Archive | August, 2013

MUG-A-LASAGNA………the path to inspiration is around the strip center

27 Aug

How to share the same sense of humor and appreciation for single life….
Sunday afternoon texts with my friend DJ:

ME: Are you drinking right now?

DJ: No…not a drop today. Took a break.

ME: Why? Did you get drunk at the movie yesterday?

DJ: Ya, went to Movie Tavern and ordered the tanker mug. (Note: friends shouldn’t let friends go to movies alone)

ME: Ok….

DJ: It was funny because I drank it all by half way through the movie so I would kinda be ok to drive, but I may not have been quite right because I went out the wrong exit and had to walk all the way around the strip center! And I was carrying that big ass mug!!

ME: I’m picturing you and cracking up. Souvenirs from the movie! haha Send me a pic…

DJ: If you buy it, then you can fill it with anything at a discount…even dessert!! It could possibly be too much power, I’m not sure yet.

ME: What? They didn’t have a barrel?

DJ: oh wow….I’ll ask next time

ME: Um yes, I do want a gallon of ice cream please. Fill er up
Or you could make them fill it with cheeseburgers and fries next time!

DJ: You see how the power could be abused now!

ME: It scares me that I get why you had to have it.

DJ: Great Minds!

ME: I may not find my vehicle but I have this sweet big ass mug. And if I get really lost for a long time and maybe become homeless, I can always get my mug filled with food for a discount.

DJ: Hell yea! Priorities! HELLO!!! You do get it!

ME: Do they have Italian food because Mug-A-Lasagna would be awesome! Oh…I’m having visions of an all you can eat buffet in big ass mugs…..stand down cup-o-soup

DJ: I’ve created a monster.

Cheers!

Cheers!

JU LUK GUD……not what Johnny Depp said to me

27 Aug

You know the day? It’s the weekend and you have no plans. No date. Friends are busy. (insert here that in my case I was recently, unexpectedly divorced and I’m fifty-something)  You’ve been cleaning house all morning.  Now all you want to do is to veg on the couch with a good movie and some junk food.  Of course, there’s nothing suitable in the pantry, so you stuff your hair in a ponytail, no makeup, stained t-shirt and baggie shorts and head to the convenience store.  I’m pretty sure I had a roaring red blemish or two also.  I really could not have looked worse if I’d have been drug through horseshit and hay. Convenience store.  No crowd of people to judge my obvious lack of basic female upkeep.  Perfect, run in, grab my stuff, and back out in a flash.  Not a thought or worry of meeting the man of my dreams here, looking my very worst.

As is always true for me at convenience stores,  I ended up with 14 more items than I intended to buy and I juggled them to the counter thinking, “It’s going to take this little Indian boy 2 ½ hrs to ring all this shit up and I’m about to piss off the other 2 people lining up behind me. “Why don’t you hit the grocery store woman?  What the hell?”    Oh well.  I’m a fifty something, slug-looking, attitude slinging woman.  I dare them to even sigh at me.  “Ice cold beer”,   I’ll take one of those too.

I spilled the contents of my arms into the 6” x 6” square of free space on the counter and was reaching for my wallet when I hear,   “Hello preddy laaaaadeee”.     I could have passed for Linda Blair when I whipped my head around to see who this young man was addressing.  Right behind me was an older gentleman who must have just finished mowing the lawn because he was covered in sweat and dirt.  Ha.  So I wasn’t the worst dressed patron.  Coming next to the line were a couple of young boys each carrying a soda and beef jerky, so unless I misheard, the preddy laaadee was me!  I turned back around to the still grinning young man when suddenly he burst into whistling and began tossing my items in the air, catching behind his back, dropping them on the floor and finally placing them in the bag.  I don’t know what he was whistling, but I was hearing the Hippy Hippy Shake as I watched the Tom Cruise in Cocktail routine.  I blushed and chuckled softly as he handed me the overstuffed little plastic bag with a wink and that I’m so hitting on you look.  Then he grinned, all bright eyed at me and in his heavily accented broken English, he spewed, “I donno wot day say abut ju,…… but ju luk gud”.  “I hope ju come see me next time”.

So much for my mission to be inconspicuous at the convenience store!  I grabbed the bulky little bag and bolted for the door after I managed to humbly thank him and not implode from the laughter roaring inside me.

If this had been a movie scene, I would have bumped into Johnny Depp, and been mortified because to meet  Johnny Depp  when you look like horseshit and hay would be well….. mortifying!  On the other hand, to meet Johnny Depp would be fantastic under any circumstance!   But you would never find Johnny Depp behind the counter in a  convenience store, and I doubt he would juggle your junk food, or even your junk, or his, or…….oh….Johnny Depp!!    So that makes no sense and this wasn’t a movie scene.  This was straight on, can’t make this shit up real life comedy.  (Although I bet Johnny Depp could play the part of the juggling Indian convenience store clerk.)

You get what I’m saying?  I’m hoping to meet a Johnny Depp type someday.  NOT be hit on by juggling young Indian convenience store clerks.  Is that asking too much really?  C’mon.  It could happen!   After all……..apparently…….Joan,  JU LUK GUD!

I WILL CUT YOU……if you ask me nicely

14 Aug

Recently I took a trip to the Big Apple.  Alone.  Big deal, you say?  Well, for me, yes.  I have lived 3 places in my life so far, none of which had a population exceeding 10,000.  Green Acres, Mayberry and my current homestead which lies just outside a very large city, in a very large state which makes it seem like a drop in a bucket kinda place.  So in essence, yes, Joan alone in the Big Apple IS a Big Deal!    I should probably add that I’m fairly shy and skiddish. (You know how most parents teach their kids to look both ways before crossing the road? Well, my parents just forbid me to cross the road at all….who needs to build confidence when you can just avoid risk and danger all together.  I was safe…problem solved…except for the resulting crossthelinephobia.)

Now you get a snippit of the picture and we can fast forward 40+ years to me taking the train from the airport into the city.  Just imagine my excitement and fascination as I found my way through the airport and to the correct platform dragging my purple travel POD.  I may have stood out in the crowd just a little.  (There is a good explanation for the oversize luggage….wait for it).  I must have appeared very approachable and acclimated (I like to think) because I was asked three times by other travelers if this was the correct platform for the A train to Manhattan.  I just smiled a confident smile (inside and out) and assured them yes it was. 

My confidence quickly plummeted when the train arrived and I had to maneuver the purple mini-POD onto the train.  I’m sure the surveillance camera monitoring crew was amused.  I watched as the other passengers nonchalantly chunked their little black travel bags up onto the overhead storage knowing there was no way the 50 lb purple mini-pod was leaving the ground by my hands.  I began to panic just a little because I knew the train might take off at any second and jolt me to the floor in the aisle, the purple mini-POD landing on top of me.  Meanwhile, the passengers behind me were growing impatient as I scanned for a seat that would accommodate the POD and I.  No such luck, so awkwardly, I sat down next to a safe enough looking young man in a suit and tried to shove the POD in with me, managing only to get about half of it wedged between the seats.  I felt relieved and relaxed momentarily until the nice young man asked, “Are you here on vacation?”  and I answered, “Just a long weekend” .    He glanced at the purple mini-POD and I suddenly felt ridiculous again and began to explain.  “It’s full of venomous snakes”.   “Joan’s on a train”.  “I’m Joan”. “Nice to meet you”.  I’m not sure he understood the Snakes on a Plane reference (perhaps because it’s not really a very good one, nor is it all that funny,)  (am I the only one that says stupid shit to be funny when nervous?)  Anyway, if he missed the joke, then he didn’t seem shaken by the idea that I might actually have snakes in the POD (really….there are some crazy people out there…..remember…), but he smiled and told me to enjoy myself.  We chatted briefly about the train stops and the city in general.  Then he went back to reading whatever he was reading before I sat down.

The train clamored on, I relaxed again and it began to sink in that I was inbound to the Big Apple!  I fell deep inside my own thoughts of how good it felt to finally be brave enough to make this trip alone and of how far I had come in the last few years and of how much dang fun I was going to have (start spreading the news, I’m arriving today, I’m gonna be a part of it…ny, ny) when suddenly out of the corner of my eye, I see the young man’s arm come at me!  I shuddered, tensed up and was ready to scream when he politely, nicely and calmly asked, “ Mam, by any chance, do you have anything that will cut this?”  “What…..  Did he just ask me?” ”He wants me to cut him?”  My eyes darted to his face and I detected naïve embarrassment both in his eyes and in his voice as he pointed to the manufacturer’s label on the sleeve of his suit.  I felt my jaw unclench and the twinge of compassion for the young man whom I actually just now noticed was the approximate age of my son.  “That’s not supposed to be on there, is it?” He meekly added.

“No”, I replied softly.  “Are you on your way to an important event right now?”

“Job interview”, he answered.

I smiled and cautiously revealed to him that yes, I do in fact have a means of removing the tag and by that, I’m telling you that I have a knife.  A knife in my purse.  I have a knife in my purse and if I get it out, do you think anyone will freak out and jump me in your defense?

(Consider that there was a wild eyed dude across the aisle who was all picturing himself on a train in the station with plasticine porters and looking glass ties who had overhead me say there were venomous snakes in the purple mini-POD and had been shooting repeated paranoid glances toward me.  I figured by now he was sure the snakes had escaped from the pod and were crawling up his legs because he had begun to twitch.  If he sees me pull the knife out, he’s bound to jump up yelling “CRAZY SLASHER BITCH”, “GET OFF ME SNAKE”.)  I feel my concern was warranted.

The young man beside me apparently had not noticed or was generally unaffected by the spirit in the sky beside us and assuredly remarked,” That’s great!” grinning, relieved and half chuckling.   I don’t think that will happen.  Would you mind?”

With that, I dug into my purse and retrieved the 1 ½” long pocket knife that I always carry, because I never know when someone is going to ask me to cut them and the mantra of Junior Girl Scout Troop 424 “be prepared”  made a powerful and lasting impression on me. (Or because I really am a crazy slasher bitch….there are some real weirdos out there, you never know)  Ironically, it did not seem strange at all to be holding the wrist of a total stranger in one hand and wielding a knife in the other.   Then with ninja speed  (and motherly cautiousness)….slash/slash… it was done.

The young man graciously thanked me while he pulled at the lingering loose threads.  He was visibly pleased and relieved.  As I re-concealed my weapon I was already recanting what had occurred in the last 30 minutes and realizing it was an encounter I would always remember fondly as the time someone asked me nicely to cut them.  The train slowed and the intercom announced, “Penn New York”.  The young man thanked me again and I warmly wished him the best of luck on his job and his future.  POD and I then struggled to the open doors and bounded out onto the platform.  “I’m here”  For a moment I was all Mary Tyler Moore theme song and then I realized that POD and I had 3 flights of stairs to march up to the street before I could toss my beret.  Grrrrr.  You big heavy purple POD, I really want to cut you right now.

CONGRATULATIONS Ms. Wyker….you have a baby blog

13 Aug

 

If you have given birth you relate to the excitement and terror that goes along with hearing the announcement that your bundle of joy has arrived.   I compare those same feelings to those that accompany the launch of this blog.   The greatest success of my life so far has arisen from embarking on something I knew nothing at all about….motherhood.  As a child, I took piano lessons, but I don’t play well.  I took dance lessons, but I’m not a dancer.  I was a good student and have an education, but my career is less than desirable.  However, with no lessons, no role models, no training and no instructions, I managed to raise two wonderful children by pouring heart and soul into them and using the learn as you go method.  A miracle, I know!  One that I’m astounded by to this day.

So in launching this blog, I plan to go with what I know works, which is absolutely nothing. I am not a writer,  no background in journalism, English or other related subject that I can fall back on to help me here.   And yet, the blank pages are before me like my newborn children.   As I look at them, I feel nervous and unsure while at the same time I just want to pour my heart out.   Write or wrong, I’ll figure it out.   (yes, I know the difference between write and right) {I intended to use write, which is technically…wrong and quite possibly figuratively wrong as well (maybe I shouldn’t do this)}   Now you get it, right?   Write.  That’s just what I’m going to do……….stay with me.

This is going to make the headlines: Crusty Bachelorette Gives Birth!  Check tomorrow’s rag mags you guys.

LET’S TALK SHIT

13 Aug

When you are going through a shitty phase in life, you think about a lot of shit and at some point you have to stop and wonder, “Why do I let this shit get to me?” It’s not like I go looking for shit, but inevitably the shit hits the fan. Maybe it’s because I give a shit and isn’t that a good thing? Most people would agree that giving “a” shit is good, but if you remove the “a”, it’s not always good. Giving shit without an “a” can in fact piss people off. So the trick is to give a shit without giving shit. Seems simple enough doesn’t it? Always give shit with an “a”. Shit alone is not good. But then doesn’t everyone shit alone? I kinda hope so. (The reason women visit the bathroom in pairs has nothing to do with this.) 
This is what happens when you think too much about shit. It’s a cycle that leads to everything turning to shit and you even start to make shit up and that is dangerous territory because why would you want to make shit up when shit happens all the time? All on its own! At this point you are just creating more shit. Stop the madness and finish that shit already. 
Note to pet owners: This shit doesn’t apply to pets. The steaming pile of poo on the carpet does not indicate that your pet gives a shit or that he/she is giving you shit. It’s a pile of shit! Stop calling it a present! 
It’s also not necessarily good to be full of shit, which is probably what you are thinking about me right now. You can give me your shit if you want to, but I doubt I’ll give “a” shit. I already gave 2 shits.
Summary: This mess contains 25 shit(s), 1 shitty and 1 shits (or 2 I guess). I’m not good at math.

It is said that when you have shit to deal with you should write about it, so I did. I feel so much better now that I let that shit out.

Can I get an O…Joan…!?

 

Ok boys and girls……….LET’S BEGIN

12 Aug

Here’s how this got started: text w/my dear friend (Cinnamon)

1:13pm texting begins:

Me: Dance party was lame

Cinnamon: It just now got over? That would not be a lame party.

Me: True, but this one was lame. Did get to watch some really good dancing though. Oh ya, and a crusty old goober danced with me twice.

Cinnamon: What about your partner?

Me: See what happens when I put myself out there! Partner wasn’t there. I didn’t think he’d come. He’s kinda different
I danced with another guy too…I had to lead….awesome.
I left after that.

Cinnamon: At least your partner leads. (note: I’ve voiced that he isn’t a good dancer)

Me: ya, in a zombie kinda way

Cinnamon: Zombies are the in thing now.

Me: Lucky me.
I think I need to write a man blog. All about zombies, dipshits and crusty old goobers. Oh ya and Indian gas station clerks. And munchkins, lets not forget him.
I’m sure if I continue my research I can appeal to a wide audience. Be jealous “The Bachelorette”. Munchkins and dipshits and goobers…oh my
Book title?
or maybe…The 50 year old Bachelorette

Cinnamon: The Crusty Bachelorette (most encouraging)

Me: Thats it! Sounds crazy, but I’m seriously considering it. Its not like I make this shit up. Its my reality.

(Clearly there is more to add about munchkins, zombies, gas station attendants etc…etc…that comes later)

At this point, I’m getting pumped up about embarking on my new career (hobby) as a blogger…especially since my current career has spiraled into a steaming pile of shit. (more on that later) and the next text goes like this:

Cinnamon: You know what I want? Those things that you hang off the edge of the roof that catch rain. And yes, you should seriously do it!

Pause for effect……

Me: Because we get so much rain? Or because they look cool?

Cinnamon: These lemon cookies make me think of happy things. I’m finishing them off.

Me: Life is good!

Cinnamon: Now I’m sad they’re all gone.

Me: And then its not.
But you can get more and then life is food (predictive text) again. Good. Or food….as in lemon cookies.

And that ladies and gentlemen is how I came to start a blog on which to share stories like this. Again…..I don’t make this shit up.

Love and laughs……

These:

and a good friend are all you really need…………

cookies

Image

O Joan

12 Aug

O Joan