Son of FRANKENBLOG

I liked my monster so much, I had to do another. You know what they say about sequels...

Anyway. Like the first creation, I have scavenged bits and pieces from older blogs and put them together in no particular order. The continuity actually surprised me.

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The portrait is Clytie, a water nymph who was in love with Apollo. When he rejected her, she sat in one spot watching the sun (Apollo) go across the sky until she turned into a sunflower.

Don’t get me wrong--I am not totally devoid of any good eating habits. But who has ever said their comfort food was a tossed salad? Or grapefruit?

The small girl smiles, one eyelid flickers
She whips a pistol from her knickers
She aims it at the creature’s head
And bang bang bang, she shoots him dead

4) I HATE Ferris wheels.

Lunch lady at a junior high school…I charged kids a dime to see my tattoo.

Our whole family played up the Santa thing, but I didn’t believe that anymore than I did a “heavenly father” who (coincidentally) was also pictured as a kindly old man with a white beard.

First of all, I come by this honestly. As far back as I can remember, my mother talked about Elizabeth Taylor’s eyes.

Growing up in a medium size town--as opposed to a “big city”--I didn’t think I’d ever have much contact with crime, let alone murder victims.

15) I took a speed-reading course, and got up to 361 words a minute.

Lyrically Speaking

I have spent large chunks of time in any given day thinking in song lyrics. This must be because they occupy the largest portion of my brain. Really. I even try to converse with people using song lyrics, and I have decided this is the truest definition of the term,

Lyrically Speaking

For this blog I just made a list of songs I agree or disagree with.

I Ain’t No Holler Back Girl.

I’m NOT a Loser, Baby.

I’ve NEVER Seen a Bad Moon Rising.

It IS Getting Hot in Here!

All I Wanna Do is Dance.

I DO NOT Want to See You Laughing in the Purple Rain.

You DO NOT Make Me Feel Shiny and New…OR Like a Natural Woman, either.

Sarcasm for fun and profit

A couple years ago we received a gift which had a fake warning label on the back, and it was hysterical. I immediately decided this was my calling. So I went home and wrote my own fake warning label to pitch to....someone....to get a job doing what I do best--mocking anything serious.

I'm not sure if I ever followed up on that idea, but I just found my silly label and decided it had languished in the darkness of my hard drive too long--time to bring it out into the light of blog.


USING YOUR NEW BLUFFINGTON MOUSEPAD:
This mousepad is made of noninflammable products. Do not attempt to inflame it. As with all mousepads, the New Bluffington mousepad should never be used to pad a mouse. Doing so could result in extremely irritated mice. Use only mild soap and water to remove any debris. Food, beer, and cigarette butts are considered excessive debris and may not respond to soap and water alone. In case of tornado, take shelter in your basement. In such situations, no mousepad can be expected to perform properly, if at all. Not for human consumption. Non-human consumption is in the eye of the beholder. New Bluffington mousepads are considered legal tender in Utopia, Atlantis, and portions of Xanadu. All other claims are fictitious.

Saving grace? Saving fault~

How My Anal Retentiveness Helped Me To Like Washing Dishes.

When I was a young housewife back in the year nineteen and cough, cough, most of the many places I lived had no dishwashers.

I knew it was my "wifely duty" to wash dishes--after all, I had the luxury of staying home. So I had lots of time and it shouldn't have been a big deal, right?

Wrong.

Not if you were like me (20 going on 16) and grew up believing any kind of housework--or work in general, for that matter--was punishment.

I had a nice routine. Cook dinner, pile dishes somewhere in kitchen, watch TV and go to bed. Around mid-afternoon the following day, I knew I had to start another meal soon, so I would reluctantly and petulantly clean up. It worked.

Fast forward a few years to when I actually cared if someone came to my house and saw dirty dishes...I guess I was growing up. I let the control freak in me take over, made a new (compulsion?) routine, and actually found a kind of joy I still experience today. (I do have a dishwasher now, but once in a while...)

So here are my tips for finding the Ultimate Satisfaction in dish-washing.

1) Don't wear gloves. Savor the tactile experiences.
2) Use the hottest water you can stand. A test makes it a challenge.
3) Find a dish soap you love. This might require time and trials. Mine was anything my mother wouldn't try when I was a kid.
4) Start with glassware--in unpolluted dishwater. Otherwise, you might wind up with a greasy residue.
5) Feel how smooth and slippery clean glass feels. Mmmm. Nice.
6) Rinse everything voraciously. This is not the time to worry about wasting water.
7)Use a dish drainer, and use it efficiently. Everything in its place.

Stand back and admire your work. If you can, pat yourself on the back for tackling an everyday chore in the most obsessive way you could.

FRANKENBLOG

This is a bizarre compilation--a few lines pasted together to give a peek into Planet Claudia.

Here are bits of ten random entries from eight previous blogs...see how it works for you.




In the beginning, there was the chicken. And I Kentucky Fried it, after signing an agreement that (if I somehow found out) I would never reveal the secret blend of 23 herbs and spices.

Goodnight Saigon by Billy Joel. There is something so touching about the part where he sings “We said we’d all go down together…” WOW.

12) I used to practice signing autographs as Aquamarine Lace.

In those days they just called me morbid, or disturbed. But I loved all things dark. I was fascinated with death, the occult, and of course my heroes had fangs and wore capes.

My obsession with funny names started when I was a kid learning from my best friend how to make prank phone calls. We just started reading names in the phone book, and found out the very last name listed at the end was Sylvester Zweiner. He was actually the last name in our local book for many years.

Big jump after I scored a 93 on the Civil Service test--I was hired to deliver mail as a rural route substitute. Not as glamorous as it sounds! No benefits, and the mail just…keeps…coming…

Make time for counting
Poetry will be easy
In Haiku format

In other news, I was eating a Dr. Pepper freezer pop (which was yummy) and I topped it off with some mandarin-lime sparkling water, but now I have the hiccups and they won't go away.

43) Scrimshanker: One who accepts neither responsibility nor work.

Sadly, the short, magical night ended without a single envious friend staring at me in awe.
But I get to relive it whenever I hear Long Cool Woman…or see a vintage black Corvette.

The Blog of IRONY

I'm driving to work today, behind a big moving van. The name of the company is "Little Guy Movers" but their logo is this big burly guy carrying a refrigerator on his back. Clever.

Then I look at the car next to the truck. A woman is throwing her cigarette out the window, and her bumper sticker reads:
Prevent Wildfires


FYI! I've added a widget at the end of each blog where folks can give their "reaction" (if they don't feel inclined to actually comment) but because it was put retroactively on my old blogs, it would appear no one cared to react. This is probably only important to me.

The Seasons...according to Claudia

I have my own system to describe the seasons. With their own names. What better time to share?

"SUMMER" Of course the most important season of the year. Starts some time in May, if there have been a few days in a row of temps over 70. Ends when I see any leaves of a color other than green.

"The Holiday Season" Starts mid-October, and includes the holidays of Halloween, Thanksgiving, Christmas and New Year's, which helps me forget it's not SUMMER. Ends when I take down the Christmas tree.

"Waiting for SUMMER" Starts when I take down the Christmas tree.


Sigh. And repeat.