True Confessions--The Spring Edition

The guilt is killing me so I may as well fess up.

I recently got one of those Trac-Phones by Motorola. The phone is only $8.98 cents and you pre-pay the minutes in one hour increments for 20 dollars. It came with 20 minutes free and that's all I can afford so I don't get to really use it. I can't really give out my phone number.

But it will be nice to have if I'm ever in the car and have a flat tire I can call AAA. Or if I get locked out of the gate at work I can call and get buzzed in by somebody.

But the thing is, I'm so smitten with the idea of finally having joined the 22nd Century that I walk around pretending to be talking on my cell phone. I drive with it glued to my ear, giving every indication that I'm asking for directions to the Pentagon or asking someone how far apart her contractions are so that I can be there in time to deliver her baby.

I go out back to the laundry room or the garbage dumpster loudly exclaiming as if the person on the other end of the line is in a major crisis or just a very vehement story teller who expects vehemence in return.

Sometimes I just pretend that I have a best friend who wants a blow-by-blow tale of my every move. "Yes, yes," I say! "They are totally OUT of my kind of ink cartridge at the Office Max. I know, I know, I'm just going to have to try some place else."

You know, important stuff.

So, yes, I admit it.

I'm a Cell Phony.

Time Passages

Ah, Daylight Wastings Time! How I look forward to this twice a year! A weeks worth of lost sleep, starving when it's nowhere near mealtime, and being late for everything because I forgot to set my car clock for the change.

(Note to self: Have not yet changed car clock.)

This Sunday Last I managed to miss the time change, again! It was a full-on 10:20 in the morning by the time I realized I was on the wrong time schedule and had changed all my clocks.

So I changed the living room clock. I changed the kitchen clock. I changed the bedroom alarm clock. I changed the bathroom clock. I changed the clock in the spare bedroom. I changed the microwave clock and then I took a break, rested, caught my breath and girded my loins to change my watches, my VCR and the oven clock.

The last one I reset was the oven clock. 10:20. Finally!

Exactly Ten Hours and Twenty Minutes later my oven started beeping at me.

I had set the Oven Timer not the clock!!!!

Another Miss Kittyism

While heading to the grocery store I mentioned to Miss Kitty that I thought it was very hot in the car.

She nodded wisely and said conspiratorially: It's That Time, isn't it?

Um, What time, Miss Kitty?

You know, that time. Time for the change.

Yes, perhaps, I replied.

Well, we won't talk about it, said she. My mother never talked about it.

Okay, I said, Mum's the word.

In her repetitive fashion, Miss Kitty continued:

No, Mother never talked about the change.

She never talked about it when she died, either.

For which I am eternally grateful! Because even at Eastertime when such things have been known to happen, I do not want a dead woman rising from the grave and talking to me about menopause.

Pagan Rituals

I was recently informed by a Jehovah's Witless acquaintance of mine that Easter is a Pagan Holiday to be avoided at all costs lest I anger Jehovah and be punished.

It instantly made me run to my holiday goodies box and dig out all my little pagan statuettes of the Evil Easter Bunny, which I placed around the Pagan Tree of Eggs of Fertility and Twinkly Lights of Imitation Starlight.

And then I danced a caper and swayed and sang the Incantation Song:

Oh! here comes Peter Cottontail,

Hoppin' down the bunny trail,

Hippity hoppity,

Happy Easter day.

Here comes Peter Cottontail,

Hoppin' down the bunny trail,

Look at him stop,

And listen to him say:

"Try to do the things you should."

Maybe if you're extra good,

He'll roll lots of Easter eggs your way.

And soon, as if by Evil Pagan Magic, I will have evoked the appearance of many dozens of dyed boiled eggs and Easter Egg Shaped cookies dripping in buttercream icing.

And if I am good, very, very good, perhaps this will be the year that I catch a glimpse of the Great Bunny Himself so that I will know that all my 51 years of pagan worship have not been in vain!

You'll wake up on Easter morning

And you'll know that he was there

When you find those choc'late bunnies

That he's hiding ev'rywhere.

Oh! here comes Peter Cottontail,

Hoppin' down the bunny trail,

Hippity hoppity,

Hippity hoppity,

Happy Easter day!!!

What If?

I just heard today that of the people who see those drug commercials on tv and run to their doctor and ask for them, 82% recieve that prescription.

82%!!!!

Does that mean the same 82% are running around with side effects?

I Believe in Evolution

Long ago, long long ago, back in the ShabbyChicocene Era, we saw the first emergence of the pie safe in it's most basic and rudimentary form:

It's purpose then was to give the appearance of casual Granny Chic. And it lived up to its functionality in the Grand Design. Then, of course, came the Ice Age:

When absolutely everything had to be painted a snowy white. What was originally pristine and timeless, over time became antiseptic looking and rather sterile. Change was inevitable, as very little breeding took place in this frozen wasteland.

And thus was born the New Age of Pie Safes! The Amisholithic Epoch was ushered in with the help of Dutch Boy Cherry Chocolate Paint and several panels of old black pillow ticking. We here in the Pro-Evolution camp feel that this most current incarnation of cabinetry will be with us for a long, long time to come.

Brought to you by Sylvia Browne

I was at my new 97 year old clients house yesterday dusting away when she toddled into the living room and plopped down in her recliner. She lifted her legs in front of her, looked at them musingly and said,

"I think I just had a Sylvia Browne Moment."

Well, that got my attention! I raced right over to the easy chair and sat down for a listen.

"I have been having trouble with my legs, you see", she continued. "I was wondering what to do about them hurting so much when a deep, gravelly voice said, "WALK!" I thought that was so frightening!"

"I don't think that is so scary," I told her, "After all it could have told you to set yourself on fire."