Talk To The Hand

"Terminators."
"Who's in charge there?"
"Thelda speaking. How can I help you?"
"Shut up!"
"Excuse me?"
"Listen and understand. Those fleas are out there. They can't be bargained with, they can't be reasoned with, they don't feel pity or remorse or fear and they will not stop, EVER, until they're dead."
"Here at Terminators we understand your pest control needs."
"Do you really, Thelda?"
"We're America's Number #1 --"
"Liars!"
"Excuse me?"
"Don't you get it, Thelda? You pest people didn't show up today. Do you know how that makes me feel?"
"How?"
"Like I'm coming unglued."
"According to our records, you're scheduled for Saturday."
"Nah-uh. We're scheduled for today. Today, Thelda. What part of today aren't you getting?"
"According to our records, we tried to call you and --"
"That's a lie! You know it, I know it. No one called me. I'd see it on my caller ID."
"We got a busy signal."
"In 2017? I don't think so, Thelda."
"One moment while I connect you with my supervisor."
"Tell your supervisor to suck it. We're done."
"Before you go, would you mind taking a brief survey?"
"Not at all."
"From 1 to 10, how would you rate your experience with Terminators?"
"Negative 80."
"That's not an option."
"You want an option, Thelda? Write this down on your survey:
I. WON'T. BE. BACK. "
"You won't?"
"No."
"So what you're saying is -- "
"I. WON'T. BE. BACK."
"Can't we talk this out?"
"Talk to the hand, Thelda. Talk to the hand."

Greetings, Terminators

The SJG strongly believes that it's important to greet Terminators, scheduled to arrive any minute now on a murderous mission of mercy, in just the right way. If I had a pole, I might say hey in the above fashion.

Sadly, I don't have a pole. So I might greet Terminators with a cheerful hello.

Then again, I could go with the more casual salutation. Or I could just stand in the doorway, sobbing, which sums up my current flea-bitten state of mind. But I'm far too dignified for such a gratuitous show of emotion.

Better I should namast'ay in my much-preferred tree pose and wait for the hunky men to pull up in the truck and spread hateful chemicals throughout the palatial estate and sprawling grounds. Yes, I do believe that's the way to go. I'm so glad you agree.

Kvetchy Woman

Flat brown hair and chapstick lips

Jazz hands and arthritic hips 

Whiny voices in the night

She's a kugel maker in fluorescent light 

Woo hoo kvetchy woman 

Hear how loud she sighs

Woo hoo kvetchy woman 

She got the pain in her thighs

She held me hostage in the night

Proving that her head's not right 

Pounding migraine in the darkened room 

And she drove me to sheer madness

With her Boomer gloom 

Woo hoo kvetchy woman

Hear how loud she sighs

Woo hoo kvetchy woman

She got the pain in her thighs

(apologies to The Eagles, I couldn't help myself) 

A Labor Day Hodgepodge

Well, the SJG has so much to report on this disgustingly muggy Labor Day, 2017, the question that plagues me is this: where to begin? Where? Where? Should I tell you that Duchess Katie is preggers again, and she's asked me to dance the hora three times around a chicken bone to ward off morning sickness? I could tell you that, sure. Or, should I reveal the question currently making the rounds of my humble Sherman Oaks neighborhood, every time I step outside: "What's that hellacious smell?" Oh, it's just me, bathed in bug repellant, Vitamin E, and exotic healing ointments! Gee, I'm going to draw a lot of attention today at the block party. Sorry, guys, but this is what it takes to get over The Siege of Fleas. Yes, as I hinted on Sunday, the fleas are refusing to flee, those tiny bloodsucking bastards. After leaving a nasty, rant-filled message for the Flea Mavens, who did bupkis in terms of eradication, I called up the lovely people at Terminators, who promise to kill, destroy, maim and annihilate any insect that gets within an inch of my kvetchy personage. All I can say to that is: Bring It. The more holistic-ish gentle approach, a little powder here, a little spray here, the healthy yet expensive choice, did diddly. So we're going in another direction, as they say in Hollywood. God willing, this will work, because dwelling here at the Institute for the Very, Very Itchy isn't good for my general state of mind. Well, that about covers the over-sharing on this disgustingly muggy Labor Day, 2017. May I wish you and yours a fabulous day of eating anything anyone puts in front of you. You've worked hard all year. You deserve the extra calories. Go forth and binge! You're welcome. xo

Welcome Back

Welcome back, we gave you your ticket out
Welcome back, to that same old couch we turned inside out
Well the fleas haven't died since you hung around
But those fleas have remained, they just won't back down
Who'd have thought they'd lead ya
(Who'd have thought they'd lead ya)
Back where we don't need ya...
(Back where we don't need ya)
Yeah, we scratchin' a lot 'cause we got 'em in eight spots
Welcome back, welcome back, welcome back, welcome back
Welcome back, welcome back, welcome back

(apologies to John Sebastian)

I'll Take Romance

"Romantics Anonymous"

Lately, the soon-to-be married eldest son is all about France, and can you blame him? He's been there so many times I've lost count. He's learning to speak French. And there's one other thing about France I'm forgetting to mention. What could it be? Oh, right. Pardonez moi for not mentioning it sooner. He's marrying a lovely French gal, soon, kina hora, soon. And so, given this fixation, he's all about watching and recommending French movies. And since it's been well-established that the SJG and hubby pretty much do whatever our sons tell us to do, when he said, "You've gotta see 'Romantics Anonymous'," we got busy trying to find it. Well, I tried to find it and hubby sat on the Laz-Z-Boychick, staring at a handheld device. "It's on Netflix," I said with glee. Hubby said, "@#$%'n @#$%." "Stop reading the news. We're about to get romantic, cinematically." I grabbed the 82 remotes required to find Netflix on the Blu-Ray and went a-searching. "It said they had it." He looked up from the handheld device of doom. "Who said they had it?" "Netflix." Alas, no matter how many times I searched and spelled out "Romantics Anonymous," the movie didn't pop up on the screen like all good movies should. "Oh, @#$%," I said, weeping uncontrollably, "they don't have it, those lying bastards. Maybe it's on Amazon." 

Because I worry about your blood pressure, I'll spare you the total aggravation of that discovery phase, what with this code and that password and seriously, why do they make me do this every time I want to watch something on Amazon, don't they know who I am, and tell you this. My efforts were rewarded. "Romantics Anonymous" started up and within two seconds hubby and I looked at each other and said at the same time, further proof that we've been married 37 years, "We saw this." In fact, we had seen it so long ago that we only remembered the opening and the basic premise, so delightful it's worth watching again, about two shy chocolatiers who fall in love, in French! With English subtitles! So, my dearest friends of my tiny personal blogosphere, if you have the fortitude and the wherewithal and the sticktoitiveness required, the SJG orders you to watch "Romantics Anonymous" as soon as possible, even if you've seen it already. It's that good. Would I ever steer you wrong? Not intentionally. 

We Wouldn't Want That, Would We?

"You're supposed to put your purse in the locker, Miss Carol."

"No one told me to put it in the locker."

"That's what the key is for. You bring the key with you and leave everything in the locker."

"But my whole life's in that purse."

"You're supposed to leave it in the locker."

"The other girls had their purses and they didn't get in trouble."

"If something happens to your purse, I'd be liable."

"Nothing's going to happen to it. Promise."

"Alright, Miss Carol."

"Is it time to squish my breasts in the machine?"

"Right now, Miss Carol."

"I'm going to leave my purse on the chair. Unless you want to smush it, too."

"Leave it on the chair, Miss Carol."

"I'm leaving it."

"Next time, leave it in the locker."

"Got it."

"Otherwise, I'm liable."

"We wouldn't want that, would we?"

"No, Miss Carol, we wouldn't."