Monthly Archives: September 2010

THE GIRL WITH THE CURSED TATTOO—Part two in a jealous harangue

Okay, another reason I probably have yet to appear on the NYT Best-Seller list–aside from not having a book out in several years because of my protracted maternity leave–is that I was taught that it’s not lady-like to swear.  Shows a certain lack of class.  Even for my heroes.  Not that my heroes don’t drop the F-bomb left and right.  I happen to think “Fooie” is a perfectly acceptable adverb and shows that my heroes are tough enough to sling slang that might sound silly on a lesser man.  My sons wield the “DDH” bomb (doo-doo head) liberally on the playground and they have yet to be bullied.  I think it’s not what you say, but how you say it. 

And, if you disagree, Fooie on you, Booger-ball.  Stings, huh?

 Carolyn

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I want my…I want my…I want my PMS…

Never thought I’d say that.

Menopause been belly, belly bad to me.  In less than a year my legs have morphed into my mother-in-laws legs.  I vowed I would never let that happen. 

And the appetite?  Horrific.  We used to have a loveseat in the family room.  Gone.  It was delicious.

The other day, I was attempting to describe the joy of hot-flashes to my husband (after I’d slapped his loving hands away as he was trying to comfort my distress).  “Honey, it’s like that feeling you get when you are in the sauna about ten minutes past the moment you know you should have left, to avoid heat stroke?”  “Ooo,” hubby tsks in sympathy.  “I swear, this morning, I was holding an iron skillet during a hot flash and… it bent.”

How unfair that this burst of heat does not melt unwanted pounds away.  What good is a personal summer, if you can’t get a good tan out of the deal?

On the up side, should we have a power outage this winter, the family will all be able to gather round me, for warmth. 

Carolyn

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THE GIRL WITH THE DEAD TATTOO

I just finished reading The Girl With The Dragon Tattoo by Steig Larsson.  Have you heard of this book?  If not, you live under a rock. 

Anyway, I’m always a day late and a dollar short with my plots, it seems, for  I could not believe my eyes.  I just wrote a book exactly like it!  Well, okay, there were some variations.  My hero was a cat.  And I didn’t do that whole computer hacking subplot, although there was some hairball hacking at one pivotal point.  Another difference is how my cat didn’t, you know, cat around with the astounding frequency and variety of Stieg’s randy characters.

 But come on!  Why 27 bazillion books in print?  Why #1 on the best seller list?  Why not us, WENDY?  I’ll tell you why!  We’re ALIVE, that’s why.  (That, and I’m just returning to my writing career after a rather protracted maternity leave, but that’s beside the point).  Apparently, now days, it really helps to hit the lists and get those movie deals if you’re dead.  Yeah.  I’m talking about you, J.R.R. Tolkien.

Sadly, Stieg Larsson died of heart failure at the tender young age of 50, before he ever had a chance to enjoy his amazing success.  Or…did he?  Hmmm.  Let’s see.  What would be his cut of 100 gogillion dollars be?  Even if it was only 6 %, we’re talking 6 gogillion dollars, give or take.  Certainly enough to retire on.

 So Wendy, I’m seriously thinking about staging my death in an effort to give my career a much-needed boost.  (Don’t worry.  I’ll still help with the blog).  Others have successfully done it.  Remember D.B. Cooper?  I’d never heard of him before he “died”.  And how many of you out there have seen Elvis at Wal-Mart?  Yes?  I thought so.  I’m not certain yet, how I want to “go”.  I’m sure my hubby would cheerfully help.  My teenagers, too.  I see the dollar signs in their eyes when I’m particularly menopausal.

 I’ll keep you posted from the ‘great-beyond’ at Wal-Mart.

Carolyn

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Keyboarding for the Menopausally Impaired

I think it’s about time we woman of a certain age created our own secret texting language.  I’ve begun breaking ground in this realm and thought I’d share what I like to call:  Not Your Daughter’s Way, Texting.

 Some adorable key functions:

 Ω Mom is in the garden

%  The unfortunate breast augmentation key

‰ Sue the surgeon key

+  The “I shouldn’t have had that last brownie” key

~  The “I could take it or leave it tonight, honey” key

#  The “my ridiculously expensive eye cream isn’t working” key

*  The ceiling fan key.  Trust me, it’s amazing how many times you might need to refer to a ceiling fan, but don’t have the time or energy to type it all out.

 And some helpful mom abbreviations:

 GCYRBMHE  =  Go Clean Your Room Before My Head Explodes

WDTDRI?GHOOHBMHE  =  What Did The Dog Roll In?  Get Him Out Of Here Before My Head Explodes

ITMHJE= I Think My Head Just Exploded

 Some new interpretations on the old standards:

BF = Barely Functioning

BFF= Barely Functioning Friend

LOL = Lots of Liposuction

OMG =  Short for Omega 3

 A text sentence might look like: My BFF Wendy sez OMG 4 no LOL

 Translated:  My barely functioning friend, Wendy recommends that you take Omega 3 oils for optimum health and to avoid unhealthy weight gain during the Menopausal years.

 My response might look like:  I no-no! I’m such %!

 Translated:  I did not know that!  I’m such a boob!

Okay, the system is new and needs some work.

 Carolyn

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Bathroom Humor, Part Duex-Duex

Planning a trip to Europe? Thank heavens you stumbled upon this blog! Before you go, you really need to consider a couple of handy tips my husband and I discovered that will help make your visit a more pleasant experience.

Take going to the bathroom for example. Did you know that you have to PAY for the privilege? Um hmm .50 Euros. That’s nearly a dollar American, down the toilet.

Unfortunately, we didn’t remember until we were in ‘crisis-mode’ so to speak.  Of course, we were waaay out of town, strolling through a picturesque German neighborhood, admiring the quaint architecture when my hubby felt a sudden need to find a McPoo. (Apparently, this is what European tourists call McDonalds, because its got free restrooms). I was miffed as his bowel functions were messing with my holiday but, since the matter seemed to be fairly pressing, we turned around and headed back toward town.

Whatever he was suffering from must have been contagious because I was also suddenly afflicted and we both picked up speed. Okay. Where is a McDonalds when you need one? There is one on every bleeping corner of the universe, unless you’re desperate. Luckily, there was a sign at the train station. W.C. (No, Wendy, this does not stand for Wendy and Carolyn, although at first I thought they’d heard of us over there. It stands for Water Closet).

Europeans have the audacity to keep these things locked until you have .50 Euro to plug into the door. Of course, we didn’t. I had a dollar. We hot-footed it over to a nearby bakery, waving our Euro and shouting “WC ! WC!” at the poor girl behind the counter. There was an elderly woman (a year or so older than me) at the counter, pointing at baked goods and jabbering in German. I don’t speakie the lingie, but clearly she couldn’t decide. And the girl behind the counter couldn’t open the register to make change, until she decided. My husband and I jogged in place while she deliberated. FOREVER. Sticky buns? Non-sticky buns. (I will refrain from the obvious pun). Finally, the elderly woman made her decision, the girl behind the counter flung our change at us and we were off to the WC.

There was only one open.

“Let’s share!” I screamed at my husband and we crowded into the WC (saved .50 Euro while we were at it, I might add). Luckily for us, the honeymoon was over decades ago. He let me go first (would George Clooney be so magnanimous, Wendy?) bless his heart. During his turn, I decided that I had to go again.

Eventually, there was an impatient knock at the door. “Occupied!” I strove to sound jaunty. There was some disgruntled talk outside the door. “Hurry,” I urged the hubby, during his second go round. “I think they think we’re in here…doing it!” “They wouldn’t if they could smell it,” he grunted.

Once we were both blessedly empty, we flung open the door and bolted. Behind us, more disgruntled (this time semi-nauseated) German talk. I’m nearly positive the words “Ugly American” were bandied about.

The British penny is sometimes referred to as a ‘p’. So, it may help to remember this handy saying: A ‘p’ to pee and two ‘p’ to poo.

Good luck, sojourner.

Carolyn

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Bathroom Humor

Okay, I admit it.  I had to get away from the stress of my love triangle with Wendy and George Clooney.  So, I went to Germany with the hubby.  Figured that was far enough away from the pain.  Imagine my surprise to find that they’d heard of Georgie in Germany.  Damn that man’s allure to the masses.  

Anyhow, this was my first time in a non-English speaking country.  I don’t count France, as they didn’t speak to me anyway.  Nor do I count Los Angeles, as I do habla un poco Espanol.  So, I was eager to learn the German lingo.  Fraternize with the natives.  I’m not exactly fluent in German, unless you count frantic hand signals and loud, impatient shouting in English, but I did manage to expand my vocabulary a tad.  They’ve got some funny stuff in Germany.   

I think my favorite is…   

Where?

 

I kept seeing this sign fly by as we zipped down the Audubon at about a thousand kilowatts (whatever) per hour.  And, when I wasn’t soiling myself at the sheer thrill of achieving warp speed in a Toyota, I was laughing my Aus off at the sign.  I mean, what was the purpose?  Should we pull over to enjoy the specified “area” to break wind?  Seemed inconvenient.  Not to mention crude.  It wasn’t until my last day that I discovered Ausfahrt means “Exit”.  My new favorite word.  I use it liberally now, when directing people to my house.   

BTW, George, I live just off the 2nd Ausfahrt in a town called Butteville.  Come On-a My House, baby.  

Carolyn

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