witifulramblings

Archive for the ‘Humor’ Category

Sometimes Adults Play Pretend Too: Day 62

In Humor, life, Love, Travel, Writing on August 6, 2012 at 6:30 am

{image compliments @soho_press}

I’ve visited NYC/Manhattan/Soho a few times now, and I love it.

I don’t live there.

In my mind I live in the garbage dumpster of Manhattan (actually that would probably be better than my current city of dwelling).

In reality–there’s a boatload of people, mostly living in the midwest, that would give their right ball to live in my sunny CA town.

I’ve lived all over now, Idaho/Utah/San Diego and traveled Europe a couple times–everywhere seems better than here.

I don’t know what does it for me, but I feel the culture literally ready to explode when I walk the streets of NY. The Soho girls with their high top sock buns make me jealous.

So I pretend.

I pretend that I live in lower Manhattan, and I’m beginning to pretend that I can create what those Soho girls have. It’s going, eh.

There are some upsides to my pretend game (versus the reality of those who do reside in Manhattan).  I was watching Wanderlust tonight and comically the guy skypes a tour of his NYC home by gently turning the macbook in several directions–kitchen, slight turn, bedroom, slight turn, bathroom, slight turn, me again.

My friend told me the other day, “maybe you can buy a retirement home on the east coast.” Little does he know, I just might. Until then, I’ll keep pretending to hail taxis with a flick of my wrist, have coffee in the poshest of shops followed by a familial stroll through Central Park.

My therapy: lots of Sex And The City re-runs.

signed–a dreamer {who was born in the wrong place}

Day 54: Fumbling With Power Tools.

In DIY, Humor, Men, wit, Women, Work on July 15, 2012 at 6:13 am

This is my street.

This is my neighbor on my street…this morning.

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A little later on today…

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And…

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Man versus woman. Man fumbles, woman gets it done. Nuff said.

HOLSTEE JULY: If You Don’t Like Something…

In Blogging, Holstee Manifesto, Humanity, Humor on July 9, 2012 at 2:28 am

So today’s cupcake is brought to you by my new favorite site that I found randomly on Pinterest.  This place literally teaches you how to decorate your home with junk…literally…you can make adorable things with toilet paper rolls.

I remember awhile back visiting my friend’s house and she had a BEAUTIFUL wreath on her wall that looked as if she had spent hundreds of dollars on it.  She goes, “Oh no, I’m poor, I’m paying back law school loans.  I’ve just learned how to make decorations out of trash.” What she had done is picked up some old sheet music at a thrift store, and rolled it, then glued it into a massive piece of wall art.  Pretty clever, my guess is that she had already found this site.

check it out. So, IF YOU DON’T LIKE SOMETHING, CHANGE IT. Plus now I figure I’ve found some viable crafts for grandma (see this post) I’m putting her to work!

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Day 49: How Are You Handicap? And Why Do I Care…

In Exercise, Humor, Running, Stories, Thoughts on July 2, 2012 at 1:41 am

Today while running I tripped over a dead bird and this happened:

OK, forget the dead bird part, but I did succumb to my two left feet.  Goodbye sexy summer legs, hello batman band-aids!

I wish E was here to “ooh” and “aww” at my injuries, although they might still be partially intact a couple weeks from now when I retrieve him from LA.

The funniest part of it all is how it happened.

Anyone who knows me, knows that I have mastered the art of making fun of people (only in whispered voices of course).  Besides, if you weigh 400 pounds and decide to put on spandex and hooker shoes then you must expect an instinctual reaction from fellow humans in your same general vicinity.  You must.

I am running along, looking around desperately for things to occupy my thinking.  The flowers and grass just weren’t doing it for me today (apparently the sidewalk wasn’t either).  I began to approach a vehicle and I immediately notice a handicap sticker on the license plate, being the inquisitive woman I am I decided to take a little peek into the vehicle to see who and/or what was inside.  Now, mind you, I had to do this very quickly because I was running–remember.  So, I look in and I see a man, a very big man, a very very big man, and then my mind began to wonder why in the hell this very young, big man, is handicap. I keep going forward, but I was so taken aback that I decided to do a double take at the vehicle license plate to see if I had actually viewed it correctly with a handicap sticker.  I know, who the hell cares right.  Well, I do.

I looked back, there it was.  I was satisfied, and then I look forward and bam, right on my knees, hard, I hit the cement.  I’ll tell you what that very young, big man in the car was probably doing–nah I’ll let you use your imagination.  Blood dripping down my legs, I jumped right up, and I kept running right along, oh well. As I got a little further down the road I was feeling pretty good about my sweaty body and horrific looking knees with battle wounds intact; however, I learned that these are the types of things that happen when you spend too much time focused on unnecessary objects/people/license plates.  When you try to make fun AND run at the same time.

The worst part of it all, after seeing me fall like that, that man will probably never adopt running as a hobby.  That’s quite a shame, quite a shame.

Day 48: Tuna Fish Grows In A Garden

In Diet, Family, Humanity, Humor, Mother, Stories on June 30, 2012 at 3:28 am

THIS post, which is VERY funny, reminded me of a very familiar childhood story which I’d like to share at this interval.

One night, when I was about ten years old, my mother had made some very delicious hamburgers for dinner.  We all gathered around our much too large oak dining room table, much too large is actually an understatement, the thing had three leafs, I think, and was meant to sit like 15 people (we had 4 if we were lucky).  Anyway, so I sit down at this ginormous table, my sister about 6 feet away from me is plunked down too, and we begin to eat.  Now I am not one to keep my mouth shut, I am always noticing things/places/people and I do have a tendency to perpetuate debate.  I think as a child I would even instigate it at times to see what type of reaction I could get out of the adults around me–sometimes I think I was actually smarter than them and I used this knowledge to have a little fun.  So, I’m looking outside at the large pasture next door.  We of course did not live on a farm, but our neighbors did and had beef cattle they would randomly rotate between the front and back pasture.  On this given day, those beef cattle happened to be in the front pasture.  Looking at my burger, and then my little sister, I blurted out, “Guess what’s for dinner?” Then with a turn of my head, “That’s what’s for dinner, right there.”  It was one of those cynical moments, like the kid from the Christmas Story who nags on his Dad about his sexy leg lamp.  That was it, my sister set down her burger and she vowed herself a vegetarian henceforth–at the ripe ol’ age of 5.

But the story doesn’t end here, my Mother thought she was going through a dietary phase and it seriously concerned her that her McDonald’s Chicken McNugget child (this was probably the only thing she ate for the first 4 years of her life) was refusing anything animal/meat related.  So she did what every Mother probably would have done (except for me of course)–she lied.  She picked the one meat my sister hadn’t eaten in her short little life, tuna fish, and she concocted a story that it grew in a garden.

My sister was smart, just like me.  She marched to school the very next day, and she asked her kindergarten teacher if this was a truth or lie (apparently young children can easily identify meat products).  When she found out that indeed, tuna fish swims in the sea and does not grow roots in a garden amidst the tomato plants she was very angered.  She would not eat a single bite of anything my Mom cooked her for a solid 3-month, if not longer, period.  I can honestly remember sitting at that HUGE dining table (I still can’t figure out why my mom bought that thing) watching my sister “pick” through her food for any meat particles mixed in with other things.

Eventually my mother gave up, bought protein powder, and taught my sister how to eat tofu and applesauce.  To this day though, some fifteen years later my sis still hasn’t touched meat (with the exception of a few experiences involving “accidents” and vomit sessions).  And to this day, I am still blamed for it too.

My final word, at least I was honest.

Daily Cupcake: Put a Fork in it

In Articles, Humanity, Humor, life on January 21, 2011 at 4:42 am

Speaking of being mad, I bet when this woman woke up from sedation she was pretty darn mad at what she’d done.  Ironically, now, she can yell again–if she needs to.

Play the Game or NOT: Day Nineteen

In Articles, Blogging, Dating, Humor, Romance, Sex, Thoughts, wit, Women, Writing on November 17, 2010 at 8:27 pm

Oh, the frustration.  Sometimes I feel like I’m navigating my way through a corn maze, turning this way and that, never reaching an endpoint, an escape.

I can remember being twelve and waiting for the day when I could go out with friends, drive my own car, and go on a real date.  Ha.  Been there done that, and at twenty-six I’m beginning to wonder what fourteen years of dating (with a few intermissions) does to the soul and the brain.

So, I got to thinking, what has changed?  Well, certainly the dating process.    When I was sixteen boys, I emphasize boys, picked me up from my house, in their cars, and met my parents.  Okay–there’s a process, a gentlemanly one, I could do without the adolescent parental meeting but the offer of a pickup would be nice.  I’d probably deny, given my current safety measures, but again it would be gentlemanly.

Then we’d go on the date, probably drive to restaurant or a movie, after which we’d return home.  He’d drop me off.

Huh.  Well, at twenty-six, I’m getting offers for coffee (which I don’t even drink for pleasure) and/ or a cocktail, really?  I’m going to be pretty hungry– but highly caffeinated or a bit intoxicated, that’ll do.

No movies.

No food.

No pickup.

No drop-off.

Um, why am I dating again?  I’ve decided it’s  a political game–the politics of the heart, gender, and mind.

Or maybe it’s all just one big sex conspiracy.  I’ll have to meditate on that one.

a dating whit.

Daily Cupcake: A TED Talk, Srikumar Rao

In Blogging, Education, Happiness, Humor, life, wit on August 24, 2010 at 3:45 am

I love love love TED Talks.  So, I went in search of a good one to share.  Here’s what I found awhile back, dug it up from the archives. I love how Rao incorporates the common philosophical “if then model” to demonstrate a very simplistic life predicament.

Haircuts and Love: Letting Go To Let Life In (Day Twelve)

In Blogging, Blogs, Esteem, Faith, Family, Friends, God, Humanity, Humor, Laughter, life, Love, Men, Mother, Parenting, Romance, Stories, Thoughts, wit, Writing on August 11, 2010 at 2:04 am

Sorry I have been absentee for a bit, turns out unemployment is real kicker.  But I figure, hey, if I can be happy without any income or anything to do for eight hours in the day then I will be just fine in life.  So, I’m still plugging away at this bliss thing and now I’m looking for it in all of the least likely places, but perhaps that is where happiness is the most abundant.  They do say, happiness isn’t having what you want but rather wanting what you have.  This sure as hell isn’t what I expected but by golly it’s what I got to work with.

I have a plethora of happenings to share.  Turns out Ethan isn’t just an “idea” or figment of my imagination.  I was feeling rather awake last night, at 3 a.m., and decided to check out the online personals.  There, in a black and white photo, he was.  His hair flowing and pearly white teeth.  For the moment, I thought it pure luck but then I remembered, “He is just a reflection, one you have abandoned, and now you must resume with your own ideal.”  In reality, I met him at a bar.  He looked sad, was obviously uninterested, and ran away mysteriously when the night ended.  It ended there, so I kept browsing.

I’ve been thinking a lot about love lately.  Then this happened,

I took E to get a haircut this past weekend.  Somewhere along the way I decide to try a new adventure—barbering school.  It was one of those ingenious light bulb moments, as soon as I saw it, aha perfect.  Mostly because the ad read five bucks and I was being cheap.  As soon as we pushed through the revolving door I began to fearfully contemplate my previous ingenuity.  We were the only Caucasian people in the entire garage-like shop.  Everywhere I look, all I see, CLIPPERS!  It was like one of those cheesy horror films where the girl looks from left to right to left, no escape, and then she screams.

My usual haircut order goes a little something like this,

“Scissors ONLY, not too short on the sides, about an inch off the top and clean it up around the edge—keep the sideburns.  Absolutely no clippers, none.”  Then I stand by nervously, invading the stylists  personal space, while I give her careful instruction throughout.  In no time at all, she grabs the hair between her fingers, looks at me, “is this okay to cut?”  It’s true, I am feverishly neurotic about my child’s monthly haircuts.

Back to the cultural barbershop,

We approach the register and the lady informs me of their, “no card” policy, but not to worry that I can go get some money at the Dollar Tree two shops down.  If I don’t die on the way. I failed to mentioned that it took a thirty minute trip into the ghetto to reach this detination five dollar barbershop.  We leave and head to Dollar Tree. After twenty minutes in line, waiting for our cash dispenser,  I suddenly realize we’re going nowhere.  Looking ahead I spot a man pointing his fingers in an upward motion, then downward, he starts singing, stops, jumps backward, and lets out a huge “Ahhhhh Gotcha,” finger wink included.  It took me awhile, but finally I recognize his behavior as delusional.  That day all Dollar Tree customers got a cartful of cheap shit and a Ray Charles reenactment.  After another twenty minutes and an entire scene he pays the cashier, slowly we move ahead.  The man in front of us must have felt sorry for E having to wait because he slipped him a dollar bill on the way out.

Making it back to the barbershop I provide payment, after which a woman inquires what I would like (see above).  She shoots a look of dismay and finally grunts, “I think I can do it.”  This scares me.  My little E has the most precious blond locks, but his hair is fine,  and ah chop chop is an easy look for someone lacking Caucasian hair expertise.

Thirty minutes and three barbers later  five chunks are missing, and it looks like someone took a weedwacker to my kid’s head.  I respectfully request a refund and they scoot us out the door, quickly suggesting a salon across the way.  They were quite happy to see us go–as were we to be going.  At this point, I am running across the parking lot happy to pay for any overpriced haircut.  Thankfully, Suzie knows what she is doing and produces a decent fix.  It was the first time in four years of haircuts that I sat peacefully in the waiting area.  It was while I was doing this that I noticed an older woman in the corner.  She had bruises and sores covering her body complete with a chin full of hair–I bet she’d seen better days.  Then I began to pity her, imagining her life.

“That poor woman probably sits in a nursing home all day.  I bet her kids never visit her.  I mean if I was her kid I would at the very least take her to get a chinny wax. This is probably the highlight of her week, getting her hair washed.”

I felt so utterly dismayed for this woman.  Then in he came, an older man.  He touched her shoulder softly and bent down to whisper in her ear.  He was gentle with her and it was quite obvious that he was her her husband.  He then handed her some cash (as all husbands should do).  My despair for her dissipated.

This love obviously began during the innocent years of beauty, yet here it was, still, in the tender end.  Living on.  Everyone hopes they find that.  The kind of love that lasts through bed sores, sagging tattoos, heck even chin hair!

I’m glad I let go that day, relinquishing my haircut neurosis, because it let me see something I might not have otherwise.  I think from now on I’ll find happiness in being a little less compulsive.  It allows you to envelop life, that’s a great thing.


Cupcake: Laugh at Me

In Blogging, Blogs, Dating, Faith, Fun, Humor, Stories, Thoughts, wit, Work, Writing on July 28, 2010 at 5:20 pm

Today’s cupcake is just something that made me smile and since this place is about being happy, enjoy.

Yesterday while  in NEO (New Employee Orientation) training we visited the various offices within our building.  A sort of get to know you.  We had this thing, “Fun Facts” where each department manager was asked to share a fun bit of information about himself/herself.

While in the legal department we met an older gentlemen named, Earl.  His fun fact was that he model railroads. Cool.

Anyway, when we got to Directors Office the NEO officer explained to the manager the concept of “Fun Facts” he began to recite all of those we had previously collected throughout the day.  He couldn’t recall Earl’s Fun Fact.  I leaned forward to help him and somehow this came out, “he male models.”  Aw, orthodontics–my retainers were the source of this word confusion.  Laughing, everyone agreed that was the funnest fact of the day.

Huge joke circulating the office –Earl from the legal department is a male model.  I wish I had a picture of Earl.

This reminded me slightly of my eighth grade science class.  The answer was organism.  It was for extra credit, I think.  The boy next to me  whispered the answer in my ear.  I was golden, raising my hand with great height I blurted it out, “Orgasm!”

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