Tag Archives: Crazy people

People Are Strange

A fellow paralegal I didn’t particularly like gave me a memorable piece of advice over thirty years ago.  And I remember it clearly to this day.

“Never get a vanity license plate,” she said, “Because if you rob a bank or are involved in a hit-and-run accident, witnesses will remember it.”

In spite of the fact that I have never actually robbed a bank or run anybody over, I’ve followed that piece of advice.  But mostly it’s because I tend to change my mind about stuff.  (Like the time I decided that I really didn’t like my choice in between special ordering a new sofa and when it was delivered.)  So if I get a vanity plate, I’m pretty sure I’ll have to go to the DMV weekly to change my special plate when I decide that it isn’t quite as clever as I thought at the time.  [See:  Stupid blog name.]

But I love vanity plates.  I missed them when I was overseas.  I search the road for them while commuting and on road trips.  Sometimes, I laugh at the cleveness.  Often I try to figure out what a message might mean.  Sometimes I shake my head and try to figure out what insanity might possess someone to saddle themselves with such a stupid plate.

The one I saw tonight though, made all others pale in comparison.  It reached an entirely new dimension.  Beyond the earth’s stratosphere, mesosphere and thermosphere.  To Infinity and Beyond.  Literally.

It said:

EWE NEXT

OK, so that doesn’t seem all that ground-breaking, now does it?

The plate was on a hearse.

About this vintage.*

About this vintage.*

The hearse itself had seen better days, but it was pretty much like this picture that I found at this website, where they sell hearses, should you be at all interested in procuring one.  It was not at all like the fancy schmancy hearses I see regularly leaving this appropriately named local funeral parlor:

Photo from (I kid you not) Moneyandking.com

Photo from (I kid you not) Moneyandking.com, a Northern Virginia Funeral Parlor

My hearse, I mean the one I’m talking about, had broken down in the left turn lane to get onto a major highway.  I drove past as the traffic in my lane flowed by, cursing myself for having my camera/cell phone in my pocket instead of ready for this photo op.  [Curses, foiled again.]

That was when I saw the pièce de résistance!  The driver stood in front of the hearse (making it far more likely that HE, and not EWE would, in fact,  be NEXT).  He was dressed in black jeans, black shoes and a black Panama hat.  Oh, and a black Blues Brother T-shirt.

Oh Yeah! Image from http://www.honcho-sfx.com

Oh Yeah!
Image from http://www.honcho-sfx.com

 

I’m pretty sure it was the reincarnation of John Belushi.

Honestly, I don’t know where I’d get my entertainment from if I worked at home.

 

 

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Filed under Driving, Huh?, Humor, Traffic

Did I Miss a Contest?

It’s John’s fault.  Not long after we started dating, John got me hooked on contests when he won one.  A free, all expenses paid trip for two to the UK in 1986!  Seriously!  It was right after the Lockerby bombing, and nobody was going to England.  So British Airways held a contest to give away all tickets to London on one day in June.  And John won.

I didn’t win.

I never win.

I always enter, though. No matter what the contest. As soon as I find out about a raffle, a sweepstakes, a lottery, I’m in.  Take my money.  Please.

So I must admit that I was a little bit miffed when I logged on to one of my favorite news websites — Talking Points Memo today.  Because apparently there is a contest I missed.

A contest to see who can be the biggest asshole.

Did you see some of the things that were done to “celebrate” Independence Day?

There was the editorial in the WestView News — a New York newspaper (WTF? — New York?)

Charming.  Even if it was meant ironically.  Photo credit, West View News.  Assholes

Charming. Even if it was meant ironically. Photo credit, West View News. Assholes

 

Then, there was that parade in Nebraska.  Now tell me, what parade is complete without honoring our president:

Nope.  No racism here.  No disrespect meant, I'm sure.  Assholes.

Nope. No racism here. No disrespect meant, I’m sure. Assholes.

 

But to me, at least for today, the folks who win the contest for the biggest asshole in the country are these guys:  the “Coal Rollers.”  Assholes who modify the emission controls on their diesel vehicles to spew huge clouds of exhaust — ON PURPOSE!  As it says in one of the articles I read on TPM,

Truckers essentially trick their vehicles into thinking they need to use more gas than it actually needs. The more fuel that’s used up, the more exhaust comes out thus the big plumes of dark emissions from a “rolling coal truck.”  According to Daily Digest News, turning a truck into a rolling coal truck can cost as much as $5,000.

Just how much money would you be willing to spend to show just how big an asshole you can be?

They direct their exhaust towards Prius drivers, bicyclists, well, really towards anybody who might not be burning quite as much fossil fuel and/or emitting quite so much CO2 as they are.  They’re doing it because they hate Obama and want to demonstrate just how much.

Yup.  Today, Coal Rollers win the prize.  They are the biggest assholes.

And they’ve cured me of my fascination with contests.  Because I’m never going to top these assholes.

 

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Filed under Adult Traumas, Awards, Climate Change, Conspicuous consumption, Criminal Activity, Disgustology, Global Warming, GOP, Huh?, Hypocrisy

Angel/Demon

My mother used to caution me:

“Be careful what you wish for,” she’d say.

“Why?” I’d ask.

“Because you might just get it.”

Her response usually baffled me.  As a kid growing up in what I thought was abject poverty (ummm, not even close), I felt like I never got what I asked for.  Or if I did, one of my four siblings had used it first.  Or “it” didn’t really live up to my expectations.  Or getting “it” not precisely what I expected.

Getting what I asked for always held a surprise.

You know what?  Mom was right.  And it is just as annoying now as a grownup as it was when she was right when I was a kid.

You guys know that recently I got what I asked for:

A Puppy! !!!!!!

Yup, here is an update on Duncan, that fluffy little guy who gave us such a scare last week when we brought him home.

You know what?

He came with teeth!  I knew that he would, but I had forgotten what it felt like to have razor sharp puppy teeth inserted into my arms.  Or my legs.  Or, during one memorable cuddle, into my nipple.

He came full of energy!  I knew that he would.  But I had forgotten just how much.  And how much energy went into those teeth.

He came determined to destroy my house.  I knew he would.  But I had forgotten just how many times I can say “no — chew on this”  during a single hour.  4,682 times to be exact.

Yes, this is a brief Duncan update — he is doing great.  He is full of mischief, sharp teeth and a desire to rule the world — or at least the household.  John, Jacob and I are holding our own, but it is only a matter of time before Duncan realizes that he is King Duncan.  And while none of us would ever murder him, I’m not sure I want Duncan to know that just yet.  At least not until he loses those teeth.

Who you gonna believe? I’m an Angel. (Well, except when I’m a Demon.)

 

Thank you all for your concern about the cute little guy.

I really did get what I asked for.  And Mom?  He’s wonderful!

 

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Filed under Adult Traumas, Dogs, Duncan, Family, Huh?, Humor, Out Damn Spot!, Pets, Taking Care of Each Other, Wild Beasts

Good Reason to Fear European Travel

Since the Age of Exploration gave way to colonization of the Americas, folks living in our neck of the woods here in the U.S. of A. have feared travel back to the Old Country.

They feared crossing the ocean on a sailing vessel, a steamer, an ocean liner.  It is a big ocean.  (Remember the unsinkable Titanic)

They feared flying over the Atlantic in a dirgible (Remember the Hindenburg)

They feared flying over the Atlantic in an airplane because anything can happen.

But mostly they feared trying to get by in a language they could neither speak nor understand.  That, and they use different money over there!

In recent years, though, more and more Americans are venturing abroad.  Seeing the sights, the art, the scenery, the architecture that Europe is so justly famous for.

But all that will end soon.  Because there is something new in Europe to fear.

Vaginas.  Yup.  Vaginas.  Big ones.  At least that’s what I read over at Talking Points Memo

A Giant Vagina Attempted to Swallow An American Tourist (Photo AP Photo / Feuerwehr Tübingen via TalkingPointsMemo)

A Giant Vagina Attempted to Swallow An American Tourist (Photo AP Photo / Feuerwehr Tübingen via TalkingPointsMemo)

Giant Vagina Sculpture Traps US Student in Germany

An American exchange student who got stuck in a giant vagina sculpture was freed by firefighters in southwestern Germany.

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Filed under Adult Traumas, Conspicuous consumption, Diet tips, Holidays, Huh?, Humor, Stupidity, Wild Beasts

What’ll I Do?

“I have to believe,” Dad said smiling, looking across the table at the lot of us.  By an amazing coincidence (school vacations) we had an unplanned family gathering — all seven of us, plus respective spouses and grandkids there in Florida at the same time.

It was bitter-sweet, though, we all knew would be the last with all of us together.  Mom was fading quickly.

The laughter and individual conversations and one liners quieted down as we all expected Dad to give a toast.

“When I look at all five of you,” Dad paused, smiled, put his arm around Mom, “I have to believe … that your mom and I — are at least first cousins.”

The crowd roared.

My Dad wasn’t much for sentimentality.  He was a wise-ass, and a very funny man with terrific comedic timing.  But in his heart he was a romantic.  And he loved those sappy, romantic songs from the 1930s and 1940s.  Of course he did, he fell in love with Mom when she was singing them.

Actually, Dad wouldn’t tell me how he met Mom.  Well, he told me how they met many times.  A different story every single time I asked, with the more outrageous ones coming out if Mom was in the room.  It became a wonderful game for the two of us.  How he met the girl of his dreams.

“Dad?  How’d you meet Mom?”

“One day I found myself whistling a happy tune, turned the corner and saw her and figured out why I was whistling.”

“Dad?  How’d you meet Mom?”

“Who?”

“Dad?  How’d you meet Mom?”

“I was just walking down the street one day, and she chased after me.  She never DID let me go.”

“Dad?  How’d you meet Mom?” I asked when I was hospitalized for the first time.

“She was singing in a show.  She was the prettiest thing I’d ever seen.  So I went back stage.”

I don’t really know if that was the real answer, but I suspect it is.  Because Dad always had a soft spot for those old torch songs.  And he loved to hear Mom sing them — which she did with such style, even if she was washing dishes as she sang.

So here, for Dad and his lady, is one of Dad’s favorites.  I can remember him telling me the story of Irving Berlin and Ellin Mackay.  They fell in love but her father disapproved, and sent her off to Europe.  He wrote this song and married the girl.

Happy Father’s Day to my Dad, to my Husband (a wonderful Dad) and to all of you Dads.

(And Frank?  You guessed it — John HATES this song!)

 

 

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Filed under Bloggin' Buddies, Dad, Family, Holidays, Mom, Taking Care of Each Other