This is the answer to "What in the Hell is Wordless Wednesday?"

On Wednesdays all over the internet, bloggers post a photograph with no words to explain it on their blog. Hence the ‘wordless’ title. The idea is that the photo itself says so much that it doesn’t need any description.

Wordless Wednesday

I have never had a wordless Wednesday in my life.  It must be some blogger thing. OK I will post this picture today and try to be as wordless as I can.  

I will tell the story behind it tomorrow.

Sort of like Bullwinkle when they have the next episode after the commercial.

Talk later,

Annie

The Cave scout jamboree

Ok, after wasting an hour searching for the Flinstones episode I wanted, I finally found it. 

Who could forget this episode?

Humor me and click on the cartoon, it will suck you back to the 70's in a heartbeat.

Go ahead, waste some time.  The dishes will be there when you get done watching it.

I guarantee it will put a smile on your face.

Talk later,

Annie

The Flintstones - 4x20   Cave Scout Jamboree

My retirement

OK, so I figured out what I am going to do when I retire. 

I found this website with these woman who travel around in old campers they have fixed up.  You know the type of campers I am talking about.  I call them "Flintstone campers".  The kind Fred used to take  his family to Jellystone Park in.

Crap, maybe that was the wrong cartoon. 

I guess Jellystone was Yogi and Booboo.

I have always been concerned with what in the heck I was going to do when my kids leave. Now I know.  Here is the link.

Retirement 

 I know you are thinking "Annie, you are so full of crap, you can't even drive to Buffalo, how in the heck are you going to tour the world pulling a little weird camper behind  you?"

Easy, got that covered.

I will hire a very handsome young man wearing a cowboy hat and a wife beater t-shirt to drive.  Now wasn't that easy, you get too worried about the small crap.


Wanna go with me?

Talk later,

Annie

Aunt Bea musta been a babe

OK, so I am trying on all these dresses that I bought at this church sale the other day and they all were way too tight.

I actually found one that I could get over my head, but it really seemed too tight in the shoulders and across the front.  I walked into the kitchen.  Tim is watching "Top Cops".  We haven't had regular TV in 12 years so asking him a question when he is watching TV is like trying to ask the President a question during those public interviews you see on TV.

"Tim, do you think this dress looks OK?"

silence

"Hey what do you think about this dress?"

"Well Anne, you look like Aunt Bea".


"What in the hell does that mean?, are you trying to say Aunt Bea was a babe?, a total knockout?"


silence


"It looks too tight across the front".

"Oh"

I threw it in the bag to go back to the church for their next sale so some other idiot can buy it, try it on, and have THEIR husband tell them they look like "Aunt Bea".

Talk later,

Annie

Annie and the food processor

Tim planted about a zillion acres of garden this year so I had to get a food processor to freeze all the veggies.

I hate food processors.

I found a really nice one for 5 bucks at a yard sale last week.  He brought me in some zucchini so I had to test out my new toy.

I forgot I hate food processors.

Food processors come in "pieces".  Pieces that somehow have to be "put back". 


My whole life I could never get the concept of where in the hell things went "back" once they were taken apart.



When I was a kid my Dad used to do puzzles on the kitchen table every  now and again.  They were not puzzles like I would do , you know the ones with 5 pieces.  His puzzles had a million pieces and were about as small as a fly.




He would very carefully start with the "outside" frame and then start on the inside.

I had NO INTEREST in this whatsoever.  I tried to act interested but my attention span only lasts about 3 minutes so I was doomed from the "get go".  I swear my Dad is a genius.

I obviously did not get any of his genius genes.

He can put parts from puzzles, motors,vcrs and all sorts of crap back in their original order.

That scares the hell out of me.

I, on the other hand can't even take down the folding table down, I can't figure out how to collapse the legs.
Ok , onto the food processor.

I get out my new toy, unpack the 20 pieces that I have no idea what to do with and try to put the lid on the top.

The lids never fit.

Martha Stewart makes it look easy.

She is a freak.

After about 10 minutes and 3 cigarettes, I call Karen into the room.

"How in the hell does this thing go together?"

She has never used a food processor in her life.

She puts the lid on snaps it into the base and walks away with that "look".

You know the "look".  The one that says "Mom, you are so stupid, I have no idea how you had 7 kids and have made it to the age of 45 look.

She must have gotten my Dad's genius genes.

Thank God.



Talk later,

Annie

Never Bored

I just don't understand the concept of "bored".

There are so many things I want to do.  How in the hell can you be bored?

Get crafty, make something, read a book for God's sake, write a book for God's sake.

I swear creative busy people are just drawn to each other.  My friend emails me yesterday "Oh yeah did I ever tell you I wrote 4 novels?".  I just about fell off my chair.  "Get those damn things published girl!"  "Even if you have to publish them yourself and sit in front of Walmart and sell them."  was my answer.


I have another friend who is always painting something. 

Always.

Then there is Janet.

She has at least 100 projects going at all times.

Ok maybe 90.


She is never bored.


When I go to pick Tim up from work, I have a bag with crocheting in it, I am making an afghan. I sit there while I wait for him.  Time flies.


When I have to take someone to the Doctor, the last thing I do is throw a book in my purse.  The first thing I do when I get there is grab every  magazine in the office and read it cover to cover.


Time flies.


Once I told my mom i was bored.


I had to wash dishes for 15 years.


I am never bored.


Talk later,


Annie

Karen's Graduation or my two right feet

OK, so Karen's graduation was last night.  I haven't worn normal "dress up" clothes in 100 years and I wanted to look nice for it.

Little did I know what a pain in the butt that would turn out to be.

OK, I have been dying to buy a pair of black boots, you know the tall ones with the heels.  Skinny women wear them with dresses, so why can't I pull off the look?


I found the perfect pair about 2 weeks ago in Salvation Army.  Size 8 wide.  


Perfect.


Or so I thought.


I also needed a dress.  Janet warned me the other day on the phone  "make sure you try on everything you buy at those second hand shops, just because it looks like it will fit doesn't mean it WILL.


What the hell does she know anyway?


I have been putting a few dresses away that I find at my thrifty shops where you stuff a bag for a dollar.  They looked pretty cool and trendy.  I grabbed what I thought was my size.


Hah.

Of course I never actually tried any of them on, why bother?


So, last night I am trying them on.


After 5 failed attempts to get the dresses over my head or over my arms, I resorted to a stretchy lowcut blouse with a pair of super wide legged black dress pants.


I forgot that throwing hay and milking cows for the past 30 years has made my arms into the size of a linebacker for the Buffalo Bills football team.

Basically I look like Klinger in a dress.

I threw on my make up and went to the closet for those "boots".  

I put one on and it looked awesome!!


I put the other one on and Izzy starts to talk.  "Mommy I think that boot is the same as the other one".


"What are you talking about girl?"


I tried to pull the boot over my foot. The zipper was on wrong side of the boot.


"OH MY GOD!"


They were both right feet.


Foiled again.


I grabbed a pair of brown heels.  They seemed to fit.


Halfway through the ceremony I remembered why I never wear high heels,  not only do I have the widest shoulders and arms in the free world, I also have the widest feet because I have been going barefoot or wearing black rubber boots for 12 years.


I bucked it up, had a great time, even went out to dinner after the ceremony.


I am typing this with one foot up on a stool, my baby toe is starting to come to life now.


Don't worry about me. I will be OK.


Talk later,


Annie

Thrifting

I found the neatest blog last night.  There are actually other people out there who shop at thrift shops.  This girl has made a blog out of doing it.  She does it well.

She looks good in the photos.


After much wasted time reading her blog, I found out why she looks good in used clothes.

She is a size 7.  If you are a size 7, you could wear a feedbag for a dress and look good.

I don't think she has any kids.

That also helps.

Check her out.  I still like her (I think).www.thosetricks.com

I think I might do this with the girls.  I will let you know when I do it.  I have to find the matching flip flops and snow suit outfits that my kids are so famous for.

Talk later,

Annie

A new Header!!

OK so it's going into summer here so i changed the look of my blog.  I love the birdie!!

Change is good.



Life is good.

Don't be afraid of change.

Talk later,


Annie

Remove your balls!!

OK, so I am folding laundry yesterday in the kitchen and listening to Tim's Dad and a friend of his along with Tim and his brother discuss the world's problems.  It's Sunday, so that's what they do on Sundays.  I always fold in the kitchen so I don't miss anything.

It was pretty boring until I heard "can you believe they want us to take our balls off?"


I dropped the laundry that was in my hands.


"What the hell did you just say?" I was picking up socks off the floor.


"They are gonna make a new law that you have to take the ball hitch off your pickup truck when you are not using it because some dork tripped on one in a parking lot somewhere.


"Oh,I guess i misunderstood you".


It is good to be home.


Talk later,


Annie

The prom pictures

OK so we finally have some pics of this prom.  We got alot of compliments on this dress.  My daughter Karen is a one in a million to wear this creation.

I have been making clothes for my sisters and kids for years.  This is the FIRST time one of my creations actually looked like it was supposed to.


When I was in fourth grade my Grandma threw out some funky cafe curtains. They still had the little clips still on the to hold them onto the curtain rods.  I dug them out of her garbage and made them into a bikini for my sister Kathy who proudly wore it into the living room one afternoon when Mom was making lunch.

I fashioned two triangles for the bottoms and attached these cool plastic circle thingys to the sides to hold the triangles together.   Sort of like Bo Dereks's bikini in "10"


Sort of.

Boy did I get yelled at. 

"A bathing suit is supposed to cover your body for God's Sake, Anne what in the hell are you thinking!, Kathy, take that damn thing off!!

We both wandered back into the bedroom.  My Dad was trying his darndest not to pee his pants.

I could have been a famous clothing designer like Calvin Klein or Versache, if only my mom would have been a little more co-operative.


Instead I learned how to milk cows.

Talk later,

Annie

i stole this and just about died when i read it. this actually happened to me ( seriously)

I had prepared for it like any intelligent woman would.  I went on a starvation diet the day before, knowing that all the extra weight would just melt off in 24 hours, leaving me with my sleek, trim, high-school-girl body. The last forty years of careful cellulite collection would just be gone with a snap of a finger.  I knew if I didn't eat a morsel on Friday, that I could probably fit into my senior formal on Saturday. Trotting up to the attic, I pulled the gown out of the garment bag, carried it lovingly downstairs, ran my hand over the fabric, and hung it on the door.  I stripped naked, looked in the mirror, sighed, and thought, "Well, okay, maybe if I shift it all to the back ..." Bodies never have pockets where you need them.  Bravely I took the gown off the hanger, unzipped the shimmering dress and stepped gingerly into it. I struggled, twisted, turned, and pulled and I got the formal all the way up to my knees ... before the zipper gave out. I was disappointed. I wanted to wear that dress with those silver sandals again and dance the night away.  Okay, one setback was not going to spoil my mood for this affair. No way! Rolling the dress into a ball and tossing it into the corner, I turned to Plan B: the black crepe caftan.  I gathered up all the goodies that I had purchased at Saks: the scented shower gel; the body building and highlighting shampoo and conditioner; the split-end killer and shine enhancer. Soon my hair would look like that girl's in the Pantene ads.  Then the makeup -- the under eye "ain't no lines here" firmi ng cream, the all-day face-lifting gravity-fighting moisturizer with wrinkle filler spackle; the 'all day kiss me till my lips bleed, and see if this gloss will come off' lipstick, the bronzing face powder for that special glow.  But first, the roll-on facial hair remover. I could feel the wrinkles shuddering in fear.  Okay, time to get ready! I jumped into the steaming shower, soaped, lathered, rinsed, shaved, tweezed, buffed, scrubbed and scoured my body to a tingling pink.  I plastered my freshly scrubbed face with the anti-wrinkle, gravity fighting "your face will look like a baby's posterior" face cream. I set my hair on hot rollers.  I felt wonderful. Ready to take on the world. Or in this instance, my underwear. With the towel firmly wrapped around my glistening body, I pulled out the black lace, tummy-tucking, cellulite-pushing, ham hock-rounding girdle, and the matching "lifting those bosoms like they're filled with helium" bra.  I greased my body with the scented body lotion and began the plunge. I pulled, stretched, tugged, hiked, folded, tucked, twisted, shimmied, hopped, pushed, wiggled, snapped, shook, caterpillar crawled and kicked. Sweat poured off my forehead but I was done. And it didn't look bad.  So I rested. A well deserved rest, too.  The girdle was on my body. Bounce a quarter off my behind? It was tighter than a trampoline. Can you say, "Rubber baby buggy bumper buns?" Okay, so I had to take baby steps, and walk sideways, and I couldn't move from my buns to my knees. But I was firm!  Oh no ... I had to go to the bathroom. And there wasn't a snap crotch. From now on, undies gotta have a snap crotch. I was ready to rip it open and re-stitch the crotch with Velcro, but the pain factor from past experiments was still fresh in my mind. I quickly sidestepped to the bathroom.  An hour later, I had answered nature's call and repeated the struggle into the girdle. I was ready for the bra. I remembered what the saleslady said to do. I could see her glossed lips mouthing, "Do not fasten the bra in the front, and twist it around. Put the bra on the way it should be worn -- straps over the shoulders. Then bend over and gently place both breasts inside the cups."  Easy if you have four hands. But, with confidence, I put my arms into the holsters, bent over and pulled the bra down ... but the ***s weren't cooperating. I'd no sooner tuck one in a cup, and while placing the other, the first would slip out. I needed a strategy. I bounced up and down a few times, tried to dribble them in with short bunny hops, but that didn't work. So, while bent over, I began rocking gently back and forth on my heel and toes and I set 'em to swinging. Finally, on the fourth swing, pause, and lift, I captured the gliding glands. Quickly fastening the back of the bra, I stood up for examination.  Back straight, slightly arched, I turned and faced the mirror, turning front, and then sideways. I smiled, yes, Houston , we have lift up!  My breasts were high, firm and there was cleavage! I was happy until I tried to look down. I had a chin rest. And I couldn't see my feet.  I still had to put on my pantyhose, and shoes. Oh ... why did I buy heels with buckles?  Then I had to pee again. ........So I put on my sweats, fixed myself a drink, ordered pizza, and skipped the high school reunion.        Topic Next Topic

Annie The Fashion Designer

O.K., so my oldest daughter stops over, "Mom can you help me with my  prom dress?"

"Well, of course" I answer not really paying attention. 

"I want to do it in camouflage print".

"Oh yeah, sure whatever". I answer while throwing more dishes in the sink.


Two days later she returns with this camouflage print fabric. I just stand there trying not to look shocked.


"This is the prom, right".


"Yeah, Mom, isn't it great?"!!!


I try to look excited.


I immediately call on one of my fellow seamstress friends who likes to make strange things.


"Bridgette, we have an emergency on our hands, Karen's prom is in a week and I have 2 yards of stretchy camouflage print fabric to make a dress out of, what in the hell am I gonna do?"


"O.K., calm down.  Go to You Tube and put in "How to make a halter dress".  She gives me the info I need to look this up.  Only Bridgette would have any idea what in the hell I am talking about.


"I was just looking on their yesterday for ideas". She answers.


What are the odds someone else is even sort of on the same wave length as me?.


Karen takes a few minutes and studies a few of the videos.  She takes the scissors, cuts the fabric and I sew.  I am so excited about this creation, I can't believe how cool it is turning out!  I have included a picture of it to prove I am not making this whole story up.  I will update when she goes to the prom.


Sometimes in life you meet a friend who understands what you are talking about.  So many times I try to talk to people and they have absolutely no idea what in the hell I am talking about.


Thanks Bridgette!!


Talk later,

Annie