Ants Not in Your Pants

          I wish this weren’t true.  Something fell out of my pants in the middle of an intersection.  No, it wasn’t ants.  That would have been a blessing, right?  Plus ants are so small that no one would have noticed.

          Nope, it was something many times the size of an ant.  I will tell you what it is so you can stop guessing. It was these two GIGANTIC HEATING PADS that they put on my hips after injecting me with those two shots I told you about recently.

          Here’s the thing.  Those shots take a minute and a half each, so your rear end is a tad sore when all is done. Kindly, the nurse offers you a hot pad to place in your pants over the injection site.

          But I forgot that I’ve lost weight on this vegan diet and by the time I got outside and was CROSSING THE STREET, thank you, they slipped down my pantlegs and out the ankle.

          Mind you, I now have to stop in the middle of traffic, bend over, and pick up these suspicious items that have just fallen on the asphalt-- in front of everyone, especially others crossing the street and those in cars awaiting a green light. I can only imagine what they were thinking.

          But you can’t just leave them on the road—that would be littering, right?  So, humiliating though it may be, you must bend over (which now hurts to do because you just had the shots!) and pick them up.  Oh well.  At least it went from me to you in this last paragraph.  So there’s that.

          I can pretty much guarantee that my books will never fall out of your pantlegs. Buy them here and see if I’m right.

Truly a Fan

          You know how, sometimes, when you give a gag gift it turns out to be the favorite thing?  This happened recently for St. Bob’s birthday.  Thanks to side effects from his cancer treatments and mine, we both have hot flashes.  So I heard about a little $3 item and thought it would be hilarious to give him this:

          It’s a tiny fan that plugs into your iphone.  It has rubbery blades, so it can’t hurt you.  It also plugs into your ipad:  

          Needless to say, I didn’t try it out before buying it, but once we plugged it in, wowza!  It whipped up a serious breeze.  Suddenly we are fighting over this (I need to get one for myself) and holding it up to our faces like it’s a slice of heaven. Which it kind of is. 

          Actually, since we’ve had 100 + temperatures for a few weeks here, we aren’t even sure if we’re having hot flashes or if it’s just the weather.  Either way, it’s kind of nice to know there’s a husband out there who relates to what we women go through.  And nice to know he’s mine.

          Stay in where it’s cool and read one of my books!  Check ‘em out here.

In the Groove

          I am so cutting edge, such a trendsetter, than I’ve been writing lyrics for Bob Marley and Ariel Pink.  Okay, I’ve been doing it after they already had the same ideas, but still.  I’m dialed in. 

          Speaking of dialed in, do young people today even know what that means? Nobody uses a dial; it’s all buttons.  Whatever.

          But back to me. Twice in one week I’ve been told that I’m speaking the lines from two popular songs. (This could be happening ALL THE TIME, right?)

          First I learned that Ariel Pink has a song called “Baby,” where he sings, “You’re so baby.”  Excuse me? I have been uttering this to our Chihuahua mix for years.  Mr. Pink probably overheard me.

          And then I was complaining about a blender—remember I’m vegan now, and making smoothies like a fiend—and I said it kept “jammin’, jammin’, jammin’.” That is an exact quote AND, my daughter tells me, the lyrics to a Bob Marley song.

          Yes, I am totally hip and clairvoyant to boot. (Does anyone who is actually hip use the phrase, ‘to boot’?) Yessir, I am definitely on the right track.  Of course, as Will Rogers once said, “You might be on the right track, but you’ll get run over if you just sit there.” And yes, I expect young people to know who he was.

Check out my YouTube Mom channel--hundreds of fun life hacks in short videos. But so far, none on how to channel various rock stars and their lyrics.

Sprucing Down

          Folks, I have just been attacked by two porcupines. 

          Okay, that is only a slight exaggeration.  I have just hefted two dead Dwarf Alberta Spruce trees into the green waste container. They barely fit. And, in their parting opinion, they shot hundreds of sharp little needles into my skin.  Gloves and clothing were no barrier from these darts of doom.

          Here is what a healthy, happy Dwarf Alberta Spruce looks like, in an urn similar to the ones by my front door:

          Interesting side note: In springtime, you can eat the tender light green buds. 

          But here is what one looks like when it dies—it is a mass of brown needles that think they’ve been drafted into acupuncture duty. This is someone else's, but you get the idea:

          I’m chagrined and embarrassed that I could not keep them alive. We think they may have succumbed to spider mites, but then the temperatures here have been over a hundred for a couple of weeks, so it’s also possible they simply fried.  And they aren’t happy about it. (Hey, none of us like this weather, but you don't see us going around stabbing people.)

          So now I have to replace them with something else, something French topiary-looking I hope, and something that doesn’t break the bank (ka-ching has turned to ka-blooey in this case).

          An impossible quest? Perhaps.  But I have done battle with porcupines, so do not underestimate me.

          Stay in, away from marauding Spruces, and curl up with one of my books.  You can find them all right here.