Skip navigation.

Log in | Sign up

photo of Kay Four

On Many Subjects

Famous among several.....

Posts tagged with "humour"

I Can't Believe I Have to Explain This

, , ,

It's a DOG.

NOT an accessory.

Shotgun Rules

, , , ...

When my children were younger, there was always an argument as to who got to sit in the front passenger seat of the car if we were going someplace. I never found a workable solution until today. I wish I had these rules about twenty-five years ago, but I will post them now for anyone with children, gradnchildren, or friends, and a car.


THE SHOTGUN RULES
version 1.1
The rules listed below apply to the calling of Shotgun (the passenger seat) in an automobile. These rules are definitive and binding.

Section I
The Basic Rules
1. In order to call Shotgun, the caller must pronounce the word "Shotgun" in a clear voice. This call must be heard and acknowledged by the driver. The other occupants of the vehicle need not hear the call as long as the driver verifies the call.

2. Shotgun may only be called if all occupants of the vehicle are outside and on the way to said vehicle.

3. Early calls are strictly prohibited. Shotgun may only be called while walking toward the vehicle and only applies to the drive immediately forthcoming. Shotgun can never be called while inside a vehicle or still technically on the way to the first location. For example, one can not get out of a vehicle and call Shotgun for the return journey.

4. The driver has final say in all ties and disputes. The driver has the right to suspend or remove all shotgun privileges from one or more persons.

Section II
Special Cases

These special exceptions to the rules above should be considered in the order presented; the case listed first will take precedence over any of the cases beneath it, when applicable.

1. In the instance that the normal driver of a vehicle is drunk or otherwise unable to perform their duties as driver, then he/she is automatically given Shotgun.

2. If the instance that the person who actually owns the vehicle is not driving, then he/she is automatically given Shotgun, unless they decline.

3. In the instance the the driver's spouse, lover, partner, or date for the evening is going to accompany the group, he/she is automatically given Shotgun, unless they decline.

4. In the instance that one of the passengers may become so ill during the course of the journey that the other occupants feel he/she will toss their cookies, then the ill person should be given Shotgun to make appropriate use of the window.

5. In the instance that only one person knows how to get to a given location and this person is not the driver, then as the designated navigator for the group they automatically get Shotgun, unless they decline.

6. In the instance that one of the occupants is too wide or tall to fit comfortably in the back seat, then the driver may show mercy and award Shotgun to the genetic misfit. Alternatively, the driver and other passengers may continually taunt the poor fellow as they make a three hour trip with him crammed in the back.

Section III
The Survival of the Fittest Rule

1. If the driver so wishes, he/she may institute the Survival of the Fittest Rule on the process of calling Shotgun. In this case all rules, excepting I-4, are suspended and the passenger seat is occupied by whoever can take it by force.

2. The driver must announce the institution of the Survival of the Fittest Rule with reasonable warning to all passengers. This clause reduces the amount of blood lost by passengers and the damage done to the vehicle.

Please follow the above rules to the best of your ability. If there are any arguments or exceptions not covered in these rules, please refer to rule I-4.



Read the article here.

Waxing Poetic

, , , ...

The first time it happened, I was pretty okay with it. What? you are wondering about now. OK. Let me back up. There are some girly things I do for myself just because I enjoy them. One is getting a manicure about once every two weeks and the other is getting my eyebrows waxed. The manicure removes/hides the ridges on my fingernails and I love the way nail polish looks when I watch my fingers while typing on the keyboard. Yes, I KNOW you aren't supposed to look at the keys when you are typing, but, Hey! It happens.

Getting my eyebrows waxed is a necessity or I begin to look like Brooke Shields and Groucho Marx's love child. And I only have one eyebrow and the uni-brow look is so Neanderthal. So, I get my eyebrows waxed at the same place I get my manicure.

While getting my eyebrows done a couple of days ago, a Korean lady shouts to me in a voice loud enough to attract the attention of the little deaf lady who lives at least a mile away, "YOU WANT YOU LIP WAXED, TOO?"

What? My lip?

Everyone in the room turns to look at my upper lip. No, look is too soft a word. They STARE at my upper lip, not a soul breathing while they wait to hear my answer.

The first time it happened was about five years ago when I was getting my eyebrows waxed at a salon in Ocala, Florida and Gayle asked me if I wanted my lip waxed at the same time. Uh, Not!

Then, I went home and questioned #1 (my daughter):

Me: Is my lip hairy? Gayle said I needed my lip waxed. Is it hairy enough for waxing?
#1: I don't know the right answer.
Me: There is no right answer. It is an opinion quesiton. In your opinion, is my lip hairy?
#1: Well, you ARE a mammal and mammals have hair on their bodies.
Me: (In a panicked tone) Answer the question!
#1: No, you don't have a hairy enough lip to consider waxing.
Me: Are you sure?
#1: Your lip is less hairy than mine, and I don't get mine waxed.
Me: OK. If you are SURE.
#1: Are you going to keep up this paranoid behavior for very long?

The hairy-lip panic died down and I didn't think much about it for nearly five years. Then, the Korean lady yells at me that I need my lip waxed in front of several perfect strangers. It is an abject fear of having hot wax put on my upper lip and then ripped away as I scream in agony. The eyebrows hurt enough. The lip would be extraordinarily painful. I think. Because I didn't accept the Korean Lady's offer to wax my lip, I don't know for certain.

I raced home with my cold weather scarf wrapped around my face to hide my highly visible moustache. Then, I spot my neighbor, Lionel and I interrogate him. "My lip. Look at it."

Li: Oh God, do I have to?
Me: Is it hairy?
Li: Well, you are a mammal and mammals have hair on their bodies.
Me: (grabbing his shirt collar) Does THIS mammal have an astronomical amount of hair on her upper lip?
Li: I don't know the right answer.
Me: Fat lot of help you are. Never mind.

I go inside and look in the bathroom mirror. Yes, there is hair on my lip, the same amount that I have had for years. Still...

I pick up the phone and call #1.

Me: Do I have a hairy lip?
#1: Not this, again.
Me: I sent you a picture of my lip that I took with my camera phone.
#1: That was your upper lip? I thought it was your right knee or maybe a mixing bowl.
Me: Very funny.
#1: No, really.
Me: Does it have hair on it?
#1: Well, you are a mammal...
Me: Don't start. This is a crisis.
#1: You have some serious issues.
Me: I know. I have a hairy lip.
#1: The lady was trying to sell you her services. She appealed to your vanity.
Me: Vain? Me?
#1: Yes. Now, I have to get ready for a date. Don't worry about your lip. There is NO hair on your lip.
Me: You are partonizing me, aren't you?
#1: I'm hanging up, now.
Me: Okay. I am going to send the picture of my lip to everyone I know.
#1: Make sure you tell them it is your upper lip and not your knee.
Me: You must be one of those funny daughters.
#1: Not really. You are a lousy photographer.

So, I still don't know if I have a hairy lip or not.

This is the stuff of nightmares.

Apparently, the Dread Pirate Roberts was Wrong

, , , ...

If you have never seen the movie, The Princess Bride, then you will not know that Westley is a.k.a The Man In Black, a.k.a Farm Boy and a.k.a. The Dread Pirate Roberts. You will also not know about the dangers of the Fire Swamp which included ROUSs. An ROUS is a Rodent Of Unusual Size. In the movie, predictably Westley, a.k.a Farm Boy a.k.a The Man In Black a.k.a. The Dread Pirate Roberts had to battle multiple ROUSs. Right after this discussion with Princess Buttercup:

Westley: I mean, what are the three terrors of the Fire Swamp? One, the flame spurt - no problem. There's a popping sound preceding each; we can avoid that. Two, the lightning sand, which you were clever enough to discover what that looks like, so in the future we can avoid that too.
Princess Buttercup: What about the ROUSs?
Westley: Rodents Of Unusual Size? I don't think they exist.

Side bar: Because The Princess Bride is a cult classic and a darn good movie, it was mandatory in my family for all participants to memorize the dialog. More than one disccusion occurred if God Forbid, someone got the dialog wrong when quoting the movie.

Me (quoting in a BAD Spanish accent): I don't suppose (pronounced e-spose) you could speed (pronounced e-speed) things up?
#1 Daughter (quoting in a BAD British accent): If you're in such a hurry, you could toss me a rope or a tree branch or find something useful to do
Me: It is not "toss me a rope" it is "lower a rope."
#1: I think you're wrong.
Me: I am not wrong.
#1: It is toss
Me: It is LOWER and I can prove it.
#1: How?
Me: We'll just have to watch the movie, again.
#1: Ok. You get the movie out and I will make the popcorn.

Where was I? Oh, yes. ROUSs and the fact that Westley didn't think they exist.
Wrong, Farm Boy. Rodents Of Unusual Size DO exist. Or did according to this article in NewScientist.

A 1-tonne rodent has been discovered by scientists in Uruguay.

(For people in America a tonne is not a ton but rather, a metric measure of mass equal to 1,000 kilograms or 2,204.6 pounds)

Now that we have cleared that up...

There was a previously discovered ROUS that lived in Orinoco about 8 million years ago and this one was about the size of a cow. The newly discovered fossilized ROUS displaces the old ROUS.

So if they remake The Princess Bride, the conversation will have to go like this:

Westley: Rodents Of Unusual Size? The whole Fire Swamp is crawling with them. But, not to worry. I can battle four or five at a time and escape only with a minor bite on my shoulder.
Princess Buttercup: Aren't you scared?

He gives her that look... You know the one. It says, "Don't be totally daft, woman. I am the Dread Pirate Roberts and nothing scares me. Not no one. Not no how." Of course, I am now mixing my movie quotes, but we'll save The Wizard of Oz for another day.

I Finally Understand Politics!

, ,

FEUDALISM: You have two cows. Your lord takes some of the milk.

PURE SOCIALISM: You have two cows. The government takes them and puts them in a barn with everyone else's cows. You have to take care of all of the cows. The government gives you as much milk as you need.

BUREAUCRATIC SOCIALISM: You have two cows. The government takes them and put them in a barn with everyone else's cows. They are cared for by ex-chicken farmers. You have to take care of the chickens the government took from the chicken farmers. The government gives you as much milk and eggs as the regulations say you need.

FASCISM: You have two cows. The government takes both, hires you to take care of them and sells you the milk.

PURE COMMUNISM: You have two cows. Your neighbors help you take care of them, and you all share the milk.

RUSSIAN COMMUNISM: You have two cows. You have to take care of them, but the government takes all the milk.

CAMBODIAN COMMUNISM: You have two cows. The government takes both of them and shoots you.

DICTATORSHIP: You have two cows. The government takes both and drafts you.

PURE DEMOCRACY: You have two cows. Your neighbors decide who gets the milk.

REPRESENTATIVE DEMOCRACY: You have two cows. Your neighbors pick someone to tell you who gets the milk.

BUREAUCRACY: You have two cows. At first the government regulates what you can feed them and when you can milk them. Then it pays you not to milk them. Then it takes both, shoots one, milks the other and pours the milk down the drain. Then it requires you to fill out forms accounting for the missing cows.

PURE ANARCHY: You have two cows. Either you sell the milk at a fair price or your neighbors try to take the cows and kill you.

LIBERTARIAN/ANARCHO-CAPITALISM: You have two cows. You sell one and buy a bull.

SURREALISM: You have two giraffes. The government requires you to take harmonica lessons.

It is HERE

Refrigerator Magnets

, , , ...

I have actually discussed refrigerator magnets before. Read about it here. The latest tally on my fridgie magnets that hold up scraps of paper with my version of the Daily News has risen considerably.

Currently, I have grocery lists--"Buy Milk" and the scrap of paper towel that has scribbled on it, "Buy paper towels" and the note pad that sticks to the fridge that says (at the moment) Coffee filters, Garbage Bags and Shampoo. I have pizza coupons and a Christmas card from my Mom and Dad--Great picture this year! I love it! I have a business card from a travel agent, directions to the library, a picture of St. Petersburg, FL, a Calvin and Hobbes comic, a photo of Jon, and a 20% off coupon to Bed, Bath and Beyond. Pretty standard refrigerator fare.

I have a new addition to my list of fridgies and that is those little flat magnets with words on them that can be combined into sentences to express thoughts for the day. The overall theme of the word magnets I have is confidence in yourself as a woman. In the past, I have created sentences that say things like "Your body is beautiful." "Brains are pretty." "I love myself and my life" and "Fun is having funny hair."

Over the weekend, #2 son came to my apartment, with the Divine Miss M, I might add, so he could help me repair my computer whose power supply went down the river. At some point, he combined my little word magnets to say, "I want good body love."

Well, OK. I decided to leave it. I even added, "Right now," to his sentence.

And that, folks, is the latest Daily News from Kay Four's Kitchen.

Harder for Kitty to Hide

, , ,

How about this for a news story?

South Korean scientists have cloned cats by manipulating a fluorescent protein gene, a procedure which could help develop treatments for human genetic diseases, officials said Wednesday.

In a side-effect, the cloned cats glow in the dark when exposed to ultraviolet beams.





OK. This is just freaky.

Later edition to this post:

#2 reports that he wants some of these cats and he will put UV lights all over his house just to gain the maximum benefit from having cats that glow in the dark.


The Cracker Barrel Experience

, , ,

I love Cracker Barrel for a number of reasons that I will enumerate here.

Cracker Barrel seems to be a haven for the uber elderly. It doesn't matter that these people have shriveled to 4 feet 2 inches and they can't see over the dashboard in their cars. They can't see past the hood ornamnet, anyway, so not to worry. They are surpassed only by the people who arrive by bus. These are the elderly who are the parents of the elderly who still drive.

In this age of Information and the Internet, most people make their own travel arrangements online, never once telephoning a travel agent, yet travel agents abound. I have a personal theory that they are spend their day arranging bus trips from nursing homes to Cracker Barrel.

Anyway, when I go to Cracker Barrel, I feel young! Not only are the patrons on the high side of their dotage for the most part, all the decorations hanging on the walls are antiques. And I don't know what most of them are for. It seems like the Cracker Barrel decorators, who are from Long Island by the way, feel if it is rusty and doesn't have Made in China stamped on it anywhere, then it must be an antique from rural America. For all I know, we could be dining under a Victorian toe fungus gouge.

But, the food at Cracker Barrel is something that is close to heaven. It is guaranteed to add another layer of fat--keeping you warmer in winter so this is a good thing, right?--while tasting like something my grandmother could have created. The chicken and dumplin's are to die for. They make dumplins the way they are supposed to be made and soak them in chichen gravy and we all know that gravy in every from is also totally slenderizing. And biscuits. With REAL butter. And they let you ask for more butter if that tiny pat isn't enough to satisfy the butter craving.

I went there last week with #2, Clover and the Divine Miss M. The baby had a delightful time eating her macaroni and cheese, a kid's favorite. But, her game that night was getting-her-hands-covered-in-mac-and-cheese-and-rubbing-her-hand-on-daddy's-sweat-shirt. It doesn't matter how cute you are, that kind of thing gets old and Daddy got irritated with her. Understandable. So, he removed his sweat shirt and the game was over because rubbing cheese sauce on a t-shirt isn't nearly as fun as rubbing it on a sweat shirt.

But, she didn't deter me from eating my country friend steak and gravy and dumplins and green beans and fried okra. Just like Gramma used to make. AND I brought home the leftovers.

It is my kind of decadence.

The best thing about this restaurant is the shop that you have to enter through and exit through. There are all kinds of wonderous things in there. The toys are incredible... exactly the same things I played with as a child. I don't know of anywhere else on Earth you can find Wooly Willy with the Magnetic Face? A Magic 8 Ball? Jumbo Jacks? Original Slinky? Original Whee-lo? Raggedy Annne? A Sock Monkey? and a Kazoo? You can also get candy from by-gone eras, like the Atomic Fire Balls, Coconut Slice, Peanut Butter Pillows, Necco Wafers and Jordan Almonds. It's like stepping back in time to an over-stuffed country store.

The only negative thing about Cracker Barrel is that it always seems loud in there... but that is probably because most of the old folks elderly citizens eating there leave their hearing aid batteries at home and they have to shout to each other to be heard.

Blogging by Yin and Yang

, , , ...

There is good and bad in everything.

Years ago, I wanted to be an actress and even did a stint or two on stage until I realized that I don't look like a Hollywood Ingénue...you know the type: 5 feet tall, blonde hair, blue eyes, vapid brain. I wanted to be adored by the audience and cheered after a masterful performance. I wanted to own the crowd. Anywho...

I found that blogging has given me a way to have an audience while having my say on many subjects, which of course is why I named my blog "On Many Subjects." The best thing about it is, I have an audience and I don't have to put my ass on the line to do it. If I write a post that bombs, then I quickly follow it up with something different. If my post is da bomb, then people come and add comment after comment. Score!

Digitaljon says "If you write it, they will come." OK. So, here I am writing again, after the I-found-nothing-funny-all-day day I had yesterday.

So, blogging is actually fun! I even work at a place that pays me to blog! It is like a blogger's dream job. The downside in this Yin and Yang thing? I love to read other blogs, but the day just isn't long enough. I need 36 hour long days so I can read all the funny stuff other people have to say...

What the HELL am I saying? That would only give me more time for housework. Not. Gonna. Happen.

A Not-Much-Is-Funny Kind of Day

, ,

I scoured the Internet this morning looking for something funny to write about and guess what? There isn't too much going on that I would consider funny. I read lots of blogs hoping for some humourous inspiration, but there was nothing.

So, I guess this will be an un-funny post. But, it is so unlike me, I don't know where to begin. Do I discuss politics? Religion? Do I tell a silly joke: Did you hear the one about...?

Hmmmmm.... maybe I will just forget this for a few minutes to see if something inspirationally humorous happens.

OK. Three hours later and nothing has made me laugh. :frown:

The Chirstmas Season is Upon Us

, , , ...

It's that time of year again! I admit. I LOVE Christmas. I LOVE Christmas decorations. I took a hiatus from Christmas for several years and, amazingly enough, I still had money in January. So that is a plus. But, even though I didn't go through the trappings of the holiday, I watched It's a Wonderful Life and White Christmas on TV. Over and over. Last year, I broke with that No-Christmas tradition and put up a tree.

I loved Christmas as a child, except then, I thought Santa Claus MUST be the patron saint of janitors because he wasn't allowed to visit our house unless it was totally cleaned from cellar to dome. (We lived in an American Ranch style home, in Florida, so there was no cellar or dome.) Be that as it may, every nook and cranny, every speck of dust, every tiny mark that announced the home was less than perfectly clean had to be removed or NO SANTA! What a pain for a kid to endure. "Gee, Mom, couldn't Santa come here just ONCE without us having to bleach the bathtub. I mean, I don't think Santa even goes to the bathroom while he's here." There was always the possibility that Santa might have to take a leak and our house, having the reputation of being the cleanest one on his route, would be the home of choice. So, we bleached the tile in the bathroom, cleaned the dust off the tops of the door frames, and removed and cleaned the heater vents. A house that was so clean, Santa would not be embarrassed... and he had better leave those reindeer outside because my mother would have NEVER tolerated them marking up her nice clean floors. (And NO, Mom, I didn't get the Internet just to make you cry.)

But, finally, the house sparkled with cleanliness and the tree was put up and the manger scene was pulled out of the box and the three wise men adorned the coffee table. Christmas was getting closer and Santa would visit after all.

When my Mom and Dad moved into the retirement community, they entrusted me with the family's Christmas decorations, which I promptly lost in one move or other, so now, I have to replace all those wonderful trappings of the Holiday.

And here is my dilemma. I have recently started a new job and am I, in a word, broke. Busted. By the time I got the job, I owed everybody and his dog money, plus most of my extra cash has been going into the CAR FROM HELL that regularly leaves me stranded. So, I want to buy new Christmas decorations for my apartment, but I don't want all these people I owe money to saying, "She can afford to put tacky Christmas lights in her window, but she can't send me any money."

So, maybe the solution is to put the Christmas decorations INSIDE and leave the lights out of the windows so no one will know that I spent money on tacky Christmas decorations instead of paying off a bill or two.

T'is the season to be jolly, afterall.


A GREAT Idea

, , , ...

First, I am going to add this to DigitalJon's Great Idea list.

Is there someone you are angry with? Just have a fight with your boy friend or girl friend? Someone you want to vanish? How about this idea.

Go to your computer.
Create a file with that person's name, for example, "Kay Four."
Then drag the file to the Recycle Bin
You will get a dialog box that asks, "Do you really want to delete Kay Four?"*
You click yes AND you feel instantly better because you just got rid of the object of your anger.

Please note that I used my name as an example and it was not meant to give anyone a good idea! For my part, I would use, Ex-Hubby! :lol:

T'is the Season for Wearing Brigthly Colored Clothing

, , , ...

There are two kinds of people in America: Those that hunt deer and those who wonder why there are deer hunters. Oddly enough, you will find both kinds of people living in the same household more often than not.

So, deer hunting season is upon us and I have noticed that a lot of people have taken to wearing very brightly colored clothing while going out to get the mail. I assume the two are related. (And this is not as much of a stretch as you may think.)

My argument:

I used to work in a convenience store in a small town in Clay County, Florida and, by coincidence, it was the only thing that was open after 11pm. Because this store was open after midnight, this is where all the hunters came to get their provisions for the trip into the woods. They would buy tiny cans of beanie weanies, Dinty Moore's Beef Stew, pacakages of bologna, but no bread or mayonaisse becuse they were going to HUNT, not make dinner, or breakfast.

I would have to make several pots of coffee because they would fill up large thermoses of coffee to keep themselves awake. This brings two things to mind, immediately. First, they would build a fire in the forest to sit around, but they didn't know what to do with it because none of them made coffee, boiled water for instant coffee or heated up their beanie weanies. More than once, they all complained about having to eat cold food. The other thing the enormous thermoses reminded me of is that every hunter had anywhere from 4 and 10 hunting dogs all in cages and all in the back of the 4-wheel drive trucks and all howling. The dog of choice being a Beagle and most aren't cute like Snoopy, but rather they are loud and they howl. So, if these hunters with thermoses wanted to stay awake, all they had to do was to stand out in the parking lot of the convenience store and listen while the dogs howled at each other.

But, as ususal, I digress...

These hunters, typically, would go into the forest, turn their hunting dogs loose, then proceed to sit around the fire and talk about yesterday's hunting, eat their provisions and drink their coffee. Somewhere close to an hour before dawn, they all get up and start to round up their dogs. If they happen to run across a deer while trying to find the dogs, they will shoot at it.

I think I must explain that the definition of a deer is ANYTHING that moves in the forest. A light breeze could rustle a hand full of leaves on a bush and the hunter would shoot the bush because he thinks it's a deer. Or at the very least, he thinks a real deer probably just passed that way and rustled the leaves on the bush.

So, that's why people are wearing brightly colored clothes this time of year because no one wants to be shot while walking out to the mailbox and they happen to rustle a handful of junk mail.

Baby Girls in Pink

, , , ...

My neighbor, Lionel, is still at it...

Li: We will find out tomorrow if Jean is having a boy or a girl.
Me: What do you want?
Li: I am still hoping for a girl.
Me: Have you changed your mind on the whole girls should never wear pink, thing?
Li: No. If it is a girl, there will be no pink in the house.
Me: Then, she will have to wear boys clothes. My granddaughter has almost nothing but pink stuff. Even her little jeans have pink flowers embroidered on them, or pink stitching down the side or something.
Li: But, no one looks good in pink.
Me: Every one looks good in pink. Pink is the color of human skin, regardless if it is dark or light. Pink makes you look younger because it brings out the nice pink tones in your skin. Little old ladies put pink lightblubs in their houses to make them look better. Pink is not an evil color.
Li: But, what if the baby is born with a red face?
Me: It will be red only if it is totally embarassed by it's parents.
Li: You mean, like making a little girl wear boys clothes?
Me: That would be one way, yes.

And in a related story:

#2 Son (The Divine Miss M's Dad): I was in the grocery store the other day with Miss M and a man told me she was a cute little boy.
Me: That's because her hair is still pretty short.
#2: I know that, but she had on a pink dress. A DRESS and the guy still called her a boy. I told him, "This is a girl. That is a pink dress she is wearing. It is not a light-red kilt."

These Two Are Obviously Maddly In Love

, , , ...

Overheard while in line at the bank:

She: That's so retarded.
He: I hate it when you use that word like that.
She: What word? Retarded?
He: Yes. I'm not, you know.
She: Not what? Retarded. Yeah, you are acting totally retarded.
He: Don't you know how high my IQ is?
She: No.
He: It is 136. My IQ is 136.
She: Well, mine is 1050.
He: I said IQ, not SAT score.
She: Whatever. Just don't act retarded again, OK?
He: Whatever.

Humor in the Workplace

, , , ...

According to Mara Rose Williams of the Kansas City Star,

A class clown may be disruptive in school, but in the workplace a little humor is good for creativity, according to a University of Missouri-Columbia researcher.

Chris Robert, assistant professor of management in MU’s Robert J. Trulaske Sr. College of Business, said that humor — particularly joking about things associated with the job — has a positive impact in the workplace.

“The ability to appreciate humor, the ability to laugh and make other people laugh actually has physiological effects on the body that cause people to become more bonded,” said Robert.



That is really good news!

In a seemingly unrelated event, my New Car stranded me again, this time in the rain because the windshield wipers quit working... in the middle of the worse rainstorm this year. I called the lady at AAA to rescue me and we had a lengthy discussion as to the location of my car. "I got off of the highway (Interstate 64W) at the sign that said Military Highway. I made a right at the exit and then drove for about a 1/4 mile or so until I reached the back entrance of an airport. I don't know which one."

She got out her map and looked and pondered, trying to find out exactly where I was. "Ah, you are at the back gate of Norfolk International Airport."

"I am?" It was news to me.

"And you are not on Military Highway. You would have had to turn to the left to get there. You are on Robin Hood Road." Ok and whatever. I just wanted to be rescued.

Soooooo, the wrecker found me, took me to a repair shop and $197.00 later, my windshield wipers work, once again.

Three days later, a man in my office mentioned to me, "I have to go to the UPS place to pick up a golf club that I ordered. It is on Robin Hood Road. I have no idea where that is."

Of course I had a witty comeback for that. "It is really easy to find. I did it in the middle of the worse rainstorm of the year and without any windshield wipers. You should have no trouble finding it at all."

Heroes

, , ,

I actually spend little time watching TV and then I don't actually WATCH TV as much as listen to it. To see the TV I have to twist my neck to an almost Linda Blair angle over my right shoulder to see what the hub-bub is about on the screen.

You see, most of my waking hours are spent at the computer, doing something or other of interest or something or other designed to be monetarily enhancing.

So, Heroes starts a new season and they have introduced new characters who speak in their native tongue--namely Spanish. I am mono-linguistic, so I can't listen to the Spanish people and understand them, I have to stop what I am doing, rummage around for my glasses, twist my neck around to see the see the TV screen and then read the subtitles. It was bad enough with Hiro and his friend last season peaking Japanese, but now, I have to do this with another set of characters.

And to make things worse, the dialogue is bad, so I am doubly irritated by this.

Boy: I speak Spanish, my sister.
Girl: My brother, I speak Spanish as well.
Boy: And while I am speaking Spanish, I will watch out for you, my sister.
Girl: That is good, my brother, because I have a habit of killing dangerous people with just my mind, while I am speaking Spanish.
Boy: Yes, my sister, and as a result, everyone in Mexico has become bad guys because they are trying to stop you from killing people with just your mind, while they are speaking Spanish.
Girl: My brother, do they not understand that I am not doing it on purpose?
Boy: They do not, my sister. They are chasing us again.
Girl: Let us run across this field, my brother.
Boy: Have I told you I am tired of everyone chasing us, my sister?
Girl: Let's speak Spanish while we run, my brother.
Boy: All right, my sister.
Girl: Let us continue to speak Spanish in the forseeable future, my brother.
Boy: And when we stop running, we will speak Spanish some more, my sister.
Girl: Of course, my brother.

Repost: Have You Ever Had a Secret?

, , ,

This has been fun, rummaging through my old posts to find something to write about. I am finding a lot of things written about my #1 daughter and her (former) Hubby. Such a rich feeding ground. Now, however, humor is thin. It seems like I am having a harder time finding funny things to write about. I wonder if there is somethig weird and psychological going on or maybe Mercury is in retrograde.

So, I found this little bit of fun and always a great filler if you can't think of something to write about:

Have you ever had a secret? Something that you know that no one else does? Or something you thought no one else knew and maybe you mention it when you were too drunk to remember? Here are a few of my favorites.

*A friend of mine told me she likes to dance to the music when she's alone in an elevator. (Very Cool!)
*One of my daughter's friends told me she has her nipples pierced and everyone but her mother knows. (I am too chicken to ger mine pierced. I admire her spirit.)
*I used to know a guy who would go to the grocery store,open packages of cookies, take a few out and eat them while he was shopping. The opened box would stay on the shelf. (Oh, you're the one who does that!)
*A friend has a collection of over 80,000 pornography pictures on their computer. (Very Very Cool)
*I [used to] work with a woman who gives everyone the finger when someone walks by her office... behind her computer screen. She thinks no one has seen this. But, I have. (I think I will start doing that myself. Call it stress relief)
*There was a woman in Walmart who drew the universal symbol for NO over a yellow smiley face some else had stuck to the bathroom wall. She used her red lipstick. (I wish I had thought of that)


OK. Are you ready for my secret? When no one is around, I sing loudly and sometimes off key. I sing to the Divine Miss M when I am babysitting her. She is completely non-judgemental and thinks my rendition of "Malia" sang to the tune of "Maria" from the West Side Story is sensational. She sings along with me.

Repost #3: How To Give A Pill To A Cat, Part C

, , , ...

Continuing with the best of Kay Four...

Because of a suggestion by a dear reader and close observation of Evelyn's behavior, the alignment of the planets, the Theory of Relativity and the hole in the ozone layer, I have finally solved the Pill Dilemma.

Evelyn is a slave to her stomach, as are most animals. We THINK they love us, but what they really love is food. Simply put. I am thoroughly convinced that she thinks that I am HUNTING every time I leave the apartment because when I get back, she automatically wants to be fed. She does her cute kitty routine (refer to Puss-in-Boots in the movie Shrek 2 to completely understand this.) She looks at me with her great big blue eyes. She gives me her sweet little meow as if she is saying, "Mommy, I know you are the best hunter in the world, so please share a meager bit of your good fortune with me because how can you resist such a cute face and you know I never ask for much from you and how can you resist such an utterly cute face with such big adorable eyes?" Yeah, right!

I dump food in Cute Kitty's bowl and she is happy. But, underneath all of this, she has five lethal weapons on each foot and some righteous teeth in her mouth! She may give me "cute-kitty", but I now know that underneath she is saying, "Fear me, if you dare!"

The truth is out: This demon possessed animal has a MAJOR weakness. Chicken.

Yep, I made broiled chicken with fresh lemon zest and sweet creamery butter (which is a little slice of heaven and so very delish...) Evelyn pranced and gave me a lot of cute kitty hoping to score a chunk of chicken. I made an entire piece of chicken breast for THE CAT. I ripped a piece of chicken from the bone, shoved the pill inside and gave her the treat on a ceramic dessert plate that my younger brother designed and made for me years ago. Presentation is everything!

She gulped it down, never aware of the pill inside the lemon chicken creation.

Good sense and reason and logic prevailed! Once again, I am the master of my domain. (doing the butter dance at my desk) Yes! All right! YESSSSSS! I am once again THE QUEEN OF EVERYTHING. Go, K4! Go, K4! (patting myself on the back and tooting my own horn)

I put the rest of Evelyn's chicken in the freezer because this pill escapade will continue for the rest of her life. I simply have to thaw a bit, cleverly hide the pill inside and present it to Miss Evelyn on her proverbial silver platter.

The deed is accomplished without any blood or broken furniture!

How to Give a Pill to a Cat, Part B (Repost)

, , ,

How to Give a Pill to a Cat, Part B

Everyone likes to feel as if they are the master of their domaine and I did, until it was time to attempt another round of medication for THE CAT. Evelyn and I are matching wits and the big question is, which one of us will prevail.

For round two, I ignored her. I pretended my precious baby didn't exist for several hours, hoping to disarm her with inattention. But, she was too wise for that maneuver. As soon as I picked her up, the game was afoot once again. Number One Daughter and I wrestled the villian to the kitchen floor and the my daughter SAT on her. That's right, she sat on the cat, effectively pinning her to the floor. (Now, I realize this sounds cruel, but Number One Daughter acutally knelt on the floor with the cat between her knees and angled her feet so that the cat couldn't back out of the impromptu prison) Number One opened the cat's mouth and I stuck the pill as far down her throat as I could. Number One held her mouth closed for at least a minute.

We didn't let her go, just in case. That was one of the best ideas we had. Evelyn spit the pill on the floor, except now it is wet and slimy and the cat is PISSED. I mean she is hissing and growling and howling like a banshee. I am beginning to fear for Number One's life, although the cat is still subdued. Number One can't stay on the floor of the kitchen forever and as soon as she lets the cat up, there may be consequences.

Once again, we try the shove-the-pill-down-the-cat's-throat-while-sitting-on-her-in-the-middle-of-the-kitchen-floor technique. Success! She has swallowed the second pill, but she is no less angry than she was a moment before. Number One stands up, releasing the harpy who is still screaming her distress. Evelyn runs under the bed leaving a deep scratch in the kitchen linoleum. We haven't seen her since.

There has be a better way to do this without suffering blood shed or have damage to inanimate objects. If this keeps up, I am afraid that Miss Evelyn will move to another house where this sort of thing doesn't happen. I will ponder this problem today at work... hmmmmm.