Damn Naggers!

carsImage by onlinewoman via Flickr

There I said it, the “N” word. Nagger! Nagger! Nagger!

Too many naggers in my life. Take my car, please.

Beep. Beep. Beep.
Your seatbelt is off. Your seatbelt is off. Put on your damn seat belt.

Shut up already. I got it!

You don’t have to be a bitch about it. I was just trying to help.

Just do what you’re supposed to do and zoom, zoom, zoom. You stupid airbag.

Beep. Beep. Beep.
Breaking news! Breaking news! You forgot to remove the brake. You forgot to remove the brake.

Jesus! Get a grip! Who gave you the power of speech anyway?

Some guy with an engineering degree. I call him God.

I call him *$#%!!

Beep. Beep. Beep.
Your door is open. Your door is open.

What a drama queen. So there isn’t a tight seal. It’s practically closed.

Just slam it! Then do the same with the door.

You’re a real comedienne. I think I’ll drown out your nagging voice with the radio.

Just keep your eye on the road.

How can I with all the interruptions?

Since cars got the power of speech, they’re almost as obnoxious as the next generation of Hagstrom maps a.k.a. the GPS system.

Make a right-turn in two-hundred feet.

Got it!

Make a right-turn in one-hundred feet.

Is that before or after the 7/11?

Get ready to make a right turn.

Hand on blinker, foot eased up on gas pedal. I’m ready.

Almost there!

I’m ready when you are.

Turn now!

What? Wait! You said that after I passed the street.

You missed it! You idiot. At the next street, take a U-turn. You’ll probably f**k that up, too.

Refrigerators are another point of contention.

Beep. Beep. Beep.
Red alert! Red Alert! The ice cream is melting. The ice cream is melting. Somebody call in Hazmat. Hey you, on the couch. Did you hear what I said? Get up off your fat ass and shut the damn refrigerator door. 


Thanks Fred.

I should have let the ice cream melt. You could stand to lose a few pounds.

Got too many naggers in your life?

And, yes, this was a bit of a social experiment. This country is too damn politically correct.

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Black And True And Weird All Over.

The weirdness of life continues to dog me. Yes, its bark is as bad as its bite, and it’s also a terrible mouser.

Five minutes ago, my cat sauntered into the kitchen and dropped a mouse and leaf on the floor. I don’t know if my cat is near-sighted, thought that she bagged two mice or that the mouse was stupid, thought the leaf was aerodynamic and could float away on it.

In any case, once the cat dropped the mouse, the two mutts entered the scene, scaring the cat, mouse and me who scattered off into different directions. The cat to the living room, the mouse to the basement, and me to the TV room where I grabbed my husband by the shirt sleeve while he laid horizontally on the coach in a television haze.

I said, “Mouse, kitchen.”

He said, “Cheese. What the two have in common?”

“No, damn it! There’s a mouse in the kitchen.”

At, which point, hubby jumped off the couch, because he feared for his life, and ran into the kitchen to find the dog that wasn’t lost and in fact stood only ten feet away. “Jenny,” he coaxed. “Get it! Get it!”

Well, apparently, she didn’t get it or the mouse which disappeared into the basement. Time to get the Terminator – D-Con or ex-con or Conan the Barbarian.

Speaking of disappearing. Earlier in the week, I had an appointment with a new doctor who reminded me more of a bureaucrat than a medicine man, and so I fired him after the cursory evaluation. “Shit. Shit. Shit,” I muttered in my head. “What a piece of crap doctor.”

When I got home, I looked the doctor up on the Internet – nothing like doing DD after the fact – And saw that one of the doc’s degrees was in Zoology. That’s when I went ape shit. So, I guess we were a good match. His face and my … never mind.

Going out on a limb and swinging on to the next mind numbing experience.  Last night, my blog was in the black. No, it didn’t turn a profit. It was one big black glob (word scramble) of nothing. I thought I had been Goth hacked. After going through the two levels of denial: “Not mine. Maybe mine,” I reached acceptance. “Shit mine.”

Then I panicked. Raced around the house screaming, “My blog is gone. My blog is gone,” until my rational side threw cold water in my face and said, “Stop being a drama queen and do something.”

So, I did something that the prosecutor in the Casey Anthony trial wasn’t able to do. I solved the case. I found MyBlogLog DNA in my blog template and extracted it. Voila! My blog came back from the black.

End of extemporaneous blather.

Backstory off a Short Career.

FocusImage by phr3qu3ncy via Flickr

A Blogging Retrospective

How I got from Point A to Point Z
to … what was the point?

My uprooting and eventual flotsam status in the deep end of the unemployment sea began soon after I left my job of nine plus years at a mommy magazine from which I needed a change, not a Chapter 11 restructuring. At the time, change seemed inevitable despite the fact that change and I never really got along, and I preferred wearing an old pair of broken in sneakers to new shiny unyielding ones.

The fact that I took a chance at all was nothing short of a miracle in a life that rarely deviated from old habits rooted in a lack of discipline, compounded by zero self-confidence, not to mention time management issues and a propensity for being late. Enjoying the same old same old ruled my life and kept me returning to ham and cheese themed lunches.

At 54, I’m not what you’d call a young duckling, yet I certainly should have ducked when the bakery owner hurled the job offer at me. If I had only known the owner discarded people like used cupcake doilies, I wouldn’t have jumped from the frying pan into the convection oven and stayed seated on my old broken chair, at my wobbly desk, another year or two longer. Had I known, but hindsight is best viewed through a high-powered lens and my lens prescription didn’t compensate for astigmatism.

After nine plus years, I had reached the point of no return with, Stu and Lou, the two co-owners of the mommy magazine who preferred screaming at deafening sound decibels rather than speaking at tempered librarian tones.

Stu and Lou’s loud vocal profusions, prompted by their tendency to provide conflicting directives to the staff, usually left everyone dazed and confused including Stu and Lou. The diametrically opposite duo also had a knack for giving strange and insulting gifts during the holidays. I once received a $25 gift card for Christmas with a star registered in my name. I was not amused.

On a brisk September afternoon, the last day of my two-week holding pattern, I grabbed my baggage and took off, bidding adieu to a screaming Stu and Lou. The words “We need two more weeks,” followed me down the hall until I slammed the door behind, silencing their screams forever. My nine year time out at the mommy magazine had finally ended.

With thoughts spinning inside my skull like a universe caught in a cosmic flush, I approached the other side of the New York border ready to start work as a customer service rep for a bakery where the cupcakes were nut-free, but the owner was not.

Frank, the CEO, CFO, and pistachio in charge, enjoyed several hobbies, one of which involved pacing the length of the office while shouting on his cell phone. Apparently, my ears wouldn’t be safe here either.

Blessed with wide-angle peripheral vision, Frank’s other hobby involved office reconnaissance and searching for employee transgressions even if there weren’t any. It was unfortunate for me that my desk stood in the range of his special ops sweep.

Frank’s pacing route started at the front door, continued past my desk, and ended in the back of the office at the assembly table where illegal immigrants stuffed bags of hard candy into boxes. As he raced past me, the air from his cold front sent a chill down my spine, while the burn of his glaring eyes charcoaled my back.

On days that Frank’s wife and business partner Lynn made a cameo appearance, the couple’s combined four-eyed stare set my clothes on fire.

To best describe baking diva Lynn, in a nutshell, the pistachio didn’t fall far from the tree. Speaking of trees, while working at the bakery, I learned what happens to trees when they die; they’re reincarnated into stacks of paper on my desk. Sifting through dead trees was a favorite pastime of mine. Another fun game: hunting for press packages buried beneath sheets of trees.

Thus, I learned a new word, paper-plotzed.

        Image via Wikipedia

To my dismay, I discovered I had to send out complimentary press requests before, after and simultaneously, while handling customer and inventory orders, processing invoices and billing, and manning the phones set to “perpetual ring” since they were answered by humans instead of a machine.

In retrospect, I should have quadrupled my spinach and Ritalin intake or not responded to the job at all.

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New Series. CSI: Miami Hypochondriacs.

Miami Beach, FloridaImage via Wikipedia



What a butcher! I’ve never seen so much blood.

He should have stuck to deli meats. I hope the wife didn’t have an airborne blood disease.

Shaking Head
After we wrap this up, let’s go for some aroma therapy.  By the way, I hear the roast beef’s on sale.

Wait! I think I found something. Bends over, picks up a piece of fabric. Arrrrgh!  He stands up, clutching his lower back.

You’ve got to bend from the knees. Though, I once tore a tendon just from standing.

Examines fabric.
This looks like a piece of deli apron.  Is that Virginia ham?  Bags it. Hands it to a cop. Have the medical examiner check for DNA and apron fibers underneath the fingernails. And get me an I.D. on the ham.

Damn! I’ve got a bleeding hangnail. I hope it doesn’t get infected.

Let me take a look.  He grabs her gloved hand. Owe!  My back. The nail looks very red. That can’t be good. I know a good hangnail specialist. He comes highly recommended.

God. I hope he doesn’t have to amputate. I don’t know if I can live with one nail shorter than the rest. It’ll throw everything off balance. How will I ever hold a pen again?

They have prosthetics.

It’s just not the same thing.

There’s an excellent nail rehab center down the block. In just six weeks, you’ll be able to scratch an itch.

Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that. I don’t want to think about mosquito bites and West Nile Virus.  Sneezes.

Aroma therapy!

Stay tuned for the next episode of CSI: Miami Hypochondriacs.

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Mentamucil Sponsor for InnerGiggler on Blog Talk Radio

My fake product Mentamucil -The Natural Brain Laxative is tonight’s sponsor for InnerGiggler, Linda’s entertaining radio show on Blog Talk Radio.

The show airs Sunday, April 17 at 7p.m. (west coast) and 10p.m. (east coast). Linda will read the ad at 7:15 in daylight on the west coast or in darkness on the east coast.

Let’s review! Look out your window. Is it day or night? Do you have palm trees or pine trees? If you can see palm trees, you’re on the west coast. If you can’t see pine trees, you’re on the east coast. Don’t know what’s happening in the Midwest. Do you even have any trees?

I hope you get a chance to listen. Thanks so much. 

Got to go. Time to take my Mentamucil to prevent another WTF moment. Been having them all day.
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But Wait, There’s More Backside of the Unemployment Front.

Belt FailureImage by mahalie via Flickr


Employer one-liners from the butt cheek files.

Comfortable working with people is a must. 

You will also be responsible for running personal errands for employees and the owner. These errands can include car maintenance (fuel and wash cars)…

No cry babies need apply.

Must love Money, Music, & Fun… NO EXP!!!

Basic office duties include; typing, filing, database and social media updates, coping, faxing and answering phones.

Competencies:  Lives to help others.

Full-Time Live-in and Live-out Nannies.

We’ve been in business every day for 60 years.

We need people with great conversational skills to make great impressions…

You should be be obsessed with what is hot, new and be very active in the social space – if you’ve never “checked in” or you don’t know what that is – well…

You take direction well and should enjoy working in a quick moving open environment and be a huge team player – but also stand on your own two feet occasionally.


  • You can scribble/sketch – and others can understand your scratch marks. 
  • Live in a social world – and are actively exploring and connected to it;

Responsibilities: Create campus presence during high season

Ideal for retired sales professional or for someone with similar needs.

The Executive Assistant will manage vital business priorities and become the loyal right arm to the President.

-Comfortable working independently (on your own, by your self)…

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Charlie Sheen Drug Hailed a Medical Miracle.

Charlie Sheen Drug Coming Soon to a Pharmacy Near You.

Scientists at Sober Valley Lodge combined Charlie Sheen’s tiger blood and Adonis DNA to create a drug that has been hailed by some former doctors living in Costa Rica as a breakthrough in the field of genetics.

When asked about his contribution to science during an interview with Celebrity Sobriety Magazine, Sheen responded, “I’m tired of pretending like I’m not special. I’m tired of pretending like I’m not bitching, a total fricking rock star from Mars…”

Renowned biochemist Dr. Clown Shoes agreed. “Sheen’s chemical composition is a game changer. It forces us to reevaluate every DNA study to date and frankly defies all earthly biotechnological logic. Sheen may very well be from Mars.”

“It’s baffling” Dr. Clown Shoes continued. “Sheen’s body has withstood sleep deprivation, excessive amounts of cocaine, alcohol, and numerous sexual encounters with hookers and porn stars. I don’t know anyone else who has abused their body to this degree and also survived. Additional tests will be needed to gain a better understanding of Charlie Sheen’s DNA.”

Upon hearing Dr. Clown Shoes’ comments, Sheen added, “… and people can’t figure me out; they can’t process me. I don’t expect them to. You can’t process me with a normal brain.”

Despite the many questions surrounding the uniqueness of Sheen’s DNA, many scientists are focused on its benefits rather than on what makes actor Charlie Sheen roll. Beijing Psychologist Dr. Yuge Ego has witnessed the effects of Charlie Sheen on patients involved in a clinical trial in a remote spa in Beverly Hills.

“It’s better than Viagra,” said Dr. Ego. “After just several days of administering Charlie Sheen to patients, they showed a marked improvement in self-image, the ability to speak confidently for hours, and an increased sex drive. By the second week, I had to separate the male patients from the females.”

Dr. Ego added, “Currently, there is a promising trial in Las Vegas involving addicts and alcoholics. During the third week of treatment with Charlie Sheen, several patients exhibited no signs of drug addiction. One patient told doctors that all he had to do was “close his eyes and fixed his own brain.”

Perhaps, the folks at AA should embrace these studies instead of holding on to their old failed ways.”
Sheen who also is no fan of AA, allowed scientists to use Sober Valley Lodge to develop the drug Charlie Sheen to create an alternative to the tedious and failed twelve-step program that is synonymous with AA. Sheen has banned AA principles from Sober Valley Lodge and in an NBC interview with Jeff Rossen, Sheen described AA as a failed system developed by a “broken-down fool that was a plagiarist.”
Of using his home as a combined lab and rehab facility, Sheen told Celebrity Sobriety Magazine, “I will not believe that if I do something then I have to follow a certain path because it was written nice,” he said.Sheen is excited about the 2012 launch date of the drug and is optimistic about its benefits to the “fools, trolls. Weak. Defeated.” And society as a whole. “It was written for normal people, people that aren’t special. People that don’t have tiger blood, you know, Adonis DNA.”

Celebrity Sobriety Magazine reported that the drug is already on back order and will only be available in chic boutiques in Beverly Hills before being distributed nationally.

This is part of the Charlie “Rock Star from Mars” Sheen Blog Carnival, please be sure to visit all the participants listed at TribalBlogs.net.

10 Reasons Martha Stewart Won’t Visit Your Home.

Pictures of your home will never grace the pages of Martha Stewart Magazine. According to a spokesperson for the magazine, “In addition to being banned from their pages, the editor issued an APB on Pinterest “prohibiting you from posting pictures of your house.”

The editor went on to blast  “Your jihadist housekeeping ideology” and said, “You should have your housewife card revoked.”

She cited your “inability to feng shui” and “reprehensible use of space,” then added: “Treadmills should not be used as hangers or dogs as vacuums.”

The editor asked the EPA to officially condemn your house and listed their top 10 reasons why:

1. Google Earth lists your property as a landfill dump.

2. Jehovah’s Witnesses come to your home dressed in hazmat suits.

3. Termites take Beano before eating the plasterboard.

4. You raise dust bunnies as pets.

5. Your dog follows the ten second rule for food dropped on the floor.

6. Mildew and soap scum staged a bathroom coup then executed the shampoo.

7. Germs flee your house to seek asylum in Germany. Their ancestors home.

8. You found your vacuum cleaner dead in the closet hanging by the cord. Hoover ruled it a suicide.

 9. Your mop takes Xanax.

10. Mr. Clean filed an injunction to prevent you from taking him home from the market.