When Fortune Smiles

          I was recently visiting with three other girlfriends and the subject turned to repair estimates. 

          It occurred to me that whether you want to hire someone to fix your car, your house, or your yard, the bottom line—below all the added items—will be as follows:

             They may as well just create a rubber stamp that says, “A Fortune” so none of us will have to actually add it all up.  

You want your ring re-set?  A fortune.

You want your wedding dress tailored for your cousin? A fortune.

You want catering? A fortune.

     You want any kind of anything? A fortune.

     I can just see a worker gently explaining this. “Ma’am, you can get another estimate if you want to, but we all have the same rubber stamp.”

          If your project requires lumber or electricity, you can double the fortune. See? I’ve just saved you the trouble of finding the calculator app.

But, good news: My perfect-for-anyone book, A Little Christmas Prayer, is not a fortune! Buy one for everyone on your list right here.

Cookies of Fortune

          Three billion.  That’s how many fortune cookies are made every year, to satisfy our craving for a surprise in a secret compartment.

I don’t know anyone who can resist snapping open that crisp little cookie to see what the slip of paper says. In recent years I’ve noticed these have become “advice” cookies more than fortune cookies, and I’m always disappointed when it says to hold my tongue (ha!) or to get more exercise (double ha!) when what I really want to hear is that I’m going on a fabulous vacation.

Though I have visited the tiny Golden Gate Fortune Cookie Factory in an inauspicious alley in San Francisco, this is not where they originated.  People argue over how these cookies actually came to be, but they all agree it was not the Chinese, but the Japanese who came up with the idea.  Apparently these confections don’t even exist in China.

I tried to make some once, containing my own personalized fortunes.  But you have to fold them while they’re still hot, which means you can only bake two or three at a time without a machine.  Always think twice when a recipe says, “Working quickly.”  I finally threw the fortunes in the trash, along with the cooled and broken remnants of my great idea.

I finally just served purchased cookies that I dipped in white chocolate and then crushed peppermints.  They were immediately better-- but then what isn't improved, if you dip it in white chocolate?

Even without a chocolate coating, we love to get our cookie at the end of a Chinese meal.  We know some poor lackey is making up the messages in the back room, yet we cannot resist reading it and wondering if it will come true.  Maybe that’s what I like about fortune cookies- - they let us be a kid again for a couple of minutes.  And that’s worth more than all the tea in China.

A good book is in your future!  Order one here and find lifelong happiness. J

Lucky Bob

          Some people are just lucky.  They always find the best parking spot, they call people who always answer the phone, they win at every game.

          St. Bob is one of these people. He actually has no idea what it’s like to be a regular Joe, to find himself in the slowest supermarket line, or in the slowest lane of traffic.  It’s as if guardian angels are dashing ahead of him, clearing the way for St. Bob.

          And, of course, let’s not forget his incredible luck in marrying me. HOWEVER, his luck has taken a weird twist, recently.  And it has shown up in the form of fortune cookies.

          Here are two fortunes I recently received, which unlike the common “advice cookies” we see today, actually promised me fortunes, even if oddly worded:

          Then, check out the “fortunes” Bob got at two recent business luncheons, both at the same Chinese restaurant:

          Yes, I think Bob’s Fortune Fairy has taken a cruise to the Bahamas, and her dopey cousin, Frieda, is filling in for her.  So far the parking spots and traffic lanes are unaffected, but we’re hoping the cruise doesn’t turn into a trip around the world.

          You can control your own good fortune by purchasing any one of my books.  Lucky you, they’re right here!

The Grinch is Writing Fortune Cookies

          Those of you who know me, know that I shop all year for Christmas.  I keep a list and tuck things away, spreading that gift-giving joy throughout the year.

          But, of course, it ramps up at this time of year as kids share their wish lists and more goodies entice us. Occasionally I’ll share an idea with St. Budget—I mean St. Bob—whose response is usually, “How much is that going to cost?”

          Which casts a Grinchlike gloom over the merriment of the season, and I scowl, trying to figure out how to justify the sudden expense.

          So I was NOT AT ALL AMUSED when St. Bob and I went out for a Chinese meal recently, and he opened this fortune:

          right before I opened mine, which said:

          “Wow!” Bob said.  “Looks like my fortune came true immediately!” He said it was the best Chinese meal he’s ever had.

          I am still pouting, but I might pull out of it if you purchase one of my books or watch one of my YouTube Mom videos here.

Get Rich Quick!

            I have never given you a million-dollar idea before, and for this I apologize.  Because I am sitting on the most brilliant idea ever to come down the pike, and I should have told you about it so you could cash in. 

            It has to do with dog food.

         First, let’s take a stroll down the dog food aisle and see the claims made on the various packages. Grain free for the gluten intolerant dog, senior formula for the sedentary dog, weight loss formula for the tubby ones, even a “Tuscan Style Medley” by Beneful, for what I can only assume is a dog who’s been dreaming of Italy all his life.

  There are kibbles shaped like bones and paws,

tiny kibbles for tiny dogs, and above all, the promise of a shiny coat.

            When was the last time you bought a breakfast cereal, a carton of ice cream, or a package of bacon because its label promised you shiny hair?

 

            How about never?  Why have we bought into this notion that a gleaming coat is the Number One priority in dog ownership?  Okay, here comes the million dollar idea.  Forget about shiny coat, and put “Now with Beano” on the label, and you will become a millionaire overnight.  OVERNIGHT.

            Seriously, is this not the biggest concern we actually have, when it comes to dogs?  And wouldn’t you grab this product fast as lightning if you saw it on the shelves?  At last—a dog food that prevents gas!

            Dogs don’t care about surf and turf.  They don’t even know where Tuscany is.  Do you have any idea—any idea whatsoever—what dogs eat when they go outside?  Well, I’ll give you a hint.  It starts with cat and ends with poop.  Yes, sorry to say, but this is the unvarnished truth.  They roll in whatever stinky thing they can find on the ground, then gobble it up the way you or I would inhale a Godiva truffle.  And I won’t even address the way they greet each other.

            You could also market a party game where people get points for guessing things a dog will not eat.  It will be a very short and very difficult game.  They make Andrew Zimmerman look like the pickiest eater on earth.  They will eat dead and rotting worms, portions of dead birds the cat left behind, bones which have been buried all hot summer long, slimy fish remnants on a dock, the list is endless.  In fact, if you like letting your dog off leash to run and romp, you need this “Now with Beano” product more than anyone else, because you will have no idea what your dog will gulp down when you can’t yank him away from it.

            Yes, we love our canine family members.  And yes, we want them to have a shiny coat if it indicates good overall health.  But I’m telling you, the gas prevention idea is a home run hit.  You’ll make so much money you can retire in—hey! Tuscany! and give your dogs Tuscan food every day of their lives.  Just as long as you add a little Beano.

Don’t be an old poot.  Subscribe today! You think you can find brilliant ideas like this somewhere else?  Nope.  Joniopolis is your ticket to fortune.  So tell your friends.  Oh—and buy my books, because that’s my ticket to fortune.

A Zinky for Your Thoughts

          Be glad you’re sitting down. Our nearly worthless pennies, though charming, are being kept in circulation by lobbyists for the folks who make zinc blanks.

          Copper pennies only contain 2.5 per cent copper, with a whopping 97.5% being zinc.  It costs 2.4 cents to make one (your tax dollars at work, Folks). So you’d think someone would say, “Okay, we have passed the point of diminishing returns, and it’s time to scrap the penny.”

          But no.  Americans for Common Cents (ACC) argues that we love our pennies—or maybe we should call them zinkies-- and want to keep them. Fortune listed all kinds of newspapers who ran this story as a survey fact, when it turns out ACC director Mark Weller even admitted in the Washington Times, “We make no secret that one of our major sponsors is a company that makes the zinc ‘blanks’ for pennies.”

          Fortune noted that Jarden Zinc spends about $140,000 a year to get Weller to lobby for them.  Sounds pricey until you realize Jarden received $48 million in federal contracts.

          I personally like picking up “lucky pennies,” but is it worth the cost? David Owen wrote, in New Yorker, “Picking up a penny from a sidewalk and putting it in your pocket pays less than the Federal minimum wage, if you take more than 4.9 seconds to do it.” 

          For ten years now the cost of making pennies has exceeded their value.  But guess what—now nickels cost twice as much to make, too.  In fact, twice as much as making dimes.  They’re made of 75% copper, and 25 % nickel.  Can the zinc lobby be far behind?

You may as well spend those worthless coins on my fabulous books—click here for Jungle (riveting adventure-romance), Sisters in the Mix (hilarious chick-lit), Pinholes Into Heaven (literary fiction) and more!

Get Up and Go

           Here’s why St. Bob gets that title. He has been the best sport in the world, for letting me disguise him as object lessons for my Seminary class of 20 kids. For those unfamiliar with this, my new volunteer position at church is to teach early morning religion classes to teenagers. They attend at 7 a.m., before going to high school.

          When studying the 23^rd Psalm, I thought I’d dress him as a shepherd. Then I thought, “No-- I don’t want him to be a shepherd; I want him to be a sheep!” I found a black sheepskin jacket at a thrift shop, and attached long ears. He came in and told some corny dad jokes about sheep.

           Then, when teaching Proverbs, I dressed him as a fortune cookie. I had replaced all the regular fortunes in a box of fortune cookies, with Proverbs, and asked him to hand them out. Wish I’d used foam rubber for the costume. I think the cookie would have looked better. Live and learn.

          The latest get-up was wrapping him in a huge roll of paper so he could be a giant scroll like the ones Isaiah wrote on. I wrote Hebrew lettering inside (which doesn’t show in the photo). He came in jiving to “Soul Man” on his phone, and asked if that was what I wanted him to be. I said, “No—I wanted you to be Scroll man!”

          I have no idea what costumes lie in his future. But I’m guessing the guys are all thinking, “I hope I don’t marry a woman who asks me to do this,” and the girls are all thinking, “I hope I marry a man who would do this for me.”

He's also the cameraman for my Youtube Mom videos. He truly deserves a Great Hubby Award!

Making Things Harder Just Because

           Do we really need cumbersome words when simple ones will do? I’ve somehow gotten onto the mailing lists of several sites that share long doozies that will only make us look ridiculous if we use them:

          Terpsichorean. This relates to dancing. “Oh, her terpsichorean skills were amazing.”  Pedantic + Snooty = You will never get invited back.

          Sprachgefuhl. This means a sense of the natural character of a language.  Give me a break—you use this word and no one will think you have it!

          Veridical.  First of all, people will think you’re trying to say vertical. It means true to reality, but why not just say true to reality?

          Eidolon.  This is an idealized person or thing. In this time of scrutiny and criticism, does anyone even do this anymore?

Obnubulate. This means to darken or shadow something. Can’t you just picture yourself saying, “I hope those Tenebrous clouds don’t obnubulate our wedding.”  Then, “Hey, where did the groom go?  Honey?  Honey?”

          Horripilation. Okay, I’ll admit I like this one, but only because it sounds like something horrible.  It actually means the hair on our skin standing up due to cold or fear.

          I think I’ll end with Peripeteia, because it’s something all of us would like: it’s a suddenly reversal of fortune.  Although we only want that one if it’s a grand surprise in the upward direction, right?

          While you await your peripeteia, check out my Youtube Mom videos for hundreds of easy life hacks.

Sign Here

           Once again I’ve been driving around greater Sacramento, noticing signs that make you look twice.  And maybe that’s the idea—if you really want to get someone’s attention, post something so outrageous that they not only look, but look again and take a picture of it.

            Here’s one on the door of a large business with several offices:

            I can only assume the writer of this sign is a Francophile and wishes they were in Paris or Provence at the moment.  And don’t we all?  Maybe if we go inside that room they’ll have little Eiffel Tower lamps, poodles, and a table laden with escargot and maracons.

            The next one was no accident.  Apparently I’ve been out of the loop on burglary matters (those careless burglars, not utilizing social media or newsletters to educate the rest of us!) and I didn’t know this was a thing.  But it is.  Turns out the police put a dummy car (I’ve had a few of those in my lifetime, by the way) in a parking structure, and then when someone steals it, whammo—they catch ‘em.

            It puzzles me.  Of the hundreds of cars that park in that downtown garage, what are the odds that a thief will choose the one and only car placed there by the police?  Even if the officers have picked a popular model among car thieves, aren’t the odds of it being stolen incredibly slim?  Or am I just in a bad neighborhood where five or six cars disappear from this building every day?  And wouldn’t video cameras be a cheaper, more efficient way to catch car thieves?  I mean, what if they pick a car other than the decoy duck?  These things get reported, I do believe.  And then the cops can scroll through the day’s footage and see exactly what happened.  Of course, they cannot always trace the car to the chop shop where organized criminals (but not organized enough to have a newsletter, mind you) have stashed it.

            Some might claim that the sign, alone, will discourage theft.  But, assuming you’re a thief, what if you don’t speak English, don’t read, or don’t happen to go through that entrance where the sign is posted?  What if you’re too short to see the sign?  What if you sneeze and blink as you’re hurrying in, and you miss it?  What if you have an accomplice, and they block your view of the sign?  What if you’re wearing burglar attire (hoodie and sunglasses) and can’t see it?  Maybe they should post one of those scrolling light boards at the exit, where everyone has to read it upon leaving.

            Speaking of driving, this last sign is my favorite.  It’s one of three that look pretty much the same, and are posted under the counters at my local Department of Motor Vehicles.  Next time you’re waiting at the DMV, you can conduct a party game, asking everyone to guess what these signs originally said.

            Spoiler alert: I’m going to tell you.  They say, “Please Do Not Leave Children Unattended.”  Don’t you just want to write, underneath, “because this is what will happen”?   Obviously kids have picked off the lettering, placed perfectly at their height, while their parents have stood at the counters, oblivious, talking with DMV clerks.  Seriously, these signs look like unsolved Wheel of Fortune puzzles.  I asked one clerk if I could buy a vowel and told him I’d like to solve the puzzle, but he wasn’t amused.

            Think about it.  What would it cost to fix those signs and then just put a square of plexiglass over them?  Or paint the signs, instead of using removable letters?  Wait—I have it!  Maybe those letters are rigged by the police, and once stolen, can be traced to the pre-school where the culprit is hiding.  Although I didn’t see a warning sign about that.

            Have you subscribed to my YouTube Mom videos, yet?  I can help you with everything imaginable, just like your actual mom.  One of the latest ones is about nagging (ahem). Check ‘em out!  

Open Mouth, Insert Foot

            Last time I promised you that I’d share a time when I said the wrong thing at the wrong time.  I lied.  I’m going to share two such incidents.  Since they happened back-to-back, you get a double dose of Joni-isms today, and you will immediately feel better about your most recent embarrassing moment.

            The first involves an elderly acquaintance of mine whose son died last year.  It’s always devastating when a child precedes their parents, and many of us rallied with support. Months and months go by.  My friend has always been very active in politics and community events, even at her advanced age.  So an election rolls around, which does not go as she had hoped. A couple of weeks later I call to see how she is doing.

            “I’m still grieving,” she says.  

And I STUPIDLY SAY, “About the election?”

“No—about my son!” 

And now it looks like I AM AN IDIOT WHO FORGOT ALL ABOUT IT!  Even though I had spoken to her about this and sent a card at the time.  Total fail.  I spent the next half hour back-pedaling and trying to assure her that I remembered her son’s death, and wasn’t the insensitive boob I appeared to be.

Then, the very next day I am in charge of the big luncheon for 100 family members following a funeral at church, and they decide to let people come to the mike and share a memory about Thurzel.  Remember, she's the elderly lady I named our calico cat after.  So I decide to tell a story about the cat and how it went missing and how Thurzel wanted me to spread the rumor that she had gone missing and how cute and funny she was, right?  And then I say, "I just loved her to death!"  AT A FUNERAL!  Wrong, wrong, wrong!  Total fail!  I need to have my lips sewn shut.  It would also help me to eat less.  Aaugh!

On the other hand, if I can maintain this level of embarrassment, with its attendant blushing, I could save a fortune on cosmetics.

I share my faux pas with Bob, who says, “Now everyone probably thinks you’re the reason she died.”  And then he adds, “Well, they come in threes so there’ll be another one.”  So comforting.

I say, “I hate you,” and he says, “To death? Uh-oh.”  And I tell him that saying the wrong thing might not upset some people, but that I hate it more than average and that saying the wrong thing just kills me.  And Bob says, “Here you go, again.”

So I guess that’s Number Three.

The best way to avoid these awkward social encounters is, of course, so stay home and read books.  Hey-- I just happen to have several you an choose from, right on the left side of this page.  Choose any one of them and you won't have to say a thing.

Oompa Loompa Legs

          I have Oompa Loompa legs.  I smeared them with tanning cream and now they are orange, like the Oompa Loompas in the Willy Wonka movie. And, unlike movie makeup, this does not come off.

          Oh, sure, eventually it will come off—on my pants, socks, and towels.  But at the moment it’s on there like permanent marker.  Here’s how it happened.

          First, I am as pale as the background of this post you are reading.  In fact, someone could type all over me and you wouldn’t know the difference.  People pay dentists a fortune to whiten their teeth to the color of my skin.

          So I see a darling young mother at church with beautiful tan legs and I ask her if she spends all her time outside to get such a lovely tan and she says no, that it’s a tanning cream.

          Now I’m astounded.  I’ve tried those creams before and they never looked that good.  I dash to Walgreen’s to purchase the very brand she recommends. 

          I shower, exfoliate my legs and feet, then dry off.  Now time for the magic!  I spread the cream on my legs and wear shorts and flip-flops all day so it won’t smudge. 

Three hours later I pass a mirror and gasp.  Not only am I darker than any carrot you can find,

 

but the color is also in splotchy streaks, as if I lost a paintball war.  If you think I'm posting pictures of my legs, you have another think coming.  These are someone else's legs. 

I contact my friend who tells me she just uses a spot of cream the size of dime and rubs it evenly all over her legs.  A dime?  A DIME?  I’ve been using a fifty-cent piece!   A dime would soak in before I even got up one shin.  And, okay, I did it quickly.  But that’s because I was afraid it would dry before I could smooth it on everywhere.  I also have orange-speckled knuckles on my hands, from rushing when I washed it off.

The whole point was to be able to wear skirts and dresses without pantyhose in this ridiculous triple-digit heat we’ve been having.  Now I have to wear LONG skirts, LONG pants, and gloves to hide my legs and hands, as if it’s the dead of winter.  

Or… I do have one alternative idea.  You know how chevron print is in right now?  You see everyone wearing those cute zig-zag skirts, right? 

Well I have gone one better.  I have chevron print LEGS.  Tell me I’m not a trend-setter.

You can read one of my books while waiting for your chevron legs to dry— check them out here.