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Posts Tagged ‘Humor’

In so many ways, I’m an accident magnet.  Whether it’s a clutzy move tripping over a crack in the floor or a stumble on a cruise ship (I went one direction and the ship went another – and my foot didn’t cope well at all) or the many, many times I’ve broken, sprained, strained, torn, or in some other way damaged parts of my ankles, knees and wrists, I seem to attract pain.  I’ve fallen down (and up) stairs, in holes and over the curbs or cracks of sidewalks so many times, I can’t even remember all of them.  The ones that stand out, though, are falling down a flight of cement stairs when I was five and tearing ligaments in my ankle, catching my ankle on the side of the gymnastic horse in PE when I was in junior high and somehow sommersaulting over the horse and landing on my foot, spraining it…and the time I walked into a hole in the ground and tore ligaments in my ankle (again).  That final time, I was a teacher and was traveling with students.  The school had to send two people – one to drive their car and one to drive the rental and students back home – while I spent the day at the emergency room.  And they left me there!  Fortunately, I had a friend from college who worked in that city…at that hospital!  She picked me up after work and drove me home.

Oh, and I can’t forget the household boo-boos.  I have left a chunk of one of my fingers on the upper coil of the oven (yes, the flesh was sizzling), cut my fingers over and over on paper, cardboard, plastic, scissors, knives, forks and burned certain body parts  that are extremely sensitive – and normally covered by a blouse – and I did this on the stove.  I guess you can figure out what I did.  Leaning over a burner on the stove is not smart!

And then…there are the car accidents.  I have been hit from the side, from the rear multiples times, and hit from the front.  The strangest one was when I was actually stopped behind another vehicle at a stop sign and they decided to back up.  That vehicle was pulling a large boat.  And the boat’s propellor was heading straight at me.  As I frantically tried to shift into reverse while honking the horn, I saw the propellor tear through my hood.  It was tough trying to convince the police officer (and the insurance company) that I was hit by a boat!  🙂  It’s not often a person can say that.  Or want to.

Each day, as I drive to and from work, cook meals, walk, get out of bed or take a shower, I’m taking my life in my hands.  As a walking, talking accident magnet, I know there will be more in my future.  I just hope I live to laugh about them like I frequently laugh about the burner incident, the oven coil, the hole, and the boat.  And I make sure I’m insured…well.

“The Act of God designation on all insurance policies; which means, roughly,  that you cannot be insured for the accidents that are most likely to happen to  you.” ~ Alan Coren

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Well, I started watching The View years ago.  And that was before the rolling heads (Star, Rosie, Debbie, Elizabeth).  My mother has quite a fascination with The Chew.  At first, I thought she was talking about The View, until I realized it was a new show. It tickled my funny-bone that the shows’ titles rhymed.  And then, today, my brain just went with that thought and I started imagining an entire line-up of talk shows…with names all rhyming with The View.

So, first of all is the new crafting show called The Glue.  Can you imagine the corporate sponsorship possibilities?  Between Elmers and Loctite alone, the show will do well.

My husband was fascinated with The Sue, a look at all those crazy court cases where people sue corporations and each other over things like too hot coffee or sandwiches that don’t quite measure 12 inches.

Then there’s The Pew…Jim Bakker’s next foray into televangelism.  And who would want to miss out on The Shrew, Joy Behar’s newest talk show, now that she won’t be on The View anymore.  Her first guest will be Joan Rivers.

And my favorite…The Cue.  It’s all about the theatre scene, with shows being reviewed, guests from Broadway productions and performances from some of the best shows being produced on the road.  And that’s my cue…to ask you what show you would have on this new network called The Zoo.

“Life doesn’t imitate art, it imitates bad television.” ~ Woody Allen

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Or should I call it Planes, Trains and Automobiles?  You’ll understand soon enough… 

Why is it that I can plan a vacation and have all the timing down…everything goes so smoothly.  And then I get married.  Since then, it seems that vacations have a tendency to have things go wrong.  No matter what, it is a comedy of errors.  But the first vacation my hubby and I took after we got married was the worst best example of what not to do on a vacation.

We were living in Germany and trying to travel as much as possible before moving back to the states.  So, we planned a trip to England.  Or, rather, my hubby made the travel arrangements and I planned the activities.  And he’s a bargain hunter.  And his bargains aren’t always the best options for a good vacation.  He booked us on Ryan Air, which meant we flew out of an airport in Germany that was in the middle of a forest!  Nowhere near a city.  WAY out in the countryside.  Nothing around.  Since we traveled there in the day and left our car, the beginning of the trip wasn’t too bad.  In fact, we got to England and caught the train very easily up to the Lake District.  And our bed & breakfast wasn’t bad!  We had a good time with our tour and also explored on our own until it was time to travel south to see my mother’s family and visit some other areas. 

We caught the train (with our handy-dandy BritRail passes) and got to Chester…only to discover there were races going on and half of Britain was on the train or in Chester for the day.  We opted to head straight to Manchester, so we wouldn’t miss meeting up with my Uncle Ian, who was expecting us in mid-afternoon.  Wow…that was when the first problem hit.  We were lugging a fair amount of luggage and had to hop onto a train that was packed like a sardine can from a platform filled to overflowing with everyone trying to either get on or off the train.  We were finally successful on our third or fourth try. 

Our stay in Manchester was very nice, too.  And then we were off to London, to catch our plane back to Germany.  We were staying for a couple of days of sightseeing and had a wonderful time.  Until I twisted my foot on a cobblestone street — discovered much later that I must have fractured a bone in my foot.  It healed and has been nothing but pain since. 

But on to the bad part of the trip.  Or funny, depending on perspective.  I laugh about it now.  Hubby still can’t.  It was an ordeal for him and an adventure for me that gave me the opportunity to see more of Europe than originally planned.  But I’m skipping ahead.

The evening before we were supposed to leave, my dear hubby decided we should blow most of our remaining pounds Sterling on a great dinner.  We had a wonderful meal (Chinese) and went to bed early, since we needed to depart by 6am to catch the tube to the train to the airport.  Yes, it was complicated just to get to the airport.  And since my hubby didn’t want to spend the cash for the more expensive tickets, we were leaving on Friday morning EARLY to beat the rush of the British leaving for a holiday weekend to the continent.  And he didn’t want any extra pounds leftover, so he used up the rest of what we had to pay the hotel bill.  And we walked down from the hotel, lugging luggage (again) to catch the tube at 6 (when it was supposed to start running).  BUT, that is when it starts running in the inner part of London.  They hadn’t reached the outskirts until 6:30.  We hopped on the first subway train and off we went.  And caught the next one to take us to the train to the airport.  By now, we were pushing our luck!  We RAN like crazy people to the train and the doors slid shut directly in front of our noses and we stood there panting and gazing at the train getting smaller and smaller in the distance.  Fifteeen minutes later, we caught the train.  As we ran to the gate to check in at the airport, we knew it was not looking good, but figured we could catch a later plane if necessary.  NO.  We missed our boarding time by 5 minutes and there were no flights available until Monday.  It was Friday!  And all my dear hubby kept saying was, “I need to get back by 7 tonight”.  I wanted to strangle him.  He turned and looked at me and asked, “what now?”  Okay, I saw the writing on the wall.  I had thought we could just go back to our hotel and stay a couple of extra days and then go back home on Monday, but then his face told me otherwise.  He expected me to get us back.  So, I did the only thing I knew.  Get us to France.  After all, it’s next door to Germany.   

We caught the train back to London from the airport and then I checked the schedules.  I could get us on a train (using our handy-dandy BritRail passes again) and head to Dover.  Then we could catch the ferry to Calais.  After that, we had to figure out what next.  I figured there had to be an ICE train to Germany.  Well, the train from London to Dover must have stopped in every village and town along the way, picking up and dropping off passengers.  All the way, my dear hubby was in a bad mood and kept repeating, “I need to be back by 7pm.”  He had an obligation and didn’t want to contact anyone to sit in for him.  Well, we didn’t get to the ferry until 3pm.  I knew we weren’t going to make it, but we were in DOVER!  The Cliffs of Dover have always been one of my favorite sights in the world.  They are dramatic, imposing and amaze me.  I was over the moon getting to see them again and asked hubby if he wanted to go to the upper deck to see them.  No.  He wasn’t interested.  So I went off to see them. 

We arrived in Calais and immediately found the train station.  We had just missed the last train to Germany for the night.  We were going to have to rent a car or find a hotel for the night.  It was now 5pm and somehow, my hubby still was determined to get back to Germany that night.  We were NOT going to make it.  It was clear!  But he was determined.  So, we rented a car and started driving.  And got to Brussels…the dreaded ring road around Brussels was another nightmare.  We couldn’t find the right exit.  We kept going around and around.  We finally saw a miniature sign pointing off to the right and we were on our way to Germany. 

By now, it was getting darker and darker–night was falling.  And we were in the woods.  Dark woods with very tall trees.  We drove. And drove. And drove.  And drove.  My eyes were drooping and all I wanted to do was go to sleep.  But we continued on, despite having missed the deadline to get back.  Hubby had made the call for a substitute for his obligation and I wanted a hotel.  But we drove.  We were lost a couple of times and then found our way back to the right road. 

And at 3:30am, we found the airport in the woods.  And had to spend the rest of the night in our car, waiting for the airport to open and for daylight.   Each time I fell asleep in that reclined front seat, I’d sleep about 15-20 minutes and wake up cold.  Hubby would start the car and as soon as it was warm, I’d fall asleep again and he’d cut the engine.  No carbon monoxide poisoning for us!  I’d get cold again and wake up, “I’m cold, I’m cold!”  He’d start the engine and we’d warm up and I’d fall asleep.  Finally, it was morning.  We had now been traveling for 24 hours.  Yes, we could have been in London, enjoying the Golden Jubilee of Queen Elizabeth.  Or we could be sleeping in a car in an airport parking lot, in the middle of the woods.  And did I mention this was our belated honeymoon??  Yep.    

So, now that it was morning, it was time to return the car and drive home.  But, the car we had rented still needed to be returned and this airport didn’t have a rental office for this car.  We had to drive to a major city to drop it off.  And I had to drive our car.  I had only been in Germany a few months and had just received my driver’s license for Germany.  I had never driven on the autobahn.  I had never driven that fast.  I was scared.  Off we went to Cologne to return the car and then we finally headed home.  I was dozing most of the way, once we were back in our car and hubby was driving.  We got home at noon, 30 hours after leaving our hotel in London. 

Exhausted, grubby and thankful to be out of a car or other mode of transportation!  At last, I turned to hubby and noticed he was still not a happy camper.  I was laughing about some of what we’d been through, but he didn’t find any of it humorous.  I hope, someday, he can laugh about this.  As we approach our 10th anniversary, I am tempted to ask him to repeat our trip to England.  But this time, no cheap flights, no crazy treks back home.  Besides, now we can’t drive back…we live in the states.

So, what disastrous vacations have you had?

“No vacation goes unpunished.” ~ Karl A. Hakkarainen

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This morning, my hubby and I went bowling. There really is a reason. The division I work in at the university is having a jamboree (staff end-of-the-year event) this week and it is at the local bowling alley. I haven’t bowled in 34 YEARS! Yes, that’s right.     34 YEARS!     I know there are people I work with who were born AFTER the last time I bowled. Needless to say, some of them bowl on a regular basis.

Don’t get me wrong. I used to love to bowl. And then I got tired of it or just didn’t make the time anymore. I can hardly remember. After all, it was 34…okay, enough. Anyway, I used to be good.  Pretty darn good, in fact.  I competed at the state level and placed seventh, if I remember correctly, in doubles and 11th in singles. 

So, off I went to the bowling alley this morning, with the knowledge that I am now incredibly old to be learning how to bowl (again) and with my hubby in tow.  At least the place we went was far from the house, eliminating odds of running into neighbors.  But, it was close to work.  So, I worried (needlessly, fortunately).  We had socks ready (since we were renting those LOVELY shoes that are available for the novices or non-regular bowlers).  And we had checked…it is only 99 cents per person per game on Sundays before noon.  Yes, we didn’t go to church.  We went bowling. 

Well, it started out rough.  We didn’t know where to go once we entered.  The place was mammoth!  And when we did find the desk, I blurted out, “I haven’t bowled in 34 YEARS!”  So, too late.  I have now embarrassed myself.  But I was wanting to make sure he knew up front, we didn’t know what we were doing and we were going to have stupid questions.  I had to give him my driver’s license.  HUH??  I guess that’s so you don’t leave without paying.  Boy, has the world changed in the last 34 years.  😀  Okay, I’ll stop bringing that up.  Then, he asked what size shoes.  Well, I live in south Texas.  I hardly wear shoes that cover my entire foot anymore, so I just had to guess.  And were those shoes lovely!?!  NO!  Mine were three colors and one of the shoes had a chunk of leather (?) missing on the area where it wraps below your ankle.  It looked like it had been chewed on by a rat.  But, they were broken in (really broken in) and were actually comfy.  Well, off to lane 3.  But first, put on the shoes and find a bowling ball.  Strangely, hubby and I are both left-handed.  I was worried.  But I guess they make the bowling balls generic now.  Who knew?  Back (XX years ago) in the day, there were left- and right-handed bowling balls.  So, we found bowling balls (and amazingly, they are all different colors now, too).  I had a bright pink one and hubby’s was orange–I didn’t see a black bowling ball in the entire place.  Then we sat at what looked like the Enterprise’s (reference to Star Trek) control panel and realized we had no idea what we were doing.  The guy on the next lane was nice enough to show us how to work it.  I was used to paper and pencil and keeping tabs on the score myself. 

I have now thoroughly embarrassed myself without even throwing the first ball.  But things definitely were not as bad as I expected.  My first game was a not horribly embarrassing 77.  Could have been a lot better, but could have been a lot worse.  And my second game was 130…I broke 100!!!  I’m feeling a little better about going on Wednesday to the jamboree.  I did my pre-jamboree, bowling reconnaissance and embarrassment-proofing.  Now, let’s hope I can repeat at least one of those game scores, so I’m not cringing as the bowling ball bounces across lanes (I’ve done that before) or flying behind me (again, done that) or bouncing off my foot (haven’t done that, but it’s a fear).  So, wish me luck and keep me in your thoughts on Wednesday evening as I head off to the lanes and the camaraderie of my co-workers.

“There’s a blush for won’t, and a blush for shan’t, and a blush for having done it: There’s a blush for thought and a blush for naught, and a blush for just begun it.” ~ John Keats

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I have to say, I’m extremely picky about condiments on my burgers, hot dogs and other sandwiches. There are definite likes and dislikes and I will forego eating something rather than suffer the wrong addition to the item.

Burgers are very specifically designed for ketchup, in my mind. No mayo (or, God forbid, Miracle Whip) and no mustard (especially that horrid, yellow mustard).  Hot dogs, on the other hand, are definitely meant for spicy mustard (or horseradish mustard), and absolutely NO ketchup (flashback to a disgusting incident when I babysat many, many years ago–don’t ask).  Then there are the other requirements…sweet pickle relish (not Hot Dog Relish, though), diced onions and diced tomatoes.  Oh, my tastebuds are dancing!   

As for ham or ham and cheese sandwiches, only mayo.  I have no idea why I don’t like mustard on them.  And even if I did, it wouldn’t be yellow mustard!  And Roast Beef cannot have any condiments…I like the bread, roast beef, maybe some cheese and definitely some lettuce, black pepper and tomato.  That’s it.  Don’t dress it up.  I want that beefy flavor.  And when I eat breaded pork tenderloin sammies, it gets really weird.  I want ketchup on them!  AND mayo.  Nothing else except sliced onion. 

I know that we all have our likes and dislikes.  That’s why the store shelves are filled to capacity with so many options.  I won’t even get into the Hunts vs. Heinz ketchup debate or the Heinz vs. Mt. Olive pickle relish or the French’s vs. Gulden’s….  We all know what we like best and we can agree to disagree.  Or can we? 

My hubby says I’m un-American, because I won’t have French’s yellow mustard on my burgers.  I say, I AM American, because I have the freedom to choose my condiments and stand by my choice.  🙂  Okay, maybe freedom of condiments isn’t in the constitution, but it should be!  So, I guess that makes me pro-choice. 

“Of all earthly creatures, humans alone have the power to choose.” ~ Anonymous

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My dear hubby has quite a sense of humor…not ALWAYS appreciated, but for the most part is so much fun! He inherited his dad’s awful love of puns…and since I have a strange love of puns, too, it’s a good thing we found each other. It doesn’t matter that many of them are “groaners”, I laugh. And not just one of those polite-little-tinkly laughs, either, but a great, big, wahoo kind of laugh.

When making my list (girls, you know that list) of what I wanted in a guy, sense of humor was very high on it. In fact, I think it struggled with good-hearted to be number 1. I know, when we’re young, good looks is probably number 1 for most, but not me. Okay, it may have been number 2, but it was NEVER at the very top. Nice smile, sense of humor, good-hearted, gentleman, etc…all of these were requirements. And I’m so lucky! My funny Valentine has all of these character traits, appearance traits, and so much more.

As I get older, the ability to make me laugh becomes even more important. And I know why, now. Even if he makes me mad, with one of his silly jokes he almost always makes me laugh. And then I can’t be mad at him anymore. It’s a great solution to a tiff.

So, if you are still out there searching for “Mr. Right”, don’t discount the importance of an amazing sense of humor…one that you “get”, one that will make you laugh no matter what. Because Life is Just Way Too Serious!

“Among those whom I like or admire, I can find no common denominator, but among those whom I love, I can: all of them make me laugh.” ~ W. H. Auden

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If there was such a contest, would your family be contenders? Or do you find they don’t seem very interesting? I doubt that anyone’s family is really that dull. We all have that odd relative who makes you wonder if they were adopted. And then, there are some of us who are members of a family so strange, so peculiar, it seems there’s only one NORMAL member of the family.

I fall somewhere in the middle. We seem to have some odd ducks in my family. We never really do anything that could cause us to be institutionalized, but we do seem to have peculiarities that make me laugh out loud at times.

For instance, my mother is quite a character.  When my brother and I were really young, she had us convinced she was a witch.  Not the “wear black and fly on a broomstick” kind of witch, but a spell-casting, turn-bad-kids-into-frogs kind of witch.  If we were in the car, sitting in the back seat, misbehaving and fussing, all she had to do was say “Alakazam” and other mumbo-jumbo and then ask my dad if he heard croaking in the back seat.  We’d beg and plead not to be turned into frogs.  “We’ll be good!”  It was scary enough to keep us in line back then, but it sure is funny now. 

My American grandmother was a tiny woman who was really strong, a survivor and pretty amazing.  She had 12 children and spent many years on a farm in Oklahoma.  And she could kill rattlesnakes with her bare hands…actually, just one hand.  She used to grab them near the tail and swing them around and around until their heads exploded.  The mental picture I get is mind-boggling.  Okay, so this is the story my father told us when we were kids.  I still don’t know if it’s even possible!  But I do know that whether it’s true or not, either my grandmother or my father was a hoot!

I’m even more convinced that my family is pretty crazy when it comes to holidays (and, especially, gift-giving).  One relative, who will go nameless to protect…well…me, has been giving my dear hubby and me some musical gifts the last few years.  For instance, we are now the owners (please note, I didn’t say proud owners) of a singing donkey that does a very bad job on La Bamba.  I could swear the donkey has an accent that is from somewhere in Southeast Asia.  This year, we have just received a trio of singing kittens on a stuffed pillow.  Our little fur-baby, Tang, was horrified!  I’m not sure if he thinks he’s going to end up stuffed or if the noise from the meowing and singing freaks him out.  I’m really afraid to know what stuffed singing critter we’ll get next. 

But no matter what, I still have to say–my family may be a little crazy, but I love them!  And if they weren’t so kooky, I wouldn’t enjoy life so much. 

Just how crazy is your family?

“Call it a clan, call it a network, call it a tribe, call it a family: Whatever you call it, whoever you are, you need one.” ~ Jane Howard

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