Category Archives: Humor

Hanging In There!

Wisdom’s Not My Strong Suit

Hanging In There

Hanging In There

These days, I walk with the assistance of a cane.  On days when either senility or vanity gets the better of me I leave the cane at home.  I hobble my behind down the street ignoring the pain and the lopsided gait all in hopes of blending in.  Yeah, those of you that know me already can guess where this story is headed.  Those of you that don’t, stick around. 

The day before yesterday I had a multitude of errands to run.  Some took longer than anticipated and I had to hurry to catch my shuttle service.  In a headlong rush out the wrong exit of the shopping center, I wound up on a side of the property that is closed off by gates and wrought iron fencing.  By then my leg hurt so bad there was no way I was going to backtrack through the shopping center to the main entrance.  Being the intelligent being that I am, I decided, “Hey, you can climb that fence.  Piece of cake!”

On the side of the fence enclosing the shopping center are decorative cement blocks that resemble steps.  The fence is set in the top blocks so that was no major feat.  What I hadn’t expected was the small ledge and steep drop on the other side of the fence.  Being the glass is half full kind of gal, I still thought I had this. (Who was I kidding?) So I braced myself to jump from the small ledge onto the ground below.  My foot slipped of the ledge before I could jump and then the bad leg gave out altogether.

Okay, so now you probably have a mental picture of a nutcase sprawled on the ground.  Not nearly so lucky.  Dummy me didn’t notice the hood of my jacket was caught on the curly spikes that protrude from the fence.  Guess who was hanging by the hood of her jacket for what seemed like an eternity?  I was finally rescued by a group of teenagers, but not before they took pics with their cell phones.  Impertinent puppies!  Did I catch my shuttle?  No.  Would I do it again?  Hmm…  Who said wisdom came with age?


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The Dreaded “S” Word

Great Beach Reads

Summer Is NOT My Friend

Bake, Flip, Repeat

Summer, the one out of four seasons when we get a little taste of hell on Earth.  I am not a fan of the overly warm, infinitely humid, incessantly stinky season.  And can someone tell me what is up with all the lying in the sun?  I equate sunbathing to baking a cake.  I consider myself to be a luscious double decadent chocolate.  When my decadent chocolate self popped out of the oven all moist, springing back to the touch and dry to the tooth pick test, it meant I was finished baking.  What logical reason would I have for jumping back in the oven?  As far as I know the same thing applies to angel food, vanilla, yellow, spice and red velvet cake.  There are more flavors but I don’t have all day. If I missed the kind of cake you see yourself as, tell me.  You take your cake out of the oven when it’s done and that’s the end of the story.  Can someone explain why so many people stick their already done cakes back in the oven repeatedly?   Is there a recipe called 10-50 times baked?  The sad part is when the cake is all dried up, cracked and flaky; then you hear, “What happened?  How do I get rid of these cracks?  Where did my nice springy cake go?”    All I can say is, deal with your road map partner.  You drew it!    Did I happen to mention I HATE summer?

man on beach

There are however, ten things I will grudgingly confess I enjoy about that confounded “S” word.  One, the days are longer.  And two through ten, the “beach reads“.  The beach reads are probably the only reason I survive those hellish months.  Those books that make you laugh, or have you sizzling and it’s not because of the outdoor heat.  I remember one…dare I say the nasty word?…summer, after a rather torturous breakup, I had checked out just about every murder mystery book from my local library.  I couldn’t kill the slimy slug for real, so I imagined him as the soon to be deceased in all the books I read.  Between those pages so much mayhem was inflected on my ex-boyfriend, when I did run into him upon occasion in town, I could easily smile and hold a civil conversation.  If only he had known that I had just finished burying him in the foundation of a neighbor’s new house or tying a weight around his neck and dropping him far out at sea only a few hours before!  Hey, it worked!  Call it my self-help therapy.

Buried In Buttercream by G.A. McKevett

This “S” word I recently discovered a writer named G. A. McKevett.  She has written a series called the Savannah Reid Mysteries.  Me being me, of course I started reading her series backward, which is Mckevett’s latest book,  Buried in Buttercream.  I found, Buried In Buttercream to be delightful and witty.  Her characters are unique and I love that McKevett isn’t afraid to make the hero and heroine of her novels a bit more like the Jane and Joe Average you pass on the streets everyday.  While her books are entertaining, there are a couple of items which I found a bit off-putting.  Mckevett might have done well to either refer back to her notes, if she took any, or reread her earlier novels before proceeding to write the next book in her series.    In the first few books her drunken mother raised nine children then in the middle of the series the grandmother raised Savannah and her siblings.  The time span of the friendship between Savannah and her ex-partner, Det. Dirk Coulter expands faster than Pinocchio’s nose.  Despite the errors here and there,  I do recommend you throw this series into your beach bag.   All in all, I give the Savannah Reid Mysteries by G.A. McKevett a solid 8 out of 10.

Here are some of the other books I’ve read this summer:

Stolen Prey by John Sandford  –  The book is the latest installment in the Prey Series.  Excellent!  I rated the book 10 out of 10.

The Last Confession and The Gravedigger’s Ball by Solomon Jones –  I liked The Last Confession more than I did the Gravedigger’s Ball.  Jones creates heart stopping villains and knows how to build tension and suspense but I found the basis of the plot to be weak.  The Gravedigger’s Ball picks up where The Last Confession ended.  The idea is original but honestly I thought Lenore rather useless.    The plot could have moved a little better without her as a supposed focal point.  I rate The Last Confession 8 out of 10 and The Gravedigger’s Ball 7 out of 10.

What are you reading this “S” word?


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Love – Better Off Without It

Please tell me it’s the baby.

A pregnant woman

Image via Wikipedia

Jake struggled to keep his hazel eyes open as he slid the key into the lock. With the baby coming, he needed the overtime, but it was taking its toll on his health and his marriage. Exhaustion left him slumped against the door jamb until the front door finally swung open. He stepped over the threshold with a deep sigh. Home at last.

The living room was dark and empty. Jake was more than pleased. Lately he and his wife, Becky, constantly argued. He didn’t have the energy to withstand one of her tirades that night. He was feeling for the light switch, near the front door, when a large heavy object hit Jake full in the chest. His breath escaped him in a whoosh as the momentum of whatever hurled at him wrenched him back outside through the open doorway. At the edge of the porch, he teetered precariously, and then toppled backward to land in the front yard.

As he lay on the ground and tried to collect his bearings, Becky’s voice, strident as a foghorn, yelled out to him. “You want her so much, take your crap and go stay with her.” She punctuated her cry with the crash of the flat screen TV from his study.

“If she’s going to crawl into your boxers,” his wife shrieked, “she can damn well wash them!” The splintering of Jake’s laptop ended the sentence.

The thuds of his belongings as they landed on the lawn, began to form a rhythmic pattern. Through it all, Jake remained flat on his back.

Jake wearily regarded the stars above him. He implored the twinkling mass to give him the strength not to choke the living daylights out of his wife. He chanted repeatedly, “Becky’s pregnant. Beck’s pregnant.” The chant did nothing to assuage the overwhelming desire to make Becky a nice pair of cement shoes and drop her in the nearest ocean.

Countdown, A personalized Mystery

Countdown, A personalized Mystery

A few of Jake’s golf clubs sailed past him. One missed his head by mere inches.

‘Love,’ he thought, ‘I think I was better off without it.’

This is dedicated to DJ. Keep fighting the good fight. I love you man!

Countdown, A Personalized Mystery Novelette


This crazy experience can be yours at  Let them personalize an adventure for you.


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Isn’t He Romantic

Yes, He Remembers

Popeye and Olive Oyl in the Fleischer Studios ...

Image via Wikipedia

Husband: I can remember the day I met you. It was in April, thirty years ago.

Wife: The month was October, 45 years ago.

Husband: Your light gray eyes flashed bolts of summer lightning.

Wife: My eyes are brown.

Husband: Your curls were golden rays of sunshine.

Wife: I was a brunette at the time.

Husband: Your shapely body put an hourglass to shame.

Wife: I was so thin people would whistle the Popeye theme as I walked by.

Husband: Your voice was that of an angel’s.

Wife: I had laryngitis.

Husband: Your dress was silver to match your eyes.

Wife: My dress was green to match my shoes.

Husband: Your feet were so small and dainty.

Wife: I wear size twelve shoes.

Husband: You smelled like a lily field.

Wife: I put Joy dish soap in my bath water.

Husband: You sashayed into my world, my lovely queen and I crowned you with my heart.

Wife: I was hobbling. Someone had hit me in the leg with a broom and I tripped into you.

Husband: And so decisive! You told me how it was going to be between us from the very start.

Wife: I said, “Get off my foot buster. And stop staring at me like you’ve lost your marbles.”

Husband: We gazed at one another and you surprised me by whispering my name, “Lorenzo!”

Wife: I yelled, “Loser!”

Husband: The band was playing a romantic song.

Wife: The band was on a break. A baby was wailing his head off.

Wife: Dear?

Husband: Yes, Sweetheart?

Wife: Are you sure, you married the right woman?

Husband: I’m as sure as your name is Olivia.

Wife: My name is Janice.


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