Achtung!

It is the end of another long week.

I am pooped.

That's right pooped. I know that's a "mom-term." So what? It's applicable. Don't you love your Mother? Then don't be so down on her lingo.

I am too pooped for the more complex of cognitive functions. It's times like these the most simple things will evoke from me a full-fledged gigglefit . . .

. . . like this sign:
















This sign ALWAYS kills me. I don't even know why.

I'm a bit been suspicious that the little sign-guy started that blaze.

Run little man, RUN!

Open Letter

An Open Letter to the Unpleasant Woman Who Nearly Ran Me Down With Her Bicycle:

Dear Ms. Cycle Shorts:

You may not remember me; I was the jogger you nearly hit with your bike Sunday afternoon. If you will recall, you came around the corner, nearly hit me, and muttered your displeasure about me being in your way. Yup that we me: the tan-less jogger with the perplexed what-the-hell expression on her face.

You clearly know more about the sport of cycling than I do. Dressed head-to-toe in the most professional-looking gear, from your padded bike shorts to your slick-graphic jersey. (Wow you must have a sponsor!). So I might be speaking out of turn, here. But I care, so here goes . . .

I think you need a new cycling coach.

There, I said it.

I’m sure the pro you have been working with is very competent, but it just doesn’t seem to be working out for you. First, I don’t think I have ever been passed at such a slow rate of speed. Is that a training technique? Pedal as slow as possible without tipping? What is the purpose of that?

In fact, you were traveling slow enough that I had plenty of time to get a gander at your bike shorts. That’s a whole lot of padding you have there! How necessary is that in your case? You know, given your own posterior attributes? Can you even FEEL the seat? All I’m saying is that any coach that is looking out for your best interests would not let you out in public in those shorts.

I bring these matters to your attention because, as your neighbor and fellow trail-patron, I feel obligated. Also, I would be remiss if I didn’t mention one final thing: the next time you run a jogger off the trail and then yell at her, prepare for a branch in your spokes.

Hugs,

Reluctant Kerry

Baby Take-Out

I love it when I get useful tips and how-to's. These helpful pointers make life simpler, and help me save some time.

Tips I have found useful:

• how to keep your pasta from sticking
• how to avoid injury in the shower
• how to install an internet counter

Here's a tip I recently came across, that was not so much helpful, but a lot of damn work:

How to Adopt a Baby from China

WHAT?

Seriously . . . WHAT?!

Allow me to share the following:

"Adopting a child from China is an exciting opportunity for your family, but you'll have many papers to file before the pitter-patter of little feet fills your home."

Good LORD! Are we talking puppies or babies here?

I will tell you what I find more troubling (cause you asked so nicely). There are only 14 measly steps between you and your exotic new baby. That's it. Just the 14. Not a single step more.

The only problem is that once you complete this simple 14-step process . . . you have a BABY! That doesn't make my life any simpler . . . this "tip" can only complicate the hell out of it.

As always, my humble little comment board is open. Please feel free to share with me any of your own tips. I will welcome any "how-to" that DOES NOT ultimately involve me saving for college or buying a pony.

click here to learn more about getting your OWN Chinese Baby

The Count

So you’ve probably discovered my dirty little secret by now. I am very much a blogging amateur. In truth, I have no discernable computer skills beyond email.

Don’t you judge me!

I’m good at other things . . . like . . . just trust me – I am good at some other stuff, I’m sure.

Given my lack of computer / internet proficiency I was crazy-excited that I figured out how to put a little hit-counter-thingie (technical term) on my site – ALL BY MYSELF !!!
Scroll down . . .

Lower . . . .

Lower . . .

There it is! At the bottom of the page.

I really did need this technology, too. These tens and tens of readers won’t just be counting themselves!

Plus, I really think this ups the Reluctant Homunculus’ prestige-factor. You can feel quite smug in being one of only a dozen or so readers world-wide.

ALL HAIL THE COUNT!

Threeee! Three wonderful readers!! (thunder and lightening) AH! AH! AH!

Lady Bud

So this little lady tumbled out of my light fixture this afternoon.

She was covered in the dust and lint that has accumulated up there for God-knows-how long.

For the next couple minutes we worked together to get her free of the fuzzy dustiness in which she was caught.

Kinda reminds me of a slightly smaller version of myself bumbling around the office, Post-it notes stuck to my heel and disheveled hair in my eyes. Never know quite where you will find a kindred spirit, I guess. 

Modern-Day Achilles

I am such an elegant young woman. Ask anyone who knows me. "A the paragon of grace and poise," they'll say.

So I was running slightly late for an appointment, which just means that my 15 minute to half-hour pad was getting trimmed down by some other work. I rushed to finish up, grabbed directions to where I needed to be going, and hopped in my car.

Here's where I really went wrong. I missed the turn that would take me to the interstate, and wound up having to navigate my way through downtown during lunch hour traffic. DAMNIT! I could see my schedule padding disappearing before my very eyes!

You should have heard the filthy string of profanity that spewed from my lady-like mouth as I came to a dead halt for 15 minutes in traffic! I should have written some of it down, really. Many phrase were sheer profane-artistry! Something about the construction worker in front of me making sweet, sweet love to one of those pylons blocking two lanes of traffic for no identifiable reason. I forget exactly what I was shouting. I may have blacked out for rage, I'm not sure.

Something did go my way though. You had better believe I made an utter mockery of the posted speed limit, and I did so without receiving a huge ticket (which I would have amply deserved).

I arrived in the parking lot of my destination at the exact minute that I was to be at my appointment. I figured if I could manage to make my appearance within the next 60 seconds I would be GOLDEN. However to make it on time required some running. That's OK though because I consider among my most marketable professional assets, the ability to run in heels.

I just wasn't expecting that crack in the sidewalk . . .




That's my shoe on the left.


To the right you will find its dismembered heel.







Sadly, this little incident set me back a few minutes.

So, in summary, despite my very best attempts . . . I was late.

Even so, you will be happy to know that I managed to pull together a degree of wobbly decorum. I stand (unevenly) before you, a modern-day Achilles.

Soylent Pink

Generally, I feel a bit like a big phony when I quote movies I have not actually seen. That being said, I really, really need to see SOYLENT GREEN so I can feel better about myself when I quote:

"It's people!
Soylent Green is made out of people.
They're making our food out of people!!!"


This is what I was hearing in my head last night after I looked up from my menu at a kitschy barbeque restaurant to see a seven-foot PIG in a chef's hat greeting patrons

THIS IS OUR CHEF?!

Dear God, has he no soul?! Grilling up his own?

Contrary to appearance, this is not a smile on my face. This is me deciding against ordering the ribs.

Words to live by . . .