dignity spared for one more month.

So basically I turned what should've been a five minute trip into a 30 minute anxiety-ridden lah-de-dah because I'm a paranoid dingbat.  I hope you had a better day than I did.        

Random Stuff

Helloooooo? Does anybody even read this thing? I bet not, but that's OK. It's not like I'm diligent about adding content, and when I do, it's just stuff that leaves people scratching their heads, wishing they had back that two minutes of their life they just wasted reading my cyber puke. That being said, get the bucket ready- I feel some mindless rambling coming on!


Ever get dressed in the dark and then later that day discover that you put your underwear on inside out? Yeah, I did that the other day. And as soon as I discovered it, I was faced with the question: do I just leave them that way, or do I fix them proper? After much debate, laziness won- I decided to leave them. And it made for some epic snickers later that day when people remarked about how cute I was dressed. To them I looked like a million bucks, save for the secret discombobulated undergarment, which put the actual appraisal at more like $500,000. That's OK. What I lack in style I make up for in personality and optimism.


I started to wash the dishes earlier. I picked up the soap bottle and a gentle, accidental squeeze made a bunch of tiny bubbles come out. Cool! I did it again. More bubbles. And again. Even MORE bubbles. I wasted ten minutes on this activity. My motivation to wash dishes soon perished and I adjourned to the living room to waste more time doing something else unproductive. I feel a little guilty. But then I remember my acute attention deficit, and I realize I can't help it. Matter of fact, it took me 20 minutes to write this paragraph because a bird flew past the window.


I used to have pockets of memory loss. Those pockets have become old lady-sized purses of derrrr lately though. I headed toward the bathroom the other day, and by the time I got there, I'd forgotten what I went in there for. I slowly scan the room. I stare at the sink. Hmmm. No, not in there to wash my hands. Mirror? No, I'm not here to put on makeup. Towel? Nah, just took a shower this morning. I dig in my ear. I find goop. AHA! I need a Q-tip! Clean out my ear... no, there was some other reason I went in there... wish I could remember what it was, because I'm about to wet my pants trying to figure it out...







I just spent another five minutes spacing off. I guess that means I'm done.