tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-34757322944801214902024-03-05T07:40:14.260-05:00an army of ermasweeghostieshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05784292070517987961noreply@blogger.comBlogger417125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3475732294480121490.post-18615620571504795192012-09-27T09:00:00.000-04:002016-12-17T16:23:22.942-05:00Battle Buddies<style>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">By Julie Weckerlein </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Before children, I was the one who was always late to the party,
the one making the glamorous entrance after spending a little extra time
perfecting the lipliner or hair flip.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Now?</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I’m late to the play dates because I have to make 30 trips back
into the house, grabbing an extra bottle/diaper/stuffed toy/band-aid/directions
before we can finally buckle up and back out of the driveway. No matter how
many lists I make, no matter how serious I am about planning ahead, it never
fails. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">I’m always late.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">So it’s fitting that I’m late to the Army of Ermas, squeezing in
a singular post before closing time. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">But I have to admit, as a longtime lurker, I don’t feel like an
FNG. Not when I’ve been following the likes of <a href="http://www.anarmyofermas.com/search/label/Stacey%20Graham"><span style="color: #000099;">Stacey Graham</span></a>, <a href="http://www.anarmyofermas.com/search/label/Jason%20Tudor"><span style="color: #000099;">Jason Tudor</span></a>, and <a href="http://www.anarmyofermas.com/search/label/Pauline%20Campos"><span style="color: #000099;">Pauline Campos</span></a> for years, snickering
at the cleverness and laughing at the banter as the Army shared adventures from
the front lines of family life.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Because let’s face it: parenthood is psychological warfare.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Nothing challenges, defines, and beats the crap out of our value
systems, belief systems, emotions, reasoning, and behavior quiet like the job
of raising children, and we get it from all sides. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">We get it from Mother Nature as she tap-dances with our hormones from puberty onward. We get it from our spouses or significant others,
intentional or not, as they hold us accountable to our promises.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">We definitely get it from our children, from the very second they
wrap their little hands around our hearts and squeeze, growing too fast and
away from us because that’s how it’s supposed to be, even though it hurts.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">And we get it from the outside. The pressure. The standards. The
labels. The blame. We like to point to television shows, blogs, magazines,
books, articles, photos, those other moms who are doing things better, faster,
thinner, healthier, more lovely, more perfect. Everywhere we go, there are more
than enough things out there ready to amplify our deepest insecurities as
mothers.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">There’s always incoming psychological artillery, and there’s really no way to avoid it.
So, it’s good to have battle buddies.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Battle buddies don’t judge you based on how you’ve named your
children.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">They don’t judge your yoga pants or your <a href="http://www.anarmyofermas.com/2011/11/getting-thrifty.html"><span style="color: #000099;">thrift store jeans</span></a>.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Battle buddies remind you that you don’t have to be the perfect
parent by revealing their own imperfections.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Battle buddies get flustered and admit it.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><a href="http://www.anarmyofermas.com/2010/05/agony-of-feet.html"><span style="color: #000099;">Battle buddies also wear cheap shoes.</span></a></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Battle buddies will admit, too, that they’ve rewashed their
silverware because it takes too much energy to pull ‘em out of the dishwasher.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="Body">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">They offer advice on <a href="http://www.anarmyofermas.com/2012/02/romance-on-budget.html"><span style="color: #000099;">romance</span></a> and <a href="http://www.anarmyofermas.com/2010/04/boys-fart-and-so-do-i-tomboys-guide-to.html"><span style="color: #000099;">dating</span></a>, for those who need it and even for
those who don’t. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="Body">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">They give recipes, cleaning tips, some insight about the other
gender. </span></div>
<div class="Body">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="Body">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Battle buddies want to help make things better.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><a href="http://www.anarmyofermas.com/2012/09/six-degrees-of-kevin-bacon.html"><span style="color: #000099;">Battle buddies love bacon, and the original Erma, almost
as much as you do.</span></a></span></div>
<div class="Body">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="Body">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Most of all, battle buddies reach...across tables...over telephones...through blogs: it doesn’t
matter; they reach out, and they make you laugh.</span></div>
<div class="Body">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="Body">
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;">Thanks for making me laugh, Army of Ermas.</span><br />
<br />
<br />
<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><i>In 2001, Julie Weckerlein started a little website called Julie and
Martin for friends and family to follow her wedding plans. At the time,
she was in the Air Force and Martin was in the German Army. But then the
terrorist attacks on 9/11 happened, and the site took on a new role.
Eleven years later, the site continues to be a reflection of their
lives, reaching a worldwide audience with stories about juggling married
life with home life with work life and everything in between. Now
living in the Washington, D.C. area with two daughters and son, Julie and
Martin continue to document their lives on <a href="http://www.facebook.com/l.php?u=http%3A%2F%2Fwww.julieandmartin.com&h=EAQHYFC6J&s=1" rel="nofollow nofollow" target="_blank">www.julieandmartin.com</a>, which recently earned the 2011 Parents Magazine Readers Choice Award for Best All-Around Mom Blog.</i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><i><br /></i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><i><br /></i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><i><br /></i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><i><br /></i></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , "helvetica" , sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
Angiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07123379306124169092noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3475732294480121490.post-5763602232945958542012-09-26T15:58:00.000-04:002012-09-26T16:05:14.111-04:00Bacon, Boobies and Bad Choices<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWXjnBybc4Gfa_jegq9w8GvZKame6GFJlPt8CTr7Jxoh8Xf8aX2SmHfAVekXo_WA-r__qTHnQeKwrQ7-qz814K42ZrIXq9YnWfA3qtIqfqT9xJ_Eze8rCfehVXpkSZ6GSjWd5pZTWekOSx/s1600/happytrails.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="277" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiWXjnBybc4Gfa_jegq9w8GvZKame6GFJlPt8CTr7Jxoh8Xf8aX2SmHfAVekXo_WA-r__qTHnQeKwrQ7-qz814K42ZrIXq9YnWfA3qtIqfqT9xJ_Eze8rCfehVXpkSZ6GSjWd5pZTWekOSx/s320/happytrails.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small; letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Once on-up a time, a merry band of bricoleur scribblers gathered, under the direction of Stacey Graham, with one goal: to make people giggle, and to do it regularly. With laughter being the best medicine of all, and an ever-invasive portion of the world teetering off its meds, this was a good goal. But as anyone who has peered into an empty Valium bottle (three days before it could be refilled) knows, the best of things may come to an end; sometimes, before you even know it. </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small; letter-spacing: 0.0px;">Writing our monthly essays started out sort of like experimental art. Eager to fill slots, I sometimes wrote more than one a month. We had guests, honorary Ermas and writers who slipped in and back out again. We continually shared what I believe were some of the funniest words-in-a-particular-order to be found anywhere. More than once, I approached Terminal Velocity Cackle. That is the point where something’s gotta give. Either I wrangled in a breath, or, as the <a href="http://whatdoyoumeanishouldstartablog.blogspot.com/">Supreme Mr. Barber</a> said, I would go on home to be with the Lord. Luckily I’m a fairly decent wrangler.</span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px;"></span><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small; letter-spacing: 0.0px;">So many topics have flowed out of our minds, through our fingers and hit the digital page. Dating, marriage, childbirth and labor (in the middle of winter), empty nests, diapers, college, new houses, pantyhose and bra straps. M*A*S*H episodes, laundry, cooking (as a sport!), diets, death and flaming toast -- who among us can’t relate? We’ve crashed hot air balloons, groaned in commiseration about dysfunctional family gatherings and discussed the ever-intriguing Cupcake. Against a few protests, we’ve even discussed bodily functions. We’ve offered advice to our younger selves, and to complete strangers, all the while discussing everyday things like naming our Christmas trees, surviving dog and cat ownership, putting out kitchen fires and deciding whether to love or hate Spandex. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small; letter-spacing: 0.0px;">And finally, we have fulfilled what we set out to do. We wrote, we shared our lives, and many of you found a reason to laugh. We’ve talked about boobies, bacon (Kevin, and otherwise), and bad choices, and now it’s time to climb out of the nest and sail on to our next destinations. If you think that the lot of us are finished, think again. You might have to follow us on our respective blogs to know where we’ve landed next time, but take my word: you ain’t seen nuthin’ yet! </span></div>
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<span class="Apple-style-span" style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small;">_______________________________________</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif; font-size: small; letter-spacing: 0.0px;"><i>Carole Lee is a writer whose inquisitive nature sends her frolicking about after more music, more life, more words and more hedonism, because eventually all of the cupcakes and liquor run out. When she’s not renovating her historic folk Victorian nestled in the middle of Nowhere, Tennessee or wrestling with her geriatric Chow and neurotic Lab, she’s plunking out freelance DIY articles and writing her first novel. Visit her blogs, <a href="http://irrational-propensity.blogspot.com/"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px color: #160099; text-decoration: underline;">Irrational Propensity</span></a>, and <a href="http://caroleoldroyd.blogspot.com/"><span style="letter-spacing: 0.0px color: #160099; text-decoration: underline;">Irrational Propensity - Renovations</span></a> to see what she’s up to lately.</i></span></div>
Unknownnoreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3475732294480121490.post-30923530630121883192012-09-21T09:00:00.000-04:002016-12-17T16:25:47.789-05:00The Bucket ListBy Sara Spock<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEr4Xl46ui1Oq6yMlUlR1FibQYNnGSotlTt3JPV2DmbSsmxPzRzhESxlOp08sYkIpIhoEYuhDH31pSFMko_779W9IAj77aMW2nkamNvya0WdaHVi1CzDPCIRuQGT0Za9Ys_19Z8RlcaIs/s1600/Sara+Spock-Goodbye!.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEr4Xl46ui1Oq6yMlUlR1FibQYNnGSotlTt3JPV2DmbSsmxPzRzhESxlOp08sYkIpIhoEYuhDH31pSFMko_779W9IAj77aMW2nkamNvya0WdaHVi1CzDPCIRuQGT0Za9Ys_19Z8RlcaIs/s320/Sara+Spock-Goodbye!.jpg" width="261" /></a></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "georgia"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">I’m going to tell you a secret, my biggest secret. I have a super
power. I make the most amazing lists. Lists that deserve to be in the List
Making Hall of Fame. Lists that can bring order and control to the lives of
many. Yes, I am… The List Master! </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "georgia"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">If your task goes down on my list, it will be
completed before you can say "flibbertigibbet"! I have lists for every day, lists
for the week, the month, the season, the school year, the fiscal year, the
actual year, 5-year lists, 10-year lists, and yes, a lifelong Bucket List.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span> </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "georgia"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Most people use a Bucket List for major life
goals, epic adventures, and career objectives.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Sure, a few of those mundane things end up on my big, bad list of life,
but mostly I use this Bucket List to remind me where I should be and what I
should be doing to get there. </span><br />
<span style="font-family: "georgia"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: "georgia"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Exhibit A into my neuroses: </span></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpFirst" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">1.<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><span style="font-family: "georgia"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Try not to
traumatize my children by constantly turning life events into musical theater.
They might laugh when they’re 5 and you’re singing to the tune of Mary Poppins
“Feed the Birds,” “Feed the toads so they can grow! Two grubs, two grubs, two
grubs a toad! Feed the toads so they can grow. Two grubs, two grubs, two grubs
a tooooooooaaaadddddddd!”<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>But show tune
time is running out and the Poop Song just won’t ring as true by the time they
reach 10.</span></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">2.<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><span style="font-family: "georgia"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Extend myself for
others. It’s so much fun to crawl into pajamas at 5pm (while singing songs
about llamas, pajamas, and mamas) but it would do my brain more good to invite
a friend for dinner or get outside and talk to the neighbors. I know, I know.
You’re tired from work, and kids, and laundry, and cooking, and cleaning, and
singing, and making eye contact with grownups all day, but stop being a sissy!
Make some friends and keep them, lady!</span></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">3.<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><span style="font-family: "georgia"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Finish projects.
Finish poems. Finish stories. Finish novels. Ideas are awesome. Brainstorming
is the most creative you’ll ever feel, but writing the words THE END is even
more amazing. Stay focused on a project long enough to see it to fruition.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Otherwise, you’ll be filled with wonderful
ideas that will never come to – oooh, what’s that? A chocolate covered chili
pepper? I wonder if I could bake that into brownies?<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Or as a truffle? Or a cocktail? I could go
for a beer. Hang on. </span></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpMiddle" style="mso-list: l0 level1 lfo1; text-indent: -.25in;">
<span style="font-family: "georgia"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;"><span style="mso-list: Ignore;">4.<span style="font: 7.0pt "Times New Roman";"> </span></span></span><span style="font-family: "georgia"; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 115%;">Come back to
center. Family, friends, work, writing, home, volunteering. So many
obligations. I can just see it now. Everyone with a rope, pulling, and me in
the middle getting spun around. Eventually, I’ll fall over because I’m a klutz
with low blood sugar. Remember what’s important. Take a deep breath, go all
Nancy Reagan, and just say NO. This way, you’ll have more time to sing. Llama,
llama, llama. Listen to your Mama. Llama, llama, llama. Get in your pajamas. </span></div>
<div class="MsoListParagraphCxSpLast">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal;">
<i><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "georgia"; font-size: 12.0pt;">~Sara Spock is a Mom, Wife, Penn State Graduate,
Substitute Teacher, Freelance Writer, and Chocolate Addict. When she’s not crying
because this is her last Erma Column, Sara can be found </span></i><i><span style="color: #1a222a; font-family: "georgia"; font-size: 12.0pt;">over on </span></i><a href="http://twitter.com/SaraSpock"><i><span style="font-family: "georgia"; font-size: 12.0pt;">twitter</span></i></a><i><span style="color: #1a222a; font-family: "georgia"; font-size: 12.0pt;"> where she discusses chocolate, reading, and football. Way too
much football. </span></i><span style="color: #333333; font-family: "georgia"; font-size: 12.0pt;"></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
Angiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07123379306124169092noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3475732294480121490.post-27876940922688289402012-09-19T09:00:00.000-04:002012-09-19T09:00:05.469-04:00Bonus Room<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">by Bill Mullis</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">His footfalls echo hollow in the empty space. It looks
bigger inside, now that it isn't so crowded. Most everybody has already packed
up and left, cleared out their lockers, had their mail forwarded. The desks are
bare like the hardwood floor. This has been a working space, things have been
created, lives have been changed, the world made a little better.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Looking back, he sees that the door he entered through is
now closed, locked, vanished, gone. He smiles a little at how fitting it is.
You think you can just stick your head in a door, pop in for just a bit, visit
for a while. But you find, eventually, that you can never go out the same way
you came in. Because while you were inside, the world outside has changed,
blatantly or subtly; or, perhaps, it's you who have changed, subtly or
blatantly. But the changes are there, and the way back is gone forever. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Still, he can close his eyes and hear their voices murmuring
in the air. There's still laughter, and bickering, a few tears when sadness or
joy was shared. And the frustration when the words just wouldn't come out
right, when the deadline loomed and the world was insistently butting its nose
in. He can walk along the row of desks and feel the spirit still inhabiting the
space. </span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">And there they'll be forever, he says to himself. They'll
all be gone, like he'll be gone, all gone to other things, to other words,
other spaces, but they'll always be here, too. Even when the works are no
longer plastered in the storefront window, they'll be here. Even when the storefront
isn't here any longer.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><i>Well. Time to go</i>.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">They say that when one door closes another opens. That's
only partly true. There's never just the one door, and it's never open when you
find it. So he walks the length of the room, past the desks, the coffee maker,
the chocolate fountain, further back than he's been before, and sees the doors,
featureless, set off only by exit signs. He doesn't bother to count them; odds
are the number would change every time he tried. They're all identical, but the
ritual has to be observed. He passes before each of them, brushing his
fingertips against the dark, polished wood, and isn't surprised to feel only that
there is in fact something on the other side.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">He adjusts his hat and slings the backpack over his shoulder.
He raises his cane, pokes it at a random door, and starts to laugh.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Of course. The door he picks wasn't isn't the door he
intended. And he's fairly certain it wasn't there a moment ago. And though he
has no reason to think so, it's obviously the exact right door.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">One last look around, to imprint it on his memory. One last
nod to the ghosts of the living. And he turns his back on the room and opens
the door. And smiles.</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;">Bonus.</span></span><br />
<span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span>
<i><span style="font-size: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><br /></span></span></i>
<i><span style="font-family: Arial, Helvetica, sans-serif;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222;">Bill Mullis's own personal door is in the South Carolina Upstate. His online presence is currently limited, but you can reach him at </span><a href="http://www.facebook.com/bill.mullis" style="background-color: white; color: #1155cc;" target="_blank">www.facebook.com/bill.mullis</a><span style="background-color: white; color: #222222;"> or via email at kodbill[at]gmail.com.</span></span></i>weeghostieshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05784292070517987961noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3475732294480121490.post-24515269927296803312012-09-17T09:00:00.000-04:002012-09-17T09:00:00.134-04:00Six Degrees of Kevin BaconBy Terri Coop<br />
<br />
Actually, this post has nothing to do with Kevin Bacon. I just believe that everything is better with bacon. A better title would be "Six Degrees of Peter Straub," or "How a small town lawyer closed down a bar with Erma blogmate Carole Oldroyd, author Jamie Mason, and a by-gawd literary legend."
I owe it all to Erma Bombeck.
Yeah, I said Erma Bombeck.<br />
<br />
Let's see if I can sort it out.<br />
<br />
<ol>
<li>Erma Bombeck pretty much invents the genre of household humor and an entire generation grows up knowing that the grass is always greener over the septic tank. </li>
<li>A gang of writers get together and come up with the excellent idea of a blog celebrating the legacy of Bombeck with an updated version of her unique slice-of-life humor. Enter "An Army of Ermas." </li>
<li>Fast forward to a contest to find two more recruits to the army. I entered my essay "The Chihuahua Whisperer" and launched a stormtrooper campaign among my friends and family to vote me in or prepare to spend the next year regretting it. </li>
<li>Yes! I am inducted into a group of the best, funniest, and most wonderful gang of writers ever assembled. Over the many months of Facebook posts, blogs, deadlines, good times, and not so good times, I come to count many of the Ermas as friends, and some as family. I owe my Honorable Mention from the 2012 Erma Bombeck Writing Competition to the encouragement of this wonderful group. </li>
<li>Some more fast-forwarding and I get a Facebook message saying, "Hey, can you come to Nashville in August?" Turns out Ms. Oldroyd was hitting me up to be roomies for the Killer Nashville writers' conference. My answer was a definitive, "heck yeah," and I had my conference registration and flight booked by breakfast. </li>
<li>::rurrururur:: (fast forward sound, roll with it) to the convention and an innocuous sounding suggestion from author-extraordinaire Jamie Mason, "let's check out the bar before we call it." </li>
<li>There, sitting a-freaking-lone at the bar, was non-other than Peter Straub. Alone for about fifteen seconds, that is. And a finer, more charming, and funny person you will never meet. However, he would not answer my burning question, "Was it your idea or Stephen King's to kill Henry in The Talisman?" After all these years, that is still a literary open wound. ::sigh:: </li>
<li>Toss in a side order of Jeffery Deaver and you have a formula for one of the best evenings ever. The blaring GET-OUT-DON'T-YOU-PEOPLE-HAVE-HOMES lights came on far too soon. </li>
</ol>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMvlsTLw0s2A2uJhBRgCbOiwfpIKnuyOVnxzml7OGKvNgLRDCqfYxlh2Ejnz0iGrK4Ywt-jWd9v8E2LeTkL3prgcxOoqiA2QZNXw6ybyaSZZ-KPh71HIQYktsnV1kOBCA8FNYTAGWWlVI/s1600/terri.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjMvlsTLw0s2A2uJhBRgCbOiwfpIKnuyOVnxzml7OGKvNgLRDCqfYxlh2Ejnz0iGrK4Ywt-jWd9v8E2LeTkL3prgcxOoqiA2QZNXw6ybyaSZZ-KPh71HIQYktsnV1kOBCA8FNYTAGWWlVI/s320/terri.jpg" width="284" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Not Kevin Bacon.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
My eternal thanks to the divine Erma Bombeck, who is certainly chuckling at this merry band of modern-day wo(men), and to each and every one of the Ermas. My wish is to someday close down a bar with every one of you. And to meet Kevin Bacon. Or to have bacon cheeseburgers with you all. You know what I mean. Dang it, I've got dust or something in my eye . . .<br />
<br />
<i>Terri Lynn Coop writes about car culture and hot rod collectibles at <a href="http://carmemorabilia.about.com/">http://carmemorabilia.about.com</a> and has been known to blog at <a href="http://readinrittinrhetoric.blogspot.com/">http://readinrittinrhetoric.blogspot.com</a>. Buddy up on Facebook, <a href="https://www.facebook.com/terri.l.coop">https://www.facebook.com/terri.l.coop</a> or say hello on Twitter <a href="https://twitter.com/TerriLCoop">https://twitter.com/TerriLCoop</a>
</i>Angiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07123379306124169092noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3475732294480121490.post-74369019036911361562012-09-14T09:00:00.000-04:002012-09-14T09:00:03.609-04:00Portable Pizza PocketsBy Patti Wigington<br />
<br />
I'm a big fan of portable food. Anything I can hold in my hand to eat is practically an automatic win. I'm sure lots of other people feel the same way – hence the popularity of products such as the Hot Pocket. They're cheap and they're quick to prepare. They're also easy to make yourself – and you can get a much better idea of what they contain if you prepare them yourself.<br />
<br />
I've had to eat gluten-free since 2007, so I made my pizza pockets with gluten-free Chebe pizza dough. However, you can use any kind of pizza dough you like, either homemade or pre-packaged. The key is that it has to be stretchy. One package of pre-made pizza dough will give you anywhere from two to four pizza pockets, depending on how big you make them.<br />
<br />
Ingredients:<br />
<br />
One package pizza dough<br />
Pizza sauce<br />
Pizza fillings, such as ham, pepperoni, or veggies<br />
Oregano<br />
Mozarella cheese<br />
<br />
<br />
Roll out your pizza dough so it's about 1/4” thick. Cut into either two or four rectangles – I made two, so I could get a couple of really good-sized pockets, but you can make them smaller if you like. Add a couple of tablespoons of sauce, pizza fillings, the oregano, and some mozzarella, to one side of each rectangle. Make sure that you leave a gap around the toppings of about 3/4” or your fillings will leak out.<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgD_Ax9ksC0LugRNRZxjH1mW6lK6WO7ANPAoD1vX0OsZbC0tGve4avMQ18loRk-HWRG8Q-3_eeCk4JBGV1gwCXoMMEKO8Fft7_q221uOjFHs1Vg3VhFYh3Ir4Js0aTs8VTdjPk6OeM8hSw/s1600/Patti+Wigington-Pizza+Pockets.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="239" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgD_Ax9ksC0LugRNRZxjH1mW6lK6WO7ANPAoD1vX0OsZbC0tGve4avMQ18loRk-HWRG8Q-3_eeCk4JBGV1gwCXoMMEKO8Fft7_q221uOjFHs1Vg3VhFYh3Ir4Js0aTs8VTdjPk6OeM8hSw/s320/Patti+Wigington-Pizza+Pockets.jpg" width="320" /></a>Fold the non-topping half of the rectangle over, just like you're closing a book. Press the edges together all the way around – I actually used a fork to crimp mine together, which seems to have done the trick nicely and kept any stray sauce from escaping.<br />
<br />
Bake at 375 for about 20 minutes, or until the crusts are lightly browned. Allow to cool for about five minutes, then serve with marinara dipping sauce or (my personal favorite) garlic butter.<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
Make a bunch of these and bake them ahead of time, then toss them in individual freezer bags – you can reheat them for snacks or lunches by microwaving about three minutes.Angiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07123379306124169092noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3475732294480121490.post-4984449784956872782012-09-12T09:00:00.000-04:002012-09-12T09:00:09.333-04:00Arts and Gaffes
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<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
By Beth Bartlett </div>
<table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right; margin-left: 1em; text-align: right;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMStRGljSpIefNXlsEmKTseioanKN5rgL7feATCw_84o_-dCMBGBXgTs-S5NcXOLxJEgdNIADEc9KdS7t8NX4ixqBkOfc8JCzirY4U0CfPYImTalqcVeSFwpQPqJvJZMjJ5rE9NsfCuLU/s1600/10744633_s.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiMStRGljSpIefNXlsEmKTseioanKN5rgL7feATCw_84o_-dCMBGBXgTs-S5NcXOLxJEgdNIADEc9KdS7t8NX4ixqBkOfc8JCzirY4U0CfPYImTalqcVeSFwpQPqJvJZMjJ5rE9NsfCuLU/s320/10744633_s.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Deadly weapons.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I’m not crafty at all. Martha Stewart might as well be a
wizard from Hogwarts as far as I’m concerned. Unfortunately, that doesn’t stop
me from trying to be one of those people who can knit a doily from cat hair or
turn a “Twilight” book into a stunning series of origami castles. I have the
passion, I just don’t have the skill, patience or survival instinct of a
crafter, which is why I’m no longer allowed near glue guns. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
This is not a new thing for me. My mother taught me to sew
by hand when I was six. I can’t blame her for giving me pointy objects, because
she had only known me for a few years. I sewed so much material to my own
pants, every pair of jeans I owned came pre-equipped with chaps. After we ran
out of Band-Aids, I was the proud owner of a non-pointy potholder loom, which I
promptly managed to turn into a Mobius strip of stretchy doom.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Mom finally gave up and bought me an
Easy-Bake Oven, which permanently set my culinary skill level for life. (Shut
up.)</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
As the years progressed, so did my failures. When I drew
Tippy the Turtle, he came out as a diseased muskrat. If Bob Ross could have
seen my paintings, he would have said “Please. Just stop. Let me rescue these
trees and get them some therapy.” </div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
In spite of all this, I managed to marry an artist who was
also an incurable optimist. He tried to teach me how to build faux Victorian
jewelry and knit and watercolor. Like I said, incurable. After 25 years, I
thought he had accepted the fact that my only acceptable craft tools were
popsicle sticks and painted macaroni.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Recently he presented me with a box emblazoned with the
words “Perfect for beginners! Easy to do! For all age levels!” Inside was an
etch-by -number kit, where you take a sharp instrument (mistake #1) and with a
steady hand (mistake #2) you remove everything from a black-coated metal sheet
that doesn’t resemble a detailed Japanese garden in full bloom (mistake #3). I
worked delicately, following the lines and scraping bits of black off the sheet
to reveal little gold streaks. After a week, he asked me how I was doing. I
proudly presented him with an artwork that looked like someone grabbed an angry
porcupine and rubbed it hard against Darth Vader’s helmet.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
I now have a lifetime supply of popsicle sticks and craft
glue.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i>Beth Bartlett is a freelance writer and humorist who now
knows that short shorts and hot glue don’t mix. Feel free to follow her on
Twitter (<a href="https://twitter.com/plaidearthworm" target="_blank">@plaidearthworm</a>) or drop by one of her many sites: <a href="http://www.plaidearthworm.com/" target="_blank">www.plaidearthworm.com</a>, <a href="http://www.puregeek.me/" target="_blank">www.puregeek.me</a> or <a href="http://www.wisecrackzodiac.com/" target="_blank">www.wisecrackzodiac.com</a>. </i></div>
Angiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07123379306124169092noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3475732294480121490.post-47676677565066237892012-09-10T09:00:00.000-04:002012-09-10T09:00:00.890-04:00Everything ends -- or how the film "Cocktail" is totally like this website<div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">
</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0pt;">
by Jason Tudor</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0pt;">
"Everything ends badly, otherwise it wouldn't end" gets
uttered by a bartender named Coughlin in a film called "Cocktail." That
he uttered those words in "Cocktail," one of the 1980's 10 Worst
"Films With Feathered Hair and Acrobatic Drinking Tricks" doesn't
mean the phrase isn't worth examining in light of recent events.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0pt;">
I'll just throw out a few as retrospective: Octomom. Jersey Shore. John
Edwards. Crystal Pepsi. The Magic Johnson Hour. 24-hour cable news (Wait. That
still exists ...). Even "Cocktail" ended by allowing Tom Cruise to
make more movies. This is life's little cruel stubbing of its own toe over and
over again.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0pt;">
Conversely, An Army of Ermas ends its run Sept. 30. By no means will it
end badly. Rather, it will simply end. And there should be more: fireworks,
live sign-off, ticker-tape parade, immigrants selling fake Rolex watches and
glowing light sticks. You get the idea.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 0pt;">
This thing shouldn't end, but it will. So, in reflection, let's peek at
what Ermas has brought you:</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt 2.6pt;">
-- As of this
writing, there are 410 columns written by about 30 different columnists. So,
almost every other day for the past two years, one of us has told you about
driving Fieros, boob smashing or cooking something delicious. To recap: cars,
boobs and food. You win.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt 2.6pt;">
-- Much like the
mixed drinks Cruise's Brian Flanagan makes, the stories you've been introduced
to come from a line-up of funny, talented people with diverse, wonderful backgrounds.
Stalk them like old boyfriends. Every single one of them will be more famous
than Usain Bolt's after-parties before you know it. </div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt 2.6pt;">
-- If the numbers
are right, you've shared this stuff like college kids share good weed (or, at
least, that's what the college kids tell me). In other words, Ermas are all
over the Web like a snotty cold at a daycare center. Again, that's a good
thing. So many of my colleagues deserve that electron-warming loving that only
you can provide with the stroke of a 'send' or 'like' button.</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt 2.6pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt 2.6pt;">
There's more to be
sure. For my own part, I've scratched out about two dozen columns and waited
for the comments to roll in. Sometimes there were many and with others, the
crickets kept me company as we watched the stars twinkle in the midnight of the
Internet. That's okay. Humor, especially the kind that Erma Bombeck wrote, is
tough, like seeing Elisabeth Shue suck it up for 104 minutes next to Cruise's
Foghorn Leghorn rooster hair. I won some. I lost some.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt 2.6pt;">
And rather than
Elmer Fudd blasting Daffy Duck's bill around to the other side of his face for
the next 20 days or so, you'll get another version of Looney Tunes. Our version.
It's more like the colonoscopy that went A-OK. And, no: it won't end badly, but
like "Cocktail" with a brand new bar and twins on the way, it will
end.</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt 2.6pt;">
To quote my
beloved editor of this site, "Now, scoot."</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt 2.6pt;">
<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif; line-height: normal; margin: 0in 0in 0pt 2.6pt;">
<i>Jason Tudor is a
writer and illustrator. He is also the creator and co-host of the hour-long
podcast "The Science Fiction Show." You can continue to find him at
<a href="http://www.jasontudor.com/">www.jasontudor.com</a> or <a href="http://www.myscifishow.com/">www.myscifishow.com</a>.</i></div>
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<br /></div>
weeghostieshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05784292070517987961noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3475732294480121490.post-62718903056918637562012-09-07T09:00:00.000-04:002012-09-07T09:00:05.671-04:00All the Right Skills in All the Wrong PlacesBy Amy Mullis<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRuqja4IFDypdt6QD_LQsT0uYOvSHH0m8sjG6zIg09YZqoZQNllD89o-_2Fgp54uxYIywE6kTVNQHqMEiftAwKsWGsJje4Dt5hH0Z7lYktbjcdE808QV4erTBGtEC-tH5nSESxLx4wz3M/s1600/9870283_s.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhRuqja4IFDypdt6QD_LQsT0uYOvSHH0m8sjG6zIg09YZqoZQNllD89o-_2Fgp54uxYIywE6kTVNQHqMEiftAwKsWGsJje4Dt5hH0Z7lYktbjcdE808QV4erTBGtEC-tH5nSESxLx4wz3M/s320/9870283_s.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
I have one sister to grow plants and one to do crafts. It’s not that I’m a Diva, I just don’t see a way around that “Police Line - Do Not Cross” tape on my craft box. I don’t know my fertilizer from my fescue or my Popsicle sticks from my pipe cleaners. I’m not allowed to use a soaker hose or a glue gun without an OSHA representative present. I have a criminal past when it comes to construction paper.<br /><br />But sometimes, when the women’s magazines bordering the grocery checkout like sunflowers beckon to me, I push aside that little voice that reminds me of the soccer banner incident.<br /><br />“Ouch. No need to shove.” The Captain grabbed a Mars bar off the rack as he regained balance.<br /><br />“You’re the one who brought it up.”<br /><br />“Well, there aren’t many women who prance around with a soccer banner attached to their crotch.”<br /><br />“I wasn’t prancing. I was trying to shake it loose.”<br /><br />“I thought you were angling for a tip.”<br /><br />“It was attached to my pants.”<br /><br />“Who could tell? You were all Soccer Banner through Interpretive Dance.”<br /><br />“I had a little trouble with the needle and thread.”<br /><br />“What did it do? Misfire and sew the banner to your shorts?”<br /><br />“Well at least I’m not the Poster Child for plumbing disasters.”<br /><br />“Look. ANYBODY can have a toilet where the water goes down.”<br /><br />“Now I’m afraid of what’s going to come up. That gives a whole new meaning to the words Interpretive Dance.”<br /><br />“I made one little mistake. You killed a Peace Plant. That started an International Incident that resulted in your mug shot hanging in garden stores around the world.”<br /><br />“Those things are so needy. You’d think they could go a few days without water.”<br /><br />“It was six months.”<br /><br />“I think those Peace Plants are named wrong. I’m pretty sure that thing growled at me when I took it out of the trunk.”<br /><br />The Captain paid the cashier and tore into the candy bar. “By the way, you’re still famous around the soccer fields. You’re not allowed in without supervision of a responsible child under the age of 17.”<br /><br />“Cool! I have an R-17 rating? I guess gardening and sewing are a lot like plumbing. Nobody notices unless you get it wrong.”<br /><br /><br /><i>Bio: Amy Mullis lives in upstate South Carolina where she hoards glue sticks and bits of ribbon, and leafs through craft magazines planning for the future. Her husband, sons, dogs, and cats feel secure knowing that she’ll never find where the pinking shears and glue gun are buried. Join her for more “Don’t Let This Happen to Me” moments at <a href="http://mindovermullis.blogspot.com/" target="_blank">Mind Over Mullis</a>. She sends her thanks and love to Stacey Graham, Angie Mansfield and all the Ermas for making life a little bit more exciting for the past two and a half years.</i>Angiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07123379306124169092noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3475732294480121490.post-72517510232373933652012-09-05T09:00:00.000-04:002012-09-05T09:00:14.008-04:00BBQ Novice
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<br />
By Tricia Gillespie<br />
<br />
Last week I was dreaming of white sandy beaches and barbeque. I
couldn’t get the luscious dark red sauce out of my mind, so I decided to
make pulled pork sandwiches this weekend. I remember seeing, like, thirty
<i>thousand</i> barbeque recipes on Pinterest, but when I went looking, I hadn’t
pinned a one. <br />
<br />
Huh? I always Pin when I’m hungry. They have the most
tantalizing photos of food. I can drool all night and not gain an
ounce. It’s kind of like the patch for smokers, only it’s for food
addicts.<br />
<br />
So I did what any fearless culinary novice would do: I improvised. I
saw no less than a hundred recipes that used three ingredients – soda, BBQ
sauce, and salt/pepper. Lots of people use diet soda in their BBQ, but I
decided to throw caution to the wind and use the real stuff. I do not
think anyone with sweet tea running through her veins would use Diet
Pepsi. Correct me if I’m wrong.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdE-KQDai1gcxcaPPcAa_UfX3W2wy_L1EfRaGXQglTiGXJcX2c39Nkubnzr2w7rE9t5aRdlH73ggw2wtCrmAngUEq111xO990gA_S2lw6bS6R6o0hxxHcWg_yZZSYh9WQKQoIdLNS846o/s1600/Tricia+Gillespie-BBQ+Novice.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgdE-KQDai1gcxcaPPcAa_UfX3W2wy_L1EfRaGXQglTiGXJcX2c39Nkubnzr2w7rE9t5aRdlH73ggw2wtCrmAngUEq111xO990gA_S2lw6bS6R6o0hxxHcWg_yZZSYh9WQKQoIdLNS846o/s320/Tricia+Gillespie-BBQ+Novice.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
<br />
In the lineup is Sweet Baby Ray’s BBQ Sauce, Dr. Pepper, and Seasoned
Salt. <br />
<br />
I sprinkled the roasts with seasoned salt, put the roasts in the crockpot,
added Dr. Pepper with abandon, and squeezed about half the large bottle of
barbeque sauce all over the meat. Then I let it cook.<br />
<br />
After about seven hours, I drained off some fat from the top, and pulled
apart the pork. I returned the pulled pork to the crockpot and let it
absorb all the juice. In its pulled form, it stayed in the crockpot for
another hour. Then I loaded it on whole wheat rolls, because I’m healthy
like that, and gave it another good squeeze of sauce.<br />
<br />
The only thing missing was the banana pudding, but I’m on a diet, you know.<br />
<br />
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i>Bio:<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>Tricia Gillespie
cooks up fun over on The Domestic Fringe.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>When she’s not busy putting out stove fires with sweet tea, she’s
finding humor in this reality we call life.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>She has two kids, one husband, and a Betta fish named Hot Shot.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>She wishes it rained chocolate and French
fries, because then she would never cook again.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;">
</span>Go visit her at <a href="http://www.thedomesticfringe.com/">thedomesticfringe.com</a>.</i></div>
Angiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07123379306124169092noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3475732294480121490.post-17187128653458851252012-09-03T09:00:00.000-04:002012-09-03T09:00:09.645-04:00Chocolate Chip Surprise Cookies<br />
By Lisa Dovichi<br />
<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2bYAQVIKIXMjBvLcp3wRrD2OqOSIgXf-il8vjl7OBA2sRUrad7L1E3GuvHuKBpPDn7IZwh3BaDVRUUUDzM_YEpmxEtJFeHZVXHZFOyHojw5k6oFbXS7q8cV5jG4bZWeH9bi2vH-myNFE/s1600/whole+cookie.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2bYAQVIKIXMjBvLcp3wRrD2OqOSIgXf-il8vjl7OBA2sRUrad7L1E3GuvHuKBpPDn7IZwh3BaDVRUUUDzM_YEpmxEtJFeHZVXHZFOyHojw5k6oFbXS7q8cV5jG4bZWeH9bi2vH-myNFE/s1600/whole+cookie.jpg" /></a>How do you transform a run-of-the-mill chocolate chip cookie into something that your friends will rave about for days? Shh, come closer. It's a secret. <br />
<br />
You make them ginormous and give it a surprise chewy chocolatey brownie center (say that 10 times fast)!<br />
<br />
Sounds like it should be complicated, right? Nuh uh. It isn't - just a little time intensive. Stick with me, my little chickadee, and I'll tell you how it's done.<br />
<br />
You'll need:<br />
<br />
<ul>
<li>1 box of your favorite chocolate brownie mix: prepared per box instructions with the extra egg for cake-like brownies and just under baked -- the brownie should be a little sticky.</li>
<li>Your favorite chocolate chip cookie recipe: prepared but NOT baked</li>
</ul>
<br />
Directions:<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2VGiB49-ZlR_jgiEVKbRkbIpegtJd9EhCv5_UmCRMOX3y0bofaZzhaVyVPBrpr9xy-DLBTfDkm1fI2Qp-fwyIeuNRyI7n2JRKpt__uAuh_cjFhQ44JlaBGHAUnq4_vvA3SSWIThzPTPs/s1600/half+cookie.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj2VGiB49-ZlR_jgiEVKbRkbIpegtJd9EhCv5_UmCRMOX3y0bofaZzhaVyVPBrpr9xy-DLBTfDkm1fI2Qp-fwyIeuNRyI7n2JRKpt__uAuh_cjFhQ44JlaBGHAUnq4_vvA3SSWIThzPTPs/s1600/half+cookie.jpg" /></a></div>
<ul>
<li>Make cookie dough and put in fridge -- chilled dough works best</li>
<li>Make brownies and let cool</li>
<li>Preheat oven 350 degrees</li>
<li>Mash up the pan of brownies</li>
<li>Measure 1/3 cup cookie dough, ball it, cut in half and flatten each half into a disk.</li>
<li>Measure 3 TBS sticky brownie crumbles and place on one cookie dough disk</li>
<li>Take the other cookie dough disk and place it on top -- making a sandwich</li>
<li>Seal the edges, place on a cookie sheet lined with parchment paper with an inch between each cookie.</li>
<li>Bake at 350 for 18 minutes or until cookie is golden brown.</li>
<li>Cool on wire rack (or not) and EAT!</li>
</ul>
<br />
So super delicious and worth all the time the preparation takes. I swear it.<br />
<br />
<br />
<i>Lisa lives in Livermore, CA with her husband and three children. She's the author/illustrator of the Sugar and Spice Cook-It-Yourself children books series (coming soon) and works from home as an artist and web designer. In her dwindling spare time she changes diapers, experiments with food, is a sucker for DIY projects, and watches bad movies on Monday night with her husband. To get more Lisa visit: www.meltingbeforeyoureyes.blogspot.com.</i>Angiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07123379306124169092noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3475732294480121490.post-32858856774876590922012-08-31T09:00:00.000-04:002012-08-31T09:00:02.821-04:00Austentatious Haiku<!--[if gte mso 9]><xml>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia;">by Patti Wigington</span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<br /></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia;">Truth universal</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia;">Such passion might pollute the</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia;">Shades of Pemberley</span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia;">Persuaded by Bath</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia;">Love found, lost and found
again</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia;">Her words pierce his soul</span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia;">Dark gothic abbey</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia;">“Mysteries of Udolpho”</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia;">Hearts joined in ruins</span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia;">Matchmaker matching</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia;">Finds herself undone by her</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia;">Own willful spirit</span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia;">Sisters three, one young,</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia;">One says too much, one speaks
not,</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia;">Many mixed signals</span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia;">Poor girl, country house</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia;">Sharp social commentary</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia;">Love is right next door</span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia;">Curled up quietly</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia;">Cat in lap, coffee in hand,</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Georgia;">So lost in Austen</span></div>
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<br /></div>
weeghostieshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05784292070517987961noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3475732294480121490.post-61797457100729687832012-08-29T09:00:00.000-04:002012-08-29T09:00:04.210-04:00Cat Haiku
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by Steve Barber </div>
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If dogs can have their Haiku, it's only fair that cats get a
shot at it too. Theirs, of course, would be...different. Like this:</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWq3fHUMVxZBhTfu7YqbzsNvDCjTBSGqk3JDdXs94nYdAJEvzxK4M8tXyo0g5VH8-mJO5jVhib3xDi5UJVWdUSAKBrD43dTKx0QrD-V-aoBgH_cUwt_Sk2YUFGS_1gaV8RMRN0H9HK_Ro/s1600/7594089_s.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWq3fHUMVxZBhTfu7YqbzsNvDCjTBSGqk3JDdXs94nYdAJEvzxK4M8tXyo0g5VH8-mJO5jVhib3xDi5UJVWdUSAKBrD43dTKx0QrD-V-aoBgH_cUwt_Sk2YUFGS_1gaV8RMRN0H9HK_Ro/s320/7594089_s.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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You have
allergies?</div>
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Cats have
dander. Deal with it.</div>
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Now go bring
my food.</div>
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<br /></div>
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The plans
are in place</div>
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To overthrow
the humans.</div>
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But first I
must nap.</div>
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<br /></div>
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I shall
bring dead things</div>
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And leave
them on your pillow.</div>
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'Cause
that's what cats do.</div>
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<br /></div>
Angiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07123379306124169092noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3475732294480121490.post-59882923807992100592012-08-27T09:00:00.000-04:002012-08-27T09:00:14.496-04:00Telework: A Haikuby John Banusiewicz <br />
<br />
Teleworking rocks,<br />And not just because it means<br />Pants without belt loops.<br /><br />Working in bare feet<br />With no buttons on my shirt<br />Definitely helps.<br /><br />And when the commute<br />Means just walking down the stairs,<br />I can handle that.<br /><br />Focusing on work<br />Isn’t an issue at all.<br />It’s very quiet.<br /><br />Who could ask for more?<br />With all the comforts of home,<br />I have it made, right?<br /><br />But the small pockets<br />Of down time my work provides<br />Are my undoing.<br /><br />The walk to the fridge<br />Is twenty-two steps, round-trip.<br />Damn those Klondike Bars.<br /><br />Golden Oreos<br />Go nicely with Klondike Bars,<br />And they’re right nearby.<br /><br />And I won’t even<br />Discuss my relationship<br />With potato chips.<br /><br />Elastic waitsbands<br />Aren’t only for my comfort.<br />They’re necessary.weeghostieshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05784292070517987961noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3475732294480121490.post-55427054377156716162012-08-24T09:00:00.000-04:002012-08-24T09:00:08.506-04:00Besties, Beasties and Frenemies: Oh My!<div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-3oF3s0qaGh4XFR05gwDDoQp7UGLrzjbRz-KW68jexJEyua4ltFhzmjBpqQ9hhbgF-by0SGgckzikaVJtwErD8bD2P2s-SE8euCZl3IVEGr_DgxMLXAXq0rNQB62VmjmDFuVj-eLb_dQ/s1600/ermasbestiesandbeasties.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi-3oF3s0qaGh4XFR05gwDDoQp7UGLrzjbRz-KW68jexJEyua4ltFhzmjBpqQ9hhbgF-by0SGgckzikaVJtwErD8bD2P2s-SE8euCZl3IVEGr_DgxMLXAXq0rNQB62VmjmDFuVj-eLb_dQ/s320/ermasbestiesandbeasties.jpg" width="213" /></a></div>
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</div>
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<br /></div>
<br />
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</div>
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by Beth Bartlett </div>
<br />
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<br /></div>
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Doesn’t mind late calls</div>
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Refills your wine while you vent</div>
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Honey Badger cares.</div>
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<br /></div>
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Makes fun of your shoes</div>
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Even Jimmy Choos on sale</div>
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Cougars are vicious.</div>
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<br /></div>
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Drunk-dialing your ex</div>
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New girlfriend answers the phone.</div>
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Snap! Barracuda!</div>
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<br /></div>
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Long neck, stretchy pants</div>
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Hears all the gossip, stays mum</div>
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Giraffe’s got your back</div>
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<br /></div>
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Mishap avoided;</div>
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Turkey knows just what to do.</div>
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Put down the hot wax.</div>
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<br /></div>
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What’s white, black and red? </div>
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Zebra after dirty jokes</div>
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And margaritas. </div>
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<br /></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-size: xx-small;">Image: <a href="http://www.flickr.com/photos/cristiano_betta/4651428592/sizes/m/in/photostream">Flickr/Cristiano Betta</a></span></div>
weeghostieshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05784292070517987961noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3475732294480121490.post-76014365806715191122012-08-22T09:00:00.000-04:002012-08-22T09:00:19.490-04:00Going a Little HAIKU-KOO
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<span style="font-family: "Constantia Italic";">By Kathy
Tirrell</span></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Dump out stuff in purse,</div>
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Fish through pockets, dig through trash.</div>
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Keys found in the fridge!</div>
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<br /></div>
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Traffic lights, stop signs,</div>
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Allergy eyes, big, bright zit.</div>
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RED things drive me nuts!</div>
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<br /></div>
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Son wails on guitar,</div>
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Husband brings iPad to bed.</div>
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Think I’ll sleep outdoors!</div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Kathy Tirrell
sometimes goes a little cuckoo over things that happen in life, but tries to
find the humor in it all.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> </span>You can check
out some of her observations on “It Bloggles the Mind.”</i></div>
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<br /></div>
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<br /></div>
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<br /></div>
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<br /></div>
Angiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07123379306124169092noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3475732294480121490.post-52991742834805889962012-08-20T09:00:00.000-04:002012-08-20T09:00:05.928-04:00Haiku For YouBy Lisa Dovichi<br />
<br />
4ft's creations<br />Some things shouldn't be on bread<br />*Shudders* The horror.<br /><br />Ran out of stickers<br />Art project needs enhancement<br />Bandaids for the win.<br /><br /><i>Lisa lives in Livermore, CA with her husband and three children. She works from home as an artist and web designer. In her dwindling spare time she changes diapers, experiments with food, is a sucker for DIY projects, and watches bad movies on Monday night with her husband. To get more Lisa visit: www.meltingbeforeyoureyes.blogspot.com.</i>Angiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07123379306124169092noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3475732294480121490.post-72523323539269571682012-08-17T09:00:00.000-04:002012-08-17T12:33:09.695-04:00Ode to My New Houseby Melanie Hooyenga<br />
<br />
New house, I love thee.<br />
Every arch and creaky step<br />
Whispers "Welcome home."<br />
<br />
Tumbling down the stairs,<br />
I remind myself how much<br />
I love you, new house.<br />
<br />
Windows that won’t budge<br />
In the grip of August’s heat<br />
Test my new-found love.<br />
<br />
The cobweb-covered<br />
Basement tests this love further,<br />
But my love stays strong.<br />
<br />
I have my life’s dream<br />
And won’t let this love falter.<br />
(At least ‘til it snows.)<br />
<br />
<i>Melanie Hooyenga
is a graphic designer by day and Haiku-writing fool while stopped at red lights
(good thing they’re short). She has a neglected haiku blog, <a href="http://hoocanhaiku.blogspot.com/">Hoo Can Haiku</a>, which features the talents of several Ermas. She recently bought her first home and is chronicling her adventures in first-time home-ownership at <a href="http://melaniehoo.com/hoosblog"> melaniehoo.com/hoosblog</a>.
You can also follow her randomness at <a href="https://twitter.com/MelanieHoo">@melaniehoo</a>. </i>weeghostieshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05784292070517987961noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3475732294480121490.post-56663782313010360562012-08-15T09:00:00.000-04:002012-08-15T09:00:06.061-04:00Bag-For-A-Buck Romance Book-kuBy Terri Coop<br />
<br />
It's no secret that I like going to book sales.<br />
<br />
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisR4KsgwfqE89hR63R9pekeaV835hvsYqlsvDGXz-JeMJsefYPKJ1yunnLQ1gVe_w9hB3qn42zojH9Yb7K-4OWSNjgf-25qQlK8-7PEzmixgoA_zSghstYnWirGaaZPdFI-1W4O9RKz34/s1600/books1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEisR4KsgwfqE89hR63R9pekeaV835hvsYqlsvDGXz-JeMJsefYPKJ1yunnLQ1gVe_w9hB3qn42zojH9Yb7K-4OWSNjgf-25qQlK8-7PEzmixgoA_zSghstYnWirGaaZPdFI-1W4O9RKz34/s320/books1.jpg" width="240" /></a></div>
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<br />
<br />
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<br />
Sometimes you find the raw material for dreams.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuIbGtjVbNQJYReTyn0rdW4ZvWO5EAmm6PwoW5P9Gm60a5-VnSBB8Kib73pIq_v-bjjdqWDCAlbqt788UyA3is9F6du3KoRKu0trAiNEZc_DswynA5Xpm4AkZsIfM7R0wGIA0Ts_UC2sQ/s1600/bookku1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiuIbGtjVbNQJYReTyn0rdW4ZvWO5EAmm6PwoW5P9Gm60a5-VnSBB8Kib73pIq_v-bjjdqWDCAlbqt788UyA3is9F6du3KoRKu0trAiNEZc_DswynA5Xpm4AkZsIfM7R0wGIA0Ts_UC2sQ/s320/bookku1.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgeaIzxuIyQE7HocozokUr5vv9DNSzQ0BCF-iORaz_qWrN5GwzgzaTlFWocUhSs61922GjxEXECSEjY0dRppWJKgyMJxZHfbAikwllM6ye94t2GLk7V-WbqkM0SJ0sdyYvAD9nVQUQ7poY/s1600/bookku2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgeaIzxuIyQE7HocozokUr5vv9DNSzQ0BCF-iORaz_qWrN5GwzgzaTlFWocUhSs61922GjxEXECSEjY0dRppWJKgyMJxZHfbAikwllM6ye94t2GLk7V-WbqkM0SJ0sdyYvAD9nVQUQ7poY/s320/bookku2.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<br />
Many thanks to literary agent Janet Reid and her <a href="http://jetreidliterary.blogspot.com/2011/09/contest-open-now.html%29" target="_blank">outrageous book poetry contest</a>.<br />
<br />
<i>Terri Lynn Coop would give the local library $10 a year just to be able to go in and look at the books. It's way better when they let her bring her handtruck and take a bunch home. She is a practical dreamer who writes articles about everything from law to the history of pink fuzzy dice when not hacking away at her novel.</i><br />Angiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07123379306124169092noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3475732294480121490.post-47966021738606432202012-08-13T09:19:00.002-04:002012-08-13T09:34:04.304-04:00Kitchen ‘Ku-Boom<div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">
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<span style="font-size: small;">by Beth Bartlett</span></div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjIAjGoBZE_ttefMp_d1ORlKD0mud-ZBI4wLVBPRj8OAMqWuZktgTWVQ6XNZzhxZn1jj2hqC-nidq4wwj0mBho1ZjhuFbrwgJ4tj-tcvEOppsAIMC6d4Tk-N2DJUz-rxadQggANDjYMG4/s1600/11190108_s.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="213" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjIAjGoBZE_ttefMp_d1ORlKD0mud-ZBI4wLVBPRj8OAMqWuZktgTWVQ6XNZzhxZn1jj2hqC-nidq4wwj0mBho1ZjhuFbrwgJ4tj-tcvEOppsAIMC6d4Tk-N2DJUz-rxadQggANDjYMG4/s320/11190108_s.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">Fire extinguisher</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">Tops off the soufflé with foam</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">Mmmmm, creamy goodness.</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">Helpful kitchen tip:</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">Burned cookies make great trivets</span></div>
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<span style="font-size: small;">And they last for years.</span></div>
weeghostieshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05784292070517987961noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3475732294480121490.post-6555556630410252672012-08-10T09:00:00.000-04:002012-08-13T09:33:31.139-04:00Summer Refrain<div style="font-family: Arial,Helvetica,sans-serif;">
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By Sara Spock </div>
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sprinkler soaks a sun-</div>
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drenched lawn while muddy feet squish</div>
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blades between their toes</div>
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eyes sparkle through paths </div>
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of forest shade while grubby </div>
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fingers reach for slugs</div>
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ice cream melts down a</div>
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dimpled chin while sugar highs</div>
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crash through toddler brains</div>
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<i><span style="color: #333333; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">~Sara Spock is a Mom, Wife, Penn State Graduate,
Substitute Teacher, Freelance Writer, and Chocolate Addict. When she’s
not reveling in the summer-time highs and lows, Sara can be found </span><span style="color: #1a222a; mso-bidi-font-family: Arial;">over at <a href="http://saraspock.blogspot.com/">The Hero Complex</a> where she tries to
save the world, one. recipe. at. a. time.</span></i></div>
Angiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07123379306124169092noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3475732294480121490.post-31717885392957333752012-08-08T09:00:00.000-04:002012-08-08T10:38:18.798-04:00August Haikus<style>
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<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
By Jason Tudor</div>
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<h4>
Life</h4>
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Down the dark canal</div>
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Caught by friendly waiting hands</div>
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Yea! It’s my birthday!</div>
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<br /></div>
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Signs</h4>
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In roars the lion</div>
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Thunderous gold jungle king</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
But you’re a Pisces</div>
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Hot</h4>
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Fickle summer’s touch</div>
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Parches throats, scorches thin skin</div>
<div class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: normal; margin-bottom: .0001pt; margin-bottom: 0in;">
Stay a bit longer?</div>Angiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07123379306124169092noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3475732294480121490.post-84178786974098231802012-08-06T09:00:00.000-04:002012-08-06T17:19:54.025-04:00Domestic Bliss<br />
<div class="Body">
<span style="font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">by Carole Lee</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><br /></span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Coffee
can empty</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Stale
cereal, and no milk</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Going
back to bed</span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Filtered
H<sub>2</sub>O</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Personalized
“Fido” dish</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Drinks
from toilet</span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Sweep,
mop, wash, dry, fold</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Pick
up doggie toys (again)</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">How
much do maids charge?</span></div>
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<br /></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Fire
alarm sounding</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Smoke
and charred remains brought forth</span></div>
<span style="font-family: Arial; font-size: 12.0pt; mso-ansi-language: EN-US; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman"; mso-bidi-language: AR-SA; mso-fareast-font-family: "ヒラギノ角ゴ Pro W3"; mso-fareast-language: EN-US;">Supper is ready</span><br />
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<span style="font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Shuffle
off to bed</span></div>
<div class="Body">
<span style="font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Snuggle
up with pillow talk</span></div>
<div class="Body">
<span style="font-family: Arial; mso-bidi-font-family: "Times New Roman";">Notice
spouse snoring</span></div>weeghostieshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/05784292070517987961noreply@blogger.com8tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3475732294480121490.post-38168908380552595012012-08-03T09:00:00.009-04:002012-08-03T09:00:01.867-04:00Dog Haiku<style>
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Dogs are creatures of few words. How few? Well, none, actually. But if they could speak I'm convinced they'd do it in Haiku.</div>
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Perhaps something like this:</div>
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You know how I do </div>
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Disgusting things with my tongue?</div>
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Let me lick your face.</div>
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I left a present,</div>
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Well, not really a present,</div>
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On your bathroom rug.</div>
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No, it's not my fault.</div>
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I begged you to take me out.</div>
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Hope you stepped in it.</div>
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<i style="mso-bidi-font-style: normal;">Steve Barber lives in Ann Arbor, Michigan with Hunny and Tilly the Wonder Dog who just went three straight days without going on the carpet. Hunny's good about that too. Steve's currently working on convincing himself to get back to working on a bunch of half finished short stories. He just may do it, too.</i></div>Angiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07123379306124169092noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-3475732294480121490.post-4155200130068512712012-08-01T09:00:00.000-04:002012-08-01T17:00:35.407-04:00Anything you haiku, I haiku better.By Stacey Graham<br />
<br />
Distracted shopping -<br />
Went to Target with five girls,<br />
returned with jock strap<br />
<br />
And because no haiku post is complete without one about zombies: <br />
<br />
Hills full of children,<br />
laughing as they glide down slopes:<br />
zombies make great sleds!Angiehttp://www.blogger.com/profile/07123379306124169092noreply@blogger.com5