I'll take the camel.

Oh, oh, do you remember last week I wrote about the delightful, clever, entertaining commercial about the camel that works for an insurance company, and is so happy it is ‘hump day’?  Remember?

Today I’m going to report on another insurance company commercial I find to be unpleasant, disgusting and totally distasteful.  I’m sure you’ve probably seen it, and maybe you even like it.  If so, I’m sorry, and I suggest you stop reading here.

This commercial shows a dad and his son riding down the road…suddenly, people are flying through the air and landing on their vehicle, mouths wide open.  They get stuck to the windows and windshield like a bunch of lamprey eels. 

The son is screaming, the dad appears to be in shock. 

A well-dressed gentleman appears at the driver’s side window, and taps on it. He has a hand held devise in his hand.

The dad rolls down his window and the insurance man informs him that the people stuck to his automobile are ‘rate suckers’, and all he has to do is install the insurance company’s devise to the dashboard of his car, and the ‘rate sucker’s will go away.

Dad does this, and all the people that had been stuck to his car begin to slide off the vehicle.  Lucky dad.

Fade to black.

Seriously, did you honestly enjoy the close-ups of all those open mouths?  They grossed me out!

If I have a choice between a talking camel enjoying ‘hump day’, or ‘rate suckers’  I will choose a talking camel every day of the week.

 

Lord, save a duck.

Oh my word...this morning I was hit with a bolt of lightning, a cement block, a ton of bricks.

My youngest daughter is right...I AM a Nerd...or whatever Geeky, Dorky, Techie, Egghead, Book-wormy term is being used today.  Shoot, for a while I was even a member of The Blue Stocking Society.  Today I realized, this is not something I 'grew into', noooo, I've always been.

I'm certainly glad I grew up when I did...otherwise I think I might have been subjected to some pretty unsavory pranks in school.  I was never picked on, or shunned, and as far as I know never made fun of.  (Some things are left better unknown.)

Don't feel sorry for me...I'm quite happy to wear the above titles, do so proudly...my life's been pretty darn good. 

Here's the thing.

I don't remember much about my grade school years, back then they were grades K through 6.  My school did not have a Kindergarten.  And, as I've mentioned before, I hated school, only went because (as my mother would say) "It's the law, you are entitled to an education and you are going to school."  So, of course, I went.

I recall a bit more about Junior High School, back then grades 7 and 8, and we were all mushed together with the High Schoolers', grades 9 through 12.  In Junior High I mostly kept my head down and tried to stay as far away from the hustle and bustle of activities as I could.  I didn't join any clubs or other extra curricular activities and, didn't even have my first 'best friend' until I was a Sophomore.

Then came High School.  My class was small, I thought there were about 65 of us, but this morning I pulled out 'The Portal', our school's Yearbook, (I think they are called Annuals now) and found there were actually 72.  Some of us were farmers, some of us were miners, some of us were steel workers, all of us were part of America's  melting pot.  Some of us belonged to the Honor Society, most of us were average, and a small minority struggled with the curriculum.  I struggled, not because I wore the 'dunces cap' but because I hated school.

I was horrible at sports...was always picked last for a team, even in gym class, so steered away from volleyball, mush ball, etc, etc.  However...get ready...here comes this morning's revelation...I did belong to The Bowling Club (1), Intramural Sports (2-3) I honestly don't remember that, Drama Club (3-4), National Thespian Society (4), Echo our school newspaper (3), and The Portal (3-4).  There was also a short stint with the Chess Club, of which I was the only girl...but we had to disband because we could not get enough members.

Was I a nerd or what???????  At the time I had not a clue.

And, those proms...oh, do I really have to talk about them...I only went to the Junior one because I had to...I was in charge of the buffet...and, even more embarrassing I had to ask someone to take me...can you believe that???? 

Was I a geek or what?????  At the time I had not a clue.

As I senior, I didn't even attempt to attend the prom, by then I didn't want to.  But, on the other hand no one had invited me to go either.

Was I a Dork or what?????  At the time I had not a clue.

Finally, mercifully, my education came to a close.

The rest of my life simply unfolded...and as I mentioned above it's been pretty darn good.  The fact I had hidden 'nerdness' inside me remained dormant until this morning when I got to thinking about proms, and my past caught up with me.  My horrible Junior year prom experience flew out of that bolt of lightening.   Not being asked to my Senior one, fell like a concrete block, smack dab on top of my head.  Then came that ton of bricks as my youngest daughter's voice whispered in my ear.  "You're a Nerd, Mom, you're a Nerd."

Well, I'll be a monkey's uncle...she's right.  Have been all along...I finally feel comfortable in my own skin, kind of like a professor's sweater that has leather patches on the elbows, or that pair of slippers where the backs are leaning over and floppy on your feet.

So,Nerds...or whatever Geeky, Dorky, Techie, Egghead, Book-wormy  label applies today...unite in your uniqueness...wear that label proudly.

Sufferin' Succotash

Yesterday's blog was about a dear little skunk Pepe Le Pew.  A delightful, lovable (although apparently smelly) cartoon character unknown to some of the young generations.

While writing that blog, I closed with a few quips and quotes from of the cartoon character world of my past.  One of which was "Sufferin' Succotash".  For most of yesterday I was asking myself, "Do young people know what Succotash is, and are they wondering why it is (sufferin')?" 

Okay, kiddies, sit a spell, here comes a  history lesson. 

In the traditional sense, Succotash is a vegetable dish of corn and lima beans.

There are a lot of theories about the origin of Succotash.  My research indicates Succotash begins with the discovery of corn as an edible vegetable, and most sources are in agreement that corn originated in the Americas.  It is believed the Colonists, learned of this dish through Eastern Native Americans who prepared a dish called msakwitash meaning 'fragments or boiled corn.'  This dish was quickly adapted as a staple by the Colonists. 

It was an especially popular dish during the Great American Depression, because the ingredients were readily at hand and inexpensive to buy.  In addition, Succotash is also a traditional Thanksgiving Day side dish in the New England section of the nation.

As time progressed, and the country grew, different areas changed Succotash to acquired tastes, and today can be prepared in a wide variety of ways.  Other vegetable were added, zucchini squash appears to be among the most popular.  Although, kidney beans, green string beans, tomatoes, okra, onion, and potatoes appear to be stables as well. Depending on where you live, it can be served as a salad, while in other areas it is considered a soup or casserole. In some places of the country bacon, chicken and beef are also added to this dish, which (in my opinion) makes it a casserole.

I don't remember the first time I ate Succotash.  My mother might have prepared it, but I simply can't recall.  I do like it, but have only eaten the original corn and lima bean rendition.  I think I would like some of the others and if I'm ever in a restaurant where Succotash Salad is on the menu, I will definitely try it. 

So, there you have it.  Succotash is a vegetable side dish and there is absolutely no reason for it to be sufferin' at all.  Although as for the origin of the phrase 'Sufferin' Succotash I did learn the following, as posted on the Internet by Elyse Bruce on July 12, 2010.   "In the mid-1800s, during the Victorian era, there was a rejection of all profanity and so the common people developed a wide variety of malapropisms to avoid swearing on Holy names. Soon, one could hear Cripes and Crikey replace “Christ” and Dangnabit replace “G*d damn it“ and Cheese ‘n’ Rice replace “Jesus Christ.” The phrase Suffering Succotash replaced “Suffering Savior.”"


Guess you can't say you never learn anything from the Ramblings of an Old Woman.

Class dismissed.

Ah, le belle femme skunk fatale.

There are some days, I'm very glad I'm a writer.  Not a professional by any means, but a writer none the less.  I especially like being a writer on a day when I actually have words I want to spread across a blank page.  Today is one of those days.

I turned on my TV this morning to get a weather report, and had to wait a few minutes while the co-hosts waded through a few stories.  After which they bantered back and forth about the clips I was just shown. 

One story was about a hot air balloon event being held here this weekend.  They showed the balloons coming to life.  One was the likeness of Pepe Le Pew.  The co-hosts then reported that some of the younger employees of the TV station did not know who Pepe Le Pew was.  WHAT??????? 

You mean to tell me, my kids were the last kids to see a Pepe Le Pew cartoon?  Oh,my goodness! 

So, for my younger readers...if I have any...maybe...I'm going to tell you about sweet, love-lorn Pepe.  Warner Brothers brought him to life in 1945.  He's a cartoon skunk who lives in Paris.  He's a skunk, he smells, okay.  But that does not stop him from having an eye for a pretty, single, female kitty.  Each cartoon revolves around his desire to shower love and affection on said female kitty, only to be spurned because, as I mentioned before he SMELLS.

Personally, I adore him, he tries sooo hard to get the girl.  It was not his fault he smells.  Frankly, he does not know that he does.  (Oh, if only someone had told him.)  (Poor little guy, all he needed to do was leave the crowded sidewalks of Paris and stroll into the neighboring woods...he would have found his true love for sure.)  Instead, in each episode (full of amor'e), he pursues that sweet, black kitty.  She usually has an accidental white stripe (perhaps from an up-ended can of white paint) down her back, that makes her look like...well, him; so you can understand his confusion and desire and wanting to shower affection upon her.  Meanwhile, kitty spends the episode scurrying away from smelly Pepe's unwanted advances always managing to allude  him, though he never give up in his pursuit.   Sigh, love, unrequited. So sad, so sad.

How nice it would have been for Pepe if he had found his true love in his final cartoon.

I always let the kids watch cartoons I'd watch them, too. It never occurred to me to look for agendas hidden inside them.  They were fun, we'd laugh.  But, then one day some parents thought that having an Acme Safe fall on Wile E Coyote or seeing Sylvester Cat chase tiny, yellow Tweetie Bird was too violent for children to watch, then it became too politically incorrect to show a Pepe Le Pew cartoon, what with sexual harassment and stalking being what they are today. Over time, before school and after school cartoon shows became a thing of the past. 

Oh, there are special television channels for children these days, but for the most part, kids bury their noses into hand held devises, watch and play animated games, with life-like violence so real that some teens and young adults have come to believe it is okay to act out with said violence, hence, we see horrendous incidents of mass shootings at malls, schools and movie theaters.  Family members are murdering family members, generations are being wiped out. 

I don't know about you, but I yearn for the days of Porky Pig, Donald Duck, Mickey Mouse, Yosemite Sam, Roadrunner, Foghorn Leghorn, and a dozen more delightful cartoon characters.  They were funny, silly, and imaginary, 99.999% of people who watched them knew they weren't real...even Foghorn knew, for he would frequently state, "That's a joke, ah say, that's a joke, son."

 I wish kids today knew Pepe Le Pew I remember him fondly.  I also remember wonderful cartoon quips and quotes, and in your memory Pepe, I include the following: "I tawt I saw a Puddy Tat.  Sufferin' succotash.  Beep-beep.  What's up, doc?"

And finally,  "T-t-t-that's all folks."

DANG IT !

By the time Frankie had joined me in the kitchen this morning, I was already in a state.

I was moving around quicker than "The Flash".  "Warp speed ahead, Mr. Sulu."

I had already fed Zorro.  He was quite content.

I proceed to CC's station.  I'm sort of hummm-dee-dummming along.

I've already gotten the lid off her pat'e, ready to dump her daily ration into her bowl, when out of the corner of my eye I see a tiny black thingy.

This is not unusual, I frequently see things that aren't there.  Paul, flying insects, someone walking up my sidewalk, Frankie...you know stuff like that.

However, I notice two black objects, three, four....dozens...a hundred or more.

AAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHH!

ANTS!

They are crawling in precise order, scurry, scurry, scurry; one line going toward CC's bowl, another headed back to where ever the ants were going.  They were crawling all over her kibble, and the remnants of yesterday's pat'e. 

I am so grossed out.  The only thing that creeps me out more is snakes. 

My first thought is to, (in wild abandon) spray the entire area with a well known ant killer.  Wait...that might kill me, and my pets.  How would poor Frankie react to find us sprawled across the kitchen floor.

Instead she finds me, with a sopping wet wad of paper towels in my hand.  I had already shaken the ants off the place mat CC's food supply sits on, and taken them to the sink, hot water was pouring over them steaming whatever ants remained to death.

Frankie:  "What's ya doin'?"

I do not reply.  I'm too busy mopping up ants, while they in turn are trying to escape my wrath.  Water puddles, and begins to move in rivulets across the top of the cabinet.

Those ants are sooo desperate, I'm moving at the speed of light.  Dead ants are all over the paper towels.  I turn the towels inside out, so the creepy things are trapped inside and begin swiping the cabinet again, this time going over the edges, and watching to see where the ones are close to escape are going.

A-ha.  The cabinet sits in a corner, next to a window, the ants are coming in a crack at the edge of the window sill.  The sill, curtain, drapery and cabinet meet together exactly where the crack is.  It's down to a battle of wills. Who is more quick?  Me?  Or,those teeny, tiny black insects?  I'm smashing them with my thumb. Pow!  Zonk!  Splat!  Ka-pow!  Zap!  Krunch!  OOOOOOhhhhh!  The carnage.  OOOOOOhhhh!  The humanity. 

I'm totally heartless.

Frankie has been standing in silence, while my arms, hands and thumbs have been engaged in criminal activity beyond comprehension.

Me:  "Frankie, help me move this cabinet."

Before she can take a step, my adrenaline has already pulled it away from the wall.  I don't see anything moving.

Me:  "Frankie, get me the broom and dust pan."

I'm already at the cleaning supply closet, broom and dust pan in hand.

Sweep, sweep, sweep...I'm amazed at how much kibble has gone behind the cabinet since the last time I've pulled it away from the wall.  Wait...have I ever done that?

Meantime, I've already 'flashed' to the office and grabbed my tacky glue.  I squeeze some out and with my finger plug off the holes I feel under the window sill, trying to block of the ants doorway.

Me:  "Frankie, hand me the Ant Spray?"

Before she can move, I already have the can in my hand.  Spray, spray, spray.   Cough, sputter, cough, cough, cough.

Frankie:  "Open the window, dummy."

Great...this is the help I get?

Without a thought, me, The Flash, is out the sliding door into the back yard.  I round the side of the house spray can in hand, ssssssssppppppsssssssss I spray along the ground next to the wall, up the side of the house and then across the bottom edge of the offending window. 

I'm exhausted.  Frankie has been staring at me with a very odd look on her face.  It looks like she wants to say something, but not sure that she should.

Me:  "What????????"
Frankie:  "You do realize you are in your nightgown, don't you?"

Me, looking down at myself.  Well son-of-a-gun!  That's a first!  I've never been outside in my nightgown before.  I take a quick glance around...Frankie and I appear to be alone.  I don't think anybody saw me.

Wait, it's all good...I'm The Flash...nobody really sees The Flash...he's just a blur.

No Call List

Remember how I reported not long ago the National No Call List does not work.  Today I had two good examples.  One call was from the National Rifle Association.  It started out as a recorded message...I wanted to talk to somebody...man, I was hot under the collar and ready to rumble.

I had no choice to listen to the whole dang thing.  Press one for this, press two for that, etc, etc.  Finally a number I could push to ask to be removed from their calling list.  I thought I would get a live person.  Nope, didn't happen, just got instructions on how I can remove myself from the list.  I have to tell the recorded message my number.  An animated voice repeats the last four digits of my number, and in a very polite manner informs me it might take as long as a month for the calls to stop coming...but they will try to do it in as short of time as possible.
Then I get a call from Life Line...they provide cheap check-ups for blood pressure, bone density, etc.  I have to go through a menu for a bit first, but then I'm encouraged when the voice said my call might be monitored, and to press one for this, two for that and finally a number that I thought might help me to be removed from their calling list.

Amazingly, I got a live body.  I told her what I wanted and she was very helpful.  She said she would not only remove me from their calling list, but would remove me from their mailing list as well. 

Well, what do ya know...two spam calls taken care of (I hope)...only a be-jillion more to go.

Is it, or isn't it...

...going to rain.

I can't believe I did it.  Yes, yesterday I broke down and watered.  Just the potted plants and front yard shrub garden, still I watered.  Grrrrrrrrrr.

You would think I'd have learned by now not to trust those cute as a button, and/or middle-aged slightly pudgy, kolege edukated, meaterolgsts, (standing in front of 'green screens', clicking a remote control that adds spiffy computer generated graphics); who tell me what time it's going to get light, get dark, get wet, get hot, or get cold at a specific, well researched time.

Oh, yeah, they show those clouds a-rollin' in.  They point to the upper left hand corner of the screen and tell me (with straight face and absolute confidence) the rain will arrive in my neighborhood exactly at 3:15 PM.  And...here's the sad part...I believe them, I always believe them.

Yes, time after time, I keep my garden hoses rolled up, because I'm assured I will not need to water, rain is coming.  I'm joyful.  My water bill will not jump by one third.

Then, like yesterday, I r-e-a-l-l-y examined my potted plants.  Oh, my.  I could see some of them were in great distress.  I beheld wilted, sagging leaves, and parched soil that had slightly pulled away from the rounded edge of their pots.  What the heck?  Didn't it just rain?  That kolege edukated, meaterolgst told me it was going to.  It did, didn't it?

Well apparently not. 

So, I unrolled my hoses and watered, watered, watered.  I hoped I was not too late for some of my favorites.  I try to keep the water from running into the street, by moving the hoses at short intervals.  That's hard to do, when you are also trying to 'multi-task'.  Like getting a phone call, talking at length, and totally forgetting the water is still running.  Dang, I hate when that happens.  When I saw that water running down the street gutter I almost had a heart attack.

This morning I turn on the television.  I need to see what's happening locally.  All bad stuff of course, but I muddle through.  What I really want to see and hear is the weather report.  Finally!  There he is, a young, kolege edukated, whipper-snapper; a clean-shaven, properly attired, meaterolgst telling me by three o'clock this afternoon the showers will start.  Too late, buddy, I already took care of things.

Then he tells me, with that afore mentioned straight face and absolute confidence, there will be only one dry day over the next seven...and that will be Tuesday.  Really?  REALLY?  REALLY? 

Oh, I don't think so.  Nough said.