Public Service Announcement

pic courtesy of

 Stopped by the vet’s office today to pick up some meds for EmmaLou, Golden Destroyer.  “Mike” with his cat-in-a-box was hunkered down in one of the reception chairs right next to the reception counter.  I was at the counter trying to have a conversation with the nice young woman about getting a refill on EmmaLou’s meds.

“Mike” with his cat-in-a-box, on the other hand, had whipped out his cell phone and was leaving a rather lengthy message…and he wasn’t exactly using his “inside” voice.  It went something like this:

“Mike”:  Hullo Rob?  This is your cousin Mike.  You know I always speak my mind and I tell it like it is.  And I’m tellin’ ya I want to come to your house for the holidays this year.  I don’t wanna go to my sister Susan’s house.  I really like your family better and I want to be there, but ya know how it is with the airline schedules and all and so I need to know right now if you want me to be there or not, okay Rob?  Ya know I always say what’s on my mind……

By that part of the conversation, I had asked the receptionist twice how much was EmmaLou’s medicine?  And I had shot “Mike” THE LOOK.  He was clueless — so here’s the Public Service Announcement just for “Mike”:

It’s a cell phone, not two dixie cups on a string.  Lower your voice.  If you must talk on a cell phone in an enclosed place, think about what you are saying and what the people around you will hear.  Guess what?  I don’t give a fat fuzzy rat’s a$$ whether or not you “tell it like it is” nor do I give a fig about where you spend the holidays.  Judging by your behavior this morning, I’m thinking your sister Susan will be the lucky one come holiday time.  I hope Cousin Rob is prepared.

Personal phone conversations held at a decible level akin to a lawn mower are not acceptable in small spaces.  In fact, they do not belong anywhere in public where someone else is trying to do business.  So knock it off!

This has been a Public Service Announcement….sigh….


Flip Flop Fail File

pic courtesy of:

Yes kids it’s time for another story from the Crone and Bear It duh files.  This is a true story; I could not make this stuff up.

Yesterday I was at my Divine Nail Diva appointment and I happened to relay this little tidbit to my fav nail lady who had to stop puttin’ on the polish as she fell into a fit of hysterics.  I didn’t think it was all THAT funny — it’s just my life.

You see a couple of weeks ago I was in my usual rushing around like a chicken with its head cut off state and not paying a bit of attention.  What bothered me most was some pain in my right foot.  It really hurt.  But I didn’t have time to mess with it — I was running errands and multitasking like nobody’s business.  Everywhere I went my foot kept aching.  I ignored it and pressed on.

I came home, sat down in my comfy chair and finally happened to glance down at my right foot and, if I’m lying I’m dyin, this is what I saw:

Flip Flop FAIL

Apparently, that morning I was in such a hurry I simply slammed my feet into the old flip flops and off I went clueless as to what I had actually done.  No wonder my foot hurt.  What is truly sad is I sort of recall doing this once before…I never learn do I?  Another typical Crone and Bear It Duh moment….sigh…

Fishtail…er…Fish Tale

I debated long and hard about telling this story ….

Last week Devoted Spouse and I went fishing.  We have one place we normally fish; it’s not far away and there is an outdoor range there so if we like we can also shoot off a few million rounds of ammunition when we’re done fishing.

Usually it is Devoted Spouse’s duty to unpack the car and lug all our gear out to our special fishin’ site.  This time I helped coz that’s the kinda gal I am.  We set up our lawnchairs and put our Ohio State thermal coffee mugs on the picnic table.  I sat down in one of the chairs  to gaze across the water at the deer while Devoted Spouse began to open the various tackle boxes and start putting bait on his hook.  He took out various tools, and what-not and also put a can of WD-40 on the table.

I got up to get a swig of coffee and find a nice juicy piece of fake bait to put on my own hook when I looked behind my tackle box and saw the can of WD-40.  Assuming Devoted Spouse was having a problem with his fishin’ pole, I casually remarked to him, “Why is a can of WD-40 on the table?”  He replied….”We need to spray it on our bait.”

“We need to spray WD-40 on our bait?”  “Yep.”  And he proceeded to do just that….spray WD-40 on his fake worm.  I watched in awe.  I couldn’t stand it any longer and had to engage him in conversation about this….  “Why the H are you spraying WD-40 on your fake worm?”  I questioned while trying not to laugh outloud.  Dear Devoted Spouse replied, “I found this online at a fishing site and this guy said if you wanna catch a lot of fish you have to spray your bait with WD-40 coz basically it’s made from fish oil.” 

Now my husband is a well-educated and smart man with degrees out the wazoo.  I normally rely on his expertise in most areas.  But this time I just about wet my pants at the thought of luring fish to our fake bait by using Eau d’WD-40.  And so I did what any normal woman would do in this situation.  I picked up my fishin’ pole with its own fake worm and sprayed the worm with WD-40.  Oh. Yes. I. Did.

I cast that puppy out into the lake.  I sat down in my lawnchair, sipped my coffee and waited for the big one to bite.  And waited.  And waited.  And waited.  I reeled in my line, changed the fake bait to some other equally fake bait, dutifully sprayed said fake bait with a squirt of WD-40 and cast that baby back into the lake.  I knew this time I was gonna catch the big one. 

I waited.  I waited.  I waited.  I reeled in my line once again and repeated the above steps.  I might mention here that I noticed Devoted Spouse was performing the same routine as I and he wasn’t catching any fish either.

How many fish did we catch using the WD-40 that day?  Zero.  But our fishin’ reels sure work mighty fine now…sigh…

I Feel the Need to Post But I Got Nothin’ But a Dog and a Crutch

I feel compelled to post something for Thursday – I’m not doing the theme thing this week – forgot to sign up.  Yeah, it’s been that kind of week – I think the appropriate word is scatterbrained.

May just be that I have cabin fever from all the bad weather.  Although I did venture out into the frozen tundra today and it wasn’t bad – the worst part was my neighborhood.

Last night a Good Neighbor fired up his Super SnowBlower Deluxe Extreme for Big Kids and blew out a path around our mailbox (and that of the guy across the street) so the mailman (who I don’t like but that’s another story) could drive his funky little mailtruck close enough to actually get the mail into our mailbox.  What a nice gesture – I called the Good Neighbor’s wife and said thank you and now I feel obligated to make something to take over there – but she’s the Housewife we all love to hate – she cleans, she bakes, she goes to the Wives Club meetings, she plants flowers that live  – and I love her dearly, but anything I make will be substandard and no doubt dumped in the trash.  I’m going to do it anyway as a gesture of neighborliness.  I know what!!! — I’ll make some greeting cards for her – I bet she doesn’t do stamping (although she does a lot of sewing) – I’ll think of something.

Anyway life here is relatively quiet.  I have nothing very funny to report except the way Bob Costas looks at the Olympics – what’s up with his eyes and his hair?  He can’t seem to move his face – I think the doc tightened up the skin just a tad too much perhaps.  And his hair was black and is slowly lightening up each time I see him.  Is the dye washing out ya think?  I got a little perturbed at some of his comments, too – he seemed to make a big deal of what other people were wearing — hello, Bob?  Look at yourself first.

Nothing new on the EmmaLou front – she’s relatively quiet and being good and that in itself is a little frightening.  Sort of like waiting for the other shoe to drop.  Or paw in her case.

I’m still working on my collage challenge -hopefully I should finish Thursday coz I’m about ModPodged out.  I was standing in the kitchen the other night with Devoted Spouse and I had dried ModPodge all over my hands and I started screaming about the blister on my finger and right in front of him I grabbed the skin (it was ModPodge) and started peeling it off and yelling and it totally grossed him out.  I felt like I was about 8 years old and I liked it.

Speaking of DS he just brought me an English Muffin with cherry preserves on it.  Whatta guy!  I attended a class at church tonight and came home hungry – part of the problem is today is the first day of Lent and for Lent I have given up chocolate candy/cookies (coz I do that every year) and this year I have added something that will be difficult for me (because I think that’s the point) and that is I am giving up red meat for the next 40 days – yup – the carnivore is gonna do without red meat.  Now I’ll be happy to report occasionally on how that’s working for me, but there is a distinct possibility you may figure it out by the tone of my upcoming postings.

Do you read blogs based on categories?  I don’t but I bet others do.  So for this post I think I’ll pick some weird categories just to see if I get anyone different and they read something they don’t expect.  I’m really bored.

That’s it for me kids.  I’ll try and be funnier later.  For now I’m gonna go back to making fun of Bob Costas.

You Want to Do WHAT to Me?


My new physical therapist, who resembles one of those troll dolls and one of those Kitchen Witch dolls that used to be so popular, asked me to lie belly down while she gave me electrical stimulation.  I wasn’t sure I heard her correctly, and I looked up and said, “Excuse me?  You want to do WHAT to me?”  I thought perhaps seeing as it was very early in the morning and I had only gulped down a half cup of coffee there was a slight chance I was in the wrong place and something kinky was about to take place.

I hear and obey

I hear and obey

She smiled and explained calmly that she was going to hook up electrode thingies to parts of my back where my muscles were so tight and that this would electrically stimulate the muscles to relax them and also add heat to the area to help calm the inflammation.  Aha, I thought.  She’s going to use something similar to a TENS unit which sends electrical impulses.  Got it.  Understand.  No problemo.  Bring it on.

So Brunhilda proceeded to hook me up (literally) and then placed warm and heavy heating pads on my back and I promptly went to sleep.  That is until what I thought was a homeless man stumbled into the softly lit room and  climbed up on the table next to me and turned toward me and grinned.


stop staring at me!

Ick-poo.  Dirty, hadn’t shaved, mouth hanging open, Neanderthal.  Cruel, but truly, I simply wanted someone to hook him up to the electrical thingie somewhere in his face so he would stop staring and drooling at me.   Gah.  I turned my head the other way and tried very hard to listen to the soothing music playing in the background (one of those classical CDs with the sounds of the ocean in the background — makes you want to both be at the beach and pee at the same time). But he kept making sounds like a dog with a bone stuck in its throat.  My twenty minutes couldn’t go by fast enough.  By the time I was done, Neanderthal Man had left the room and I was hoping not to see him ever again.  If he shows up regularly during my scheduled sessions, well, I’m going to have to do something about the calendar.

After the treatment there was some light stretching of my legs and feet and then Brunhilda wanted to do an ultrasound of my hip as there is quite a bit of pain in that area too.  Of course at the mention of the word “ultrasound” I’m thinking if she finds a baby dolphin  or heaven forbid worms swimming around in there I’m toast.  She patiently explained that this was a different type of ultrasound, that it was like a warm massage – and then she spread this warm lotion on my hip and started moving the ultrasound thingie all around my hip, and I promptly went to sleep again.  I’m seeing a pattern here.

The good news is when the session was done, I felt better.  I walked better and with less pain.  It is now late in the day and I still am feeling less pain than I did this morning.  In the words of the immortal Martha, “it’s a good thing.”  Still, I’m happy and looking forward to getting some good results from this round of physical therapy.  In all honesty I like Brunhilda, she’s a very nice lady and I know she will try her hardest to help me heal, but let’s face it…she’s no Agador Spartacus by any stretch of the imagination.  *sigh*

me soon I hope

me soon I hope

The only way I can sum it up is to say….I’m so excited, I just can’t hide it, I’m about to lose control and I think I like it.  Can anyone out there identify that line?

Honey, Spandex Can Only Do So Much


I went to see my newest blogging buddy The Atomic Mom yesterday and she had this posting with a picture of a huge young woman on a motorcycle and this girl had the biggest backside God has ever made and she was in a pair of the shortest shorts imagineable.  Well I just laughed and laughed and was thankful I don’t look quite that bad in shorts.  Now I know it’s not nice to laugh at those who are less fortunate than ourselves.  But I did.  I’m human.  I may study Theology and God-things but I’m still human and that picture is funny.

So, yesterday I made a Target run.  Now in the past few days here in Ohio it’s been getting up in the 80’s and kind of warm.  That brings out everybody in tee-shirts, shorts, and flip-flops (as it should).  What I saw going into, walking around, and coming out of Target just floored me.

“Fat chicks in shorts” (as Atomic Mom would say).  Now, I’m not trying to be critical – I’m a middle-aged lady who could stand to lose a good 20 pounds (okay maybe even 30), but I don’t go around the neighborhood wearing skintight biker shorts that make your fat bubble up over the top.  Nor am I a proponent of cropped tops – my belly needs to stay right where it is…hidden behind clothing.

You would not have believed what some of these women were wearing – and these were not young women.  I saw more spandex than I ever want to see again.  Honey – here’s a note:  just coz it’s spandex doesn’t mean it makes you look slim.  If you weigh 250 pounds (and there seems to be alot of those here in OH) I guarantee you that spandex is gonna do nothing but create terrible problems – that fat that has been squeezed needs to go somewhere and inevitably it will show out the bottom of the shorts or over the top.  Not pretty. Honey if you can’t zip it don’t try to wear it; if  you can’t get that spandex up over your bottom without jumping up and down and breaking into a sweat, stop trying.  It isn’t going to work.


I saw ladies in those gawdawful cheap polyester (I apologize if you like polyester) pants two sizes too small with little teeny tight tee-shirts that make the already floppy fat on the upper arms just pop out like it was Popeye’s.  Does no one in this town own a mirror?

Ladies here’s a tip – if you are over forty and your thighs look like they have cottage cheese please invest in a nice pair of twill capri pants and a  nice well-fitted short sleeved shirt or a tee-shirt in the proper size.   Then go outside and do your shopping.  Because I’m telling you if I have to look at one more backside that looks like you could hold a lunch tray on it  simply because it’s been forced into spandex 6 sizes too small, I shall lose what little I have of my mind.


We can’t all be a size 2 but we can all stop trying to squeeze into those size 2’s!  I understand there are issues of medicine – things like Prednisone will make you gain weight and I understand there are thyroid issues and a host of other medical reasons that some of us are larger than we would like. Oh and dear gawd let’s not forget menopause – it’s a weight killer.   But let’s start dressing for our size and get over this nonsense that women have to squeeze into tiny sizes to be valid.

Time for a Little Gratitude


Okay, I really stressed about going to see Elliot the tax man.  Every year I put myself through tax Hades worrying about whether or not we owe Uncle Sam.  It’s just so annoying to have to pay and pay and pay and pay ad nauseum for everything.  So since I’m getting myself all worked up over nothing — it’s only money (blood pressure goes up 20 points) I thought I’d take a few minutes to just calm down and find things to be grateful for.

I’m grateful that when I programmed my DVR the other night to tape the first episode of Dancing With the Stars that I forgot the stupid clock thingie hadn’t caught up yet with Daylight Savings Time and so I only got the last hour – therefore I didn’t watch it and have saved myself untold hours of mindless nonsense in the future.  Thank you Daylight Savings Time.

I’m grateful that EmmaLou, the Golden Destroyer, only destroyed part of the Bic Pen tonight and that I caught her with it in her mouth prior to her reaching the blue ink part (which would have landed on the white berber carpet).  Thank you to my spidey sense which always kicks in when I know EmmaLou is up to no good.

I’m grateful that Devoted Spouse agreed to eat ribs tonight.  I really wanted ribs.  This man would agree to eat anything short of used band-aids if it would make me happy.  I’m grateful for Devoted Spouse.

I’m grateful for Delaney who showed me that I’m only a little stupid at using Twitter and trying to get the ^&$%%^^ button to show up on my blog page.  Thank you D for your patience.  I’m also grateful to my other blogging buddies who are tolerating my inane tweets.  I’ll get the hang of it yet.

I have lately been receiving calls, cards, emails, and visits  from people at church – now for awhile I was extremely hurt and angry that I was virtually being ignored sitting here alone and in pain.  Then God in His wisdom reached down and smacked the crap out of me and I realized that these kind people had no idea I was as bad off as I was – once they knew the truth the love started pouring in and I know they  have (and still are) praying.  So I am truly grateful to my church for their love and to God for putting up with me and healing my hurts.  I am grateful.

I am also grateful to all of you who read  this nonsense I write on a semi-daily basis and for the countless good wishes and prayers you have sent my way.  Yes, I have another 6 or so weeks of healing (will it ever be done??) but time is going by quickly and my attitude and spirits are lightening.  I’m still mouthing off a bit, but you would expect no less.

Now – our good (and new to some of us) buddy Auntie (aka Dog Girl) is also having shoulder issues and will need surgery so I’m asking all of you to send her good wishes and prayers (if you are of the praying persuasion) and let’s see her through this the way you guys have seen me through mine!

One more thing I’m grateful for — macadamia nut white chocolate cookies — ahhh, life is good.