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Is anyone out there, anymore? I just got the wild urge to tinker on here.
I probably just need to drink a cup of coffee….

The Funky Chicken


So it’s Saturday morning and Kes comes in and drags me out of bed to go do a little shopping with her.

“OK”, I says, “Let’s go.”

So I hop up and while she gets dressed I am in a little quandary since I can’t find anything to wear that fits. You see, I’ve lost weight. A good deal of it, as a matter of fact. So have Kessa and Keelan. We’ve all been on the diet train.

I put on a sleeveless white blouse and walked into the living room and stepped into the stairwell.



“Come look at this and tell me what you think.”

“In a minute! I’m getting dressed.”

So Keelan has wandered in and looks at me and says, “Why? What’s the matter with it?”

I extended my arms and asked if the hanging armholes looked ridiculous.She shrugs halfheartedly as her sister enters the room and Keelan says,  “What are you going to be doing that would require you to put your arms out like that?”

I immediately reply that there may or may not be an occasion during our shopping trip where the need to do The Funky Chicken occurs.

Kes’s head snapped around like a homing device and her eyes zeroed in on me.

“Mom, let me make this perfectly clear… We will NOT be doing The Funky Chicken at ANY TIME TODAY.”

At some point in the day, on the way to the car, I had a pair of reading glasses perched on top of my head, (I mean how else am I going to read price tags?), and I was taking a pair of sunglasses out of my purse to apply to my eyeballs, having completely forgotten the reading glasses up there.

Kessa pipes up, “Mom, you’ve got too many pairs of glasses on at one time… one’s the limit.

I told her that I always wear two pairs when I’m going to do The Funky Chicken and she came to a complete stop in the parking lot.


I think this leaves the chance open for another day and if I keep my mouth shut and don’t remind her that it’s even a possibility… Well, I could very well be seen doing The Funky Chicken in the parking lot of Target near you. Or maybe even far away. The priceless thing won’t be me doing it, but the look on the young lady’s face with me.




John is off work tomorrow. What will we do?

Probably go grocery shopping.

Run errands.

Complain about the girls while knowing we would be lonely without them.

Play with the dogs.

Watch a movie.

Water the lawn.

And in the end, we will communicate a lot somewhere in there.

And we will GET each other.

This? Is why I look forward to my days spent with him.



WTF! Before I post the real post, (yes, there IS one), I need to know what the devil is up with my Comment Luv. I have tried everything I know and visited, (that incredibly user unfriendly), website numerous times, googled it, prayed on it, harassed my brother over and over again, asked the dog, used UNACCEPTABLE language, etc.

Every single time I comment on another person’s post, it gives “Enter Godzilla” as my latest post. It is stuck there.

What does Comment Luv have against Mardi Gras, people? Why can’t it want people to be able to see that I have a newer post about me dancing with John and getting hit on by Elvis at Mardi Gras?

Does Comment Luv hate me?

Is it not a fan of Elvis?


If you have the answer to these, (or any other questions I might have in the future), PLEASE TELL ME!

I luv love you guys.

In which I explode with happiness.

Guess what!? Remember how whiny and pathetic I was on Valentine’s Day about having received a pretty new necklace that I LOVE, yet not being happy with that and going on to demand working bigger and better appliances?

Do not despair. (Cause like, I know you totally are.)

What is THIS?

It’s MINE! That’s what! This is my new crush. He lives in my utility room and deals with all my “dirty laundry”.

Er, no. Actually he deals with my DIRTY LAUNDRY.


Anyway, he is beautiful and shiny, (I will always gravitate towards the shiny.), and he sings to me and gives me chocolate.

With almonds.

I have to admit that it was kind of distressing as well. There he sat, looking so damn sexy and beside him?

It’s like a bucket of cold water thrown over my heated up bod. No. This will never do.

NOT TO MENTION, the damn thing sounds like the clubbing death of 5 or maybe 6 baby seals. You have no idea how badly this beast squeals and shrieks. Even with the door shut to the utility room it is impossible to relax when the dryer was running. I KNOW the neighbors have considered calling the SPCA on us since we are obviously torturing the dogs.

Then, day before yesterday, Sunday, February 20th 2011, my dear friend Lisa’s husband, Roger, delivered me from the bowels of hell. OK, actually he delivered my new dryer, but you get the gist here.


Roger, if Lisa ever leaves you, I will do your laundry. Love ya, man.