Rapier's Wit

I've spent the last couple of days whining and complaining about nearly everything that crossed my path. Like a child tugging on her ear, I should have realized that illness was settling in. Now, I know many of you are accustomed to my cynical and sarcastic method of writing. I do try to weave in humor when I'm bitching and moaning; yet, it's so easy to become settled in that mindset and not get out. What struck me too close to home is expressing joyfulness for absolutely no reason while at work and being accused of being drunk or high. Naturally they didn't really think I was under the influence, but clearly such jovial behavior isn't what they typically see. In my defense, that's a crock of shit. I'm happy a lot of the time, but people tend to ruin the moment with their stupidity. I have a lot of contempt for my job and I don't know why. Let's blame stagnation in order to remove blame from any one specific person whose mere existence annoys...

Frank Black (of the Pixies) says it far better. Do a little clicky-pooh and enjoy while my head throbs. I scorched my tongue on my too hot chicken noodle soup. I just watched for the first and last time "Semi Homemade" on the Food Network. I have to ask who that woman seduced to get her own show. She's dreadful. Her ideas aren't lavish or intricate or even requiring a damned recipe. In fact, I think I have a kids's cook book that has the same stuff. GAH! And her retro Farrah 'do isn't working on her oversize melon head that sits atop her anorexic waifish neck. I totally wanted to stab her with a fork. Seriously. Headache - Frank Black

Chicken soup to the left and a television remote on the right. VH1's " Confessions of a Teen Idol " on the tube. Sick days aren't all bad. Sure, my head is filled with a substance that refuses to evacuate and I'm slightly feverish, but hey! I'm not working. I was expected to be there by 1:00 p.m. However, that ain't hap'nin'. Me thinks having a fever is a good excuse regardless of my co-worker laying a guilt trip on me for doing the world a favor by not passing out on the premises or puking on Mr. Jones' bi-focals. I have no idea when chicken soup first made an appearance on this earth, but good googily goo! I swear by it when I have a head full of snot and a tummy that's churning as if it's about to regurgitate the contents of hell. I'm sure I'd do just as well with chicken broth alone, but this is a comfort that takes me back to mom and dad spending a little extra dough to buy their little girl Campbell's Chicken Noodle So...

I tried displaying these photos creatively the other day. I had a slide show ready and it wouldn't work when I attempted posting it. How rude! This is the Valentine's Day gift my son gave to me ... and continues to give me daily. I was so touched. Like any mom would do, I put this up on my refrigerator. It's a real pick-me-up!

Blogging. Web logs. Virtual journals that have managed to bring the world together in some capacity .. for better or worse. This post is about the better. If you look to the right under the "Blog me? Blog You!" column, you'll see a large list of blogs. Those are blogs that I read. The authors each possess a unique quality that gives me food for thought. Whether it be providing me with the laugh of the day or cause to shed a tear, they are fantastic reads! Today is all about the ladies. To say that I was giddy when Popping Bubbles graciously put my blog on her list is an understatement. There are so many phenomenal bloggers out there and I'm humbled to be in their company. Her blog takes the reader from awe-ing over her affection for and collection of shoes to laughing hysterically over the toils of the workplace. Without further ado, I give you TEN blog sisters who can turn the world on with a smile. They can take a nothing day and suddenly make it all seem worth whi...

I strongly dislike grocery stores. First of all, most of them are so vast that I need to pace myself and hydrate as if I'm about to participate in a marathon. Then, there's the price comparisons. I know I should take advantage of coupons, but obtaining coupons means buying the Chicago Tribune or some Sunday paper. No offense to my journalism pals, but I find newspapers cumbersome and can't read them unless I'm on the floor and have room to sprawl out. Anyway, I digress. I have a very apathetic approach to purchasing food items. The truly annoying aspect of grocery shopping is the other consumers. I'm a single mom with a very well behaved child. He's 14 and practically self-sufficient. He'll lumber around the store with me with little argument. When he was smaller he was much more of a handful and I may or may not have left a full shopping cart, ice cream sandwiches and raw chicken and all, in aisle 8 to whisk my misbehaving toddler off the premises. There in...

You could have knocked me over with a feather. Valentine's Day, you know the day I love to hate, turned out to be something fantastic. First came the handmade card from Mancub (Yes Lydia, I will post the real thing soon.) That in itself helped turn the heart-filled day around. Then, I got to work and no one irked me right out of the gate. Again, this is something unprecedented. So, you might want to make a side note on your calendar about that. As many of you know, I am not wholly fond of everyone with whom I work. Go figure! Yeah, like I'm the only person who has daydreams of tripping co-workers and kicking them while they are down. Or, ever so lovingly tapping them with the bumper of my car. Psh! The next thing that helped make the day less regrettable and annoying needs some explaining. So, here goes... A couple of years ago I bought a fellow lab tech a birthday card and passed it around to be signed (we look out for our own unlike the retail staff.) Another birthday rolled ...

Here is the key for a single mom to forget how much she loathes Valentine's Day: Be a 14 year old boy who seems absorbed in his own video game playing world Take an ordinary piece of copy paper Fold it in half length wise Fold it again, downward Write on the front " Dear Mom, I hope you like this gift, (open ) " Flip it open (length wise) Write at the top of the page, " It's the best that I can give." Write on the lower half of the folded sheet " I hope you like it because ..." Unfold the page so it is flat Write at the top "... because it's my heart .. ." Draw a big red heart in the center of the page Write at the bottom "... Happy Valentine's Day !" Refold it so it appears to be a card Give it to your mother and watch her cry

It's not that I hate men. I'm far from ready to don some Birkenstocks and join the Indigo Girl caravan. I still dig doin' the deed with dudes. I spent the day lamenting over what my Valentine's Day post would be about.I considered rehashing what could possibly be wrong with me or the men I date or , this or that. I wasn't going to throw a pity party. Nope. Valentine's Day is a most certainly a reminder of my singlehood. But it's not what I wanted this to be about. I see the guys scrambling around the mall finding gifts to appease the lovely lady in their lives. I can see the beads of sweat building on their furrowed brows as they sign the finance papers at the jewelry store across the hall. Yikes! Perhaps we should begin at the beginning. Believe me when I say I seem to make friends more readily with the male of the species than I do with females. Maybe it's because, while still a very young girl (age 4ish), my closest friends were boys (and one girl wh...

Friday the 13th and Valentine's Day. For this girl, they make a perfect pair. Look for more on this subject later. Until then, I give you this song. Coincidentally, this song was released in 1983 when I was wide eyed and ready to take on the world at age 18. If I knew then what I know now, well, I'd still be in the same boat. It's all still a mystery.

Let's see. What shall I slap out here for your reading pleasure? I logged on to a blog where I often comment to discover I had been either doinked or the comment got lost in the blogosphere. This is a first for me (that I'm aware of). So, it's definitely raised an eyebrow. Rather strange since I saw it there for a couple of hours after making the remark, but I know these things happen. I didn't ask about it. I guess I'll just chalk it up to improper use of an asperand. It seemed fitting since breasts were involved in the post title. I'll file it under: Unsolved mystery (mystery solved. The blog author explained the situation. Do not panic. Do not be concerned. ALL IS WELL good people. ) I met my sister over at her old house to help do more sorting of all things pack-ratted and left behind. I can honestly say it felt like we got little accomplished. I did, however, come home with a couple additions to my wardrobe, martini and wine glasses, and lung full of ick...

I woke up rather early for a Sunday. While most of the world was still in snooze mode sleeping off the night of frolickery and fun, I was in bed trying to shut out the feline blowing her kitty breath in my face. Mo-mo cat is the more quiet of the two mew-mews we love and adore. It's a rare occasion for her to awaken me let alone jump up on my bed. I guessed my presence was required at her food dish. I was wrong. Whatever the reason for her to rudely rouse me from my slumber, I was up. Coffee. Rather than follow my typical Sunday ritual of total silence, coffee and this blog, I turned on the television. Clicking guide, I scrolled until something fantastic caught my eye! PILLOW TALK was on AMC. squeeeeeeeeeeeeeee On January 25 , I posted a blog about this utterly delightful Doris Day and Rock Hudson movie. Could it be that the powers of programming heeded my call for guilty pleasures and simple memories of childhood? I realize it's highly unlikely, but damn if the tho...

Being a member of the blogosphere is very similar to opening your curtains and turning on all the lights in the dark of the night and prancing about in your totally nude. Or at least in your Fruit of the Looms. OK, there are some of us (you) who are fully dressed but parade around in your domicile hoping a crowd will gather on your behalf. You're fully aware that the neighbors and passers by will see you strutting about in your Lady Godiva glory. You welcome it! Blogging is something of which nearly everybody and their brother participates. I have 9 siblings and, to my knowledge, only three or four of us regularly and ritually blog. I'm getting off track. So, stop me whenever I start going into the grassy knoll of my brain, k? Thanks. I am not a stranger to drawing attention to myself. Ask any one of those 9 siblings of mine what I was like as a child or how I behave at family get-togethers and each one of them will have a tale of Rissy being dramatic. It's what I do. No, ...

There are two things very apparent from reviewing this video: Turtlenecks are not flattering on me and I make some seriously screwed up faces. What's not to love?!? This was intended to be a perky welcome to the month that is the shortest on the calendar, celebrates love and Black History Month. The results are anything but chipper. Watch.