The Tale of a sick noun and an adjective waiting room

Today  just didn't start as a very pleasant day.  I woke up this morning as usual at 5:13 AM and after placing on my Martha Stewart Home house slippers and morning robe, I went into the kitchen to prepare my breakfast.  I put on a kettle of water to boil for my morning glory orange mint tea, sliced up a mango to put on top of my low-fat vanilla yogurt, and then opened up a can of fancy feast for my cat, Renaldo.  This, however, was when my morning was attacked by Johnny Rain Cloud.  After placing the food into his dish and placing the garnish on top that he loves so very much, I stood up and waited and waited for Renaldo to come greet me with those plush cheeks of his... but he never came.  

After 15 horrendously long seconds, I began to get very worried and started tearing the house upside down for him.  I started with the cupboards I painted mauve last fall, because I knew how much Renaldo loves the color mauve, but he wasn't there.  He wasn't under the couch, behind the fridge, or in the dryer either.  It wasn't until I went back into my room that I found Renaldo, at 5:26 AM, just getting out of bed.  And this is when I panicked.

Never, in the 9 weeks that I've had Renaldo, has he gotten out of bed late for breakfast, but for some reason, this morning, he was an entire 13 minutes late.  Was he sick?  Was he dying?  Was he turning into an atheist?  No matter what was wrong, I knew I had to keep calm and not panic, so that is exactly what I did.

At 6:12 AM, I was sitting in the waiting room of the Emergency Room with Renaldo on my lap.  I would have taken him to the pet hospital, but at our last visit, I spotted an Obama sticker on the receptionist's desk, and thus, I couldn't go back there again.  After about 15 minutes of awkward stares from the clown fish in the fish tank, I decided to escape the hateful judgments of the world and made my way over to the magazine rack.  And what was I to find there but my daily surprise! 

Sitting on top of the November 11th, 2008 issue of Woman's Day, (I could tell by the cute little Polar Bear Cookies on the cover,) was an interesting booklet called a "Mad Libs."  I wasn't sure what to think, but as they always say, "curiosity killed the cat," which I guess is a rather poor saying for this instance because neither I or Renaldo were killed or injured by opening up the "Mad Libs" booklet.

Anyhoodle, for those of you who aren't aware of what a Mad Lib is, it's a cute little story that has words removed from it so you can add your own and become an author yourself.  They're quite silly and are more addicting than chocolate chip cookies with dark chocolate chips and a medium sized glass of skim milk.  And so, as I sat in the waiting room anticipating the arrival of the doctor who would investigate the strange behavior of my furry little feline friend, I began filling out Mad Lib after Mad Lib.  In fact, I had so much with them, I decided to post one right here on my blog.  (Plus, I figured if I posted my own original literature, I might even get a phone call for an offer to publish my own book or get my own record deal, so thus, it was a win-win decision.)  Here is my own personal creation.

New Year's Resolutions

It was New Year's Day, and I was watching Ben & Jerry's Cherry Garcia Frozen Yogurtball on TV with my friends Barbie, Nancy Reagan, Bob the Builder, and George W. Bush.

If only they truly were my friends. Well a man can dream, can't he?

"Hey, Nancy Reagan," Bob the Builder said, "What is your New Year's resolution?"

"I am going to learn to play the jazz flute." she said.  "Then I am going to play it at nursing homes.  I am sure it will make the residents saucy."

saucy.  oh how I love that word.  It's just so... saucy.  :D

"That's Christian," said Barbie. "I am going to volunteer in a shelter for homeless kittens and bunnies.  They are so cute.  How about you, Bob the Builder?"

"I am going to help out around the house," he said, "Every night, I will put the cookies and quilts in the dishwasher without being asked."

This is just silly.  Cookies and quilts don't go in the dishwasher.  Cookies go in the cookie jar and quilts with square patterns go on the bed in my room, quilts with circular patterns go on the couch in the living room, and quilts that are yellow get donated to Goodwill.  Oh well, I guess this is fiction, so I'll just have to go with it.

"I want to improve my grades," said George W. Bush.  "I will study math, science, and Jesus Christ every night."

Yay Jesus!!!

They all turned to me.

"What is your New Year's Resolution, F? 

As a side note, I just can't give out my name online.  There might be internet predators or internet salesmen trying to sell me The Magic Bullet.  For the last time, I don't believe in sorcery or violence, so please leave me alone.  Now back to the story.

"I'm not making one," I said.  "I'm perfectly charismatic already!"

THE END

Isn't writing just a hoot?  Well I would keep on typing away about my fun little life, but I just found another story to create about an Apple Surprise, (joy!,) so I am off to make more art.

Until next time,

F!!!!

surprises from the e-mail gnomes!!!

I love surprises! Well the good kind of surprises anyway.  For example, reaching underneath your pillow to find your tooth you placed there night before has been replaced by dental floss because quarters are touched by homeless people and democrats is a good kind of surprise.  Your mother finding the teeth of your father's "special friend" underneath her pillow, forcing your father to live in room 203 of the Motel 8 rather than your house is not the good type of surprise.

Anyhoodle, as I was saying, surprises can just be the greatest thing since sliced cheese.  Thus, in my daily quest for surprises, today I tried looking for surprises in the junk section of my e-mail, (which I feel is a rather tragic name for these poor little defenseless e-mails.  I hate people who judge!)  As soon as I clicked upon the tab for my under-appreciated e-mails, I found many fun and pleasant surprises.  I never realized there were so many friendly and giving people on the internet.  

Just on the first page, I had a job offer from some man named Dennis Cole, a promotion from Colon Cleanse, a product that was endorsed by Oprah, OPRAH!!! (and you can't argue with that,) another job offer from a woman named Busty Brianna, and a message from Charlie Finch with something to do about Janet Jackson smacking paparazzie with her black dildo, (perhaps that's some sort of African fan...) And the e-mails just went on and on.  After going through only 200 of them or so, I started to feel really bad that there were so many kind and friendly people online sending out these fun little greetings, and yet I had been such a Samantha Snort that I hadn't sent out a single random e-mail.  I feel like such failure, but failure is one thing I cannot accept.  The only thing worse than failure is AID's, and that's because you go to Hell for that.

Anyway, in an act of redemption, I have resolved to become a new and friendlier me, and thus I'm going to start sending out my own fun and friendly e-mails to people who just need a charming and cheerful "hello" in their day.  Oh, I could even give them tips, like fun things to do with men's hair to help give them longer and firmer folicles!  I can just see it now, "Men, don't you want to appear firmer, and stronger?"  And just like that, I have another activity to put in my schedule after putting together my 1000 piece puppy puzzle and feeding my cat, Renaldo.  In the words of the great Sean Connery, the day is mine!!!

Until next time,

F!!!

The Gilf of all Gilfs

Today, as I was knee-boarding the inter-web on the book of faces, I saw that many of my friends have been rating their five favorite things of many different categories.  Some of the interesting categories I saw were favorite movies, best book, most frightening cereal cartoon, and the best football player, (but this was written in Spanish, so I'm guessing it was either meant to be translated as the best Soccer player of all time or the Weeble Wobble with the sexiest feet.  The world may never know...)

Anyway, all of this led me to a horribly difficult question, who is the ultimate GILF (Grandmother I'd Love Forever) of all GILF's (Grandmothers I'ds Loves Forevers?)  After many minutes of intense, steamy thought, I reached two semi-finalists in the quest for the most lovable grandmother, Betty White or Florence Henderson.  And suddenly, my day was made quite difficult.

In one corner of the ring, we have a sweet, innocent, and sometimes rather silly woman who charmed oodles of young grandchildren on the hit television series, "The Golden Girls."  As many times as I watched her cute and innocent character episode after episode, I couldn't help but wonder what she had hiding under those dresses of hers.  (Whoops, I guess I've let the cat out of the bag, and I know it might be wrong and perverted, (Dear Father, who art in heaven, please forgive me for this, oh yeah, and for turning the soup cans upside down in the supermarket today.  I promise it will never happen again, and I really do mean it this time.  I promise.) but I always knew in my heart that she had to have the legs of an Athenian messenger, or maybe even an Ethiopian Princess named Asnaku!)  Thus, competitor number one.

However, in the other corner of the ring, we have the Wonder-Mom of the most popular incest family to ever hit prime time.  (Don't feel bad about it Greg. Lets face it, who didn't like Marsha.  I always thought she was rather dashing myself.)  With the perfect family, an entertaining, but strangely non-hispanic house keeper, and a fierce hatred of the 'b-word,' (B - U - double palm trees,) who could resist the captivation of miss Florence Henderson.

I must say that both ladies are strong and caring elderly women.  This will truly be a difficult decision, but because I hate confrontation, not to be confused with constellations, which I LOVE!!!, I've decided upon the perfect way to settle the issue.  Whichever GILF of all GILF's candidate sends me a plate of cookies first will forever be etched in my heart as the eternal winner... but please, Florence and Betty, don't use peanuts.  I'm allergic.

Until next time,

F!!

A Baker's Dozen and a Sirloin Steak's Worst Nightmare

So, for those of you who were lured into this entry by my incredibly angsty title, I'm sorry that I have misled you.  I have been listening to nothing but Fall Out Boy, Panic At The Disco, and ABBA for the past three hours straight, and thus, I felt inclined to give this post a title with a real edge. 

For those of you who are visiting this site for the first time, thank you for your support.  For those of you who got here by mistake, I believe you were looking for eshartF@dogspot.com, you stupid neanderpoops.  Anyway, I've been watching lots of Golden Girls today, so I really don't have any problems or qualms with the world.  However, have no fear that if anything comes up, such as injustice or a rather epic bowel movement, I will keep you, my readers, my loyal fans, and my divorce court claim lawyers who are still trying to take back my Subaru, you pooheads, in the loop.

Until next time,

F!