Jesterly Challenge Month – November 18th

For today’s post, i challenged myself to write a terrible haiku.  I claim victory on this one.  No matter what you say in the comments, I know I have successfully met this challenge:

This haiku is fluff
I didn’t give you long enough
To send me prompt stuff

Plus it’s terrible
Rhymes can’t save unbearable
With nothing seasonal

I’mma stop right here
This has gone too far I fear
Bye-bye blogosphere

round and round we go…

Plastic is the devil.  Which is interesting, considering that plastic was introduced as the savior of the environment.  “Use plastic bags to carry your groceries and you’ll be saving trees, the world, and, therefore, your souls.”  But, now we’ve learned the error of our ways and it is on to the next.  Round and round we go…

So, in California a law has been signed that outlaws the use of plastic bags in big chain stores starting next July, and rolled out to all stores in 2016.  Instead, consumers are being urged to use cloth bags or pay a surcharge for the use of paper bags.  (Wait, aren’t paper bags bad for the environment too?  Isn’t that why we started using plastic in the first place.  Now I’m confused…  But, I’m sure the ten cents per bag is being used to fund tree planting operations, right?  I’m sure that makes it okay.)

But, since we have proven to be shortsighted on these decisions in the past (really, who could have known all those plastic bags would wind up in riverbeds and clinging to the fences and shrubs that line our roads?) it does beg the question: when cloth bags are determined to also be bad for the environment (water wasted washing them?) or our health (unwashed or improperly washed bags make lovely homes for salmonella) what device for carrying our groceries will be forced upon us next?

How about reusing cardboard boxes to store and transport groceries like Costco and Trader Joe’s do?  Since the stores receive their goods in boxes in the first place, what happens to those?  They should definitely be given out to consumers to transport the goods rather than manufacturing new cloth bags for everyone to buy, spoil, and trash.  Right?  (I suggest buying copious amounts of stock in cardboard companies right now!  Buy early and often, as I always say.  (Yes, I say the same about voting.))  And then, being good stewards of the environment, as we have unanimously shown over the course of human “civilization,” I’m sure all those consumers would recycle the cardboard boxes after they were done with them.  Right?  (They certainly wouldn’t find their way to landfills or riverbeds or city streets…)

Though, there probably aren’t enough boxes to accommodate all purchases on a daily basis, so that option isn’t entirely feasible.  Dilemma, am I right?  But, why do we need bags (or boxes) at all?  Everything was in a cart (or buggy, if you prefer) or basket in the store, why can’t we all just push the carts to our cars and load everything up directly like that?  The onus should be on car manufacturers to install grocery receptacles in trunk spaces rather than trying to figure out how to get the goods from the store to the car in the first place.  We already do that.  Every time.  The goods always show up at our cars (like magic), so why do we need something additional to make that happen?  We don’t!  Problem solved.

We in the kingdom plan on taking that route, forgoing bagging contraptions altogether: one less thing to worry about!  (I’m always forgetting those stupid reusable bags anyway.)  But, we’d love to hear your solutions.  Do you have a brilliant idea?  Do you have a ridiculous idea?  We are open for both and everything in-between.  This is California, after all.

less beautiful

Oh, what a Cup it has been.  Upsets.  Goals.  Drama.  Highs.  Lows.  It has been a testament to what the game should be.  Interest has peaked in places it normally doesn’t.  The whole world is watching.

It has been beautiful.

Enter Luis Suarez…

I hope the proper authorities are reviewing the footage.  And, if it is found that he did in fact bite Giorgio Chiellini, I hope he is banned from the game for life.

Bite a player once, and apologize, okay fine.  I don’t understand it, but, maybe it can be forgiven.

Bite a player twice…  Well, I can’t really explain how you are still playing.  But, benefit of the doubt, sure… Okay.  We’ll give you one more chance.

Bite a player three times…

Please, FIFA, ban him for life.  Make the game beautiful again.


V is for…

The Queen and I have been reading  books to The Little Prince very night as part of the bedtime routine.  Which makes sense, because we are awesome parents, but that’s beside the point.  One of the books we’ve been reading to him is an alphabet book.  After a couple times through we both realized there was something very wrong with it.

It starts off perfectly fine:

Child book shenanigans: A is for Awesomesauce!
That’s a delicious looking APPLE.

A is perfectly normal.  How about B?

I’d feel perfectly safe heading out beyond the breakers in that BOAT.

And so it goes.  Innocent.  Normal.  Expected.  Everything you could want from a starting alphabet book.

But then we come to V.

Here is a list of V words that would be better than what is in the book:

Vegetable: yummy, yummy, for your tummy.

Violin: a stringed instrument that can make music soar.

Vacuum: how we clean up after two messy cats.

Vector: magnitude and direction.

Volume: what Daddy has to turn up when the little one starts screaming.

Valium: what Mommy has to take to make it through the day.

Velociraptor: a dinosaur that isn’t living under your bed.  Probably…

Yes, all of those would have been better than this:

V is for the Windowless Child Abduction van that drives (us) far away?

Seriously?  VAN?  All the potential V words out there and they went with van… and that’s the picture they went with… and it drives far away…

What exactly are we teaching our kids here?

true story*

I woke feeling like it was going to be another boring day: shower, dress, toast and coffee, drive, work, sandwich and soda, work, drive, TV, pasta and wine, more TV, sleep…

I was wrong.

It’s taken me a long time to tell this story because it’s taken me a long time to come to terms with what happened, with what the toaster did and how I handled it.  I’m telling it now though because I realized that warning all of you, warning my faithful kingdom, is more important than distancing myself from … from …  well, you’ll see.


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The alarm went off and my eyes shot open.  I was on my stomach, which was weird, but it was too early, and I was too tired and disoriented to really give that much thought.

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However, I did think about getting out of bed, and decided that was a terrible idea.

Seeing as how the alarm would continue it’s shrill beeping until I did get up, I had no other choice.  I rose, turned off the stupid annoying troublesome “insert four letter word here” -ing alarm, showered, dressed, and generally just woke up enough to face my day.

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If you’ve been paying attention you’ll notice that I’d successfully navigated through the usual routine of my day up to the point of having my toast and coffee for breakfast.  And that is exactly where my day took a dramatic turn for the worse.

The toaster wouldn’t work.

I can’t have toast without a toaster.

In my rushed, and starting to panic state, I might have slapped it around a bit.  I honestly don’t remember.

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I am certain that I freaked out though.

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Then, gathering myself, I asked the toaster politely why it was intentionally trying to ruin my day.

I questioned its sanity.

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I flailed a bit more.

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I tried to understand its inner workings, its logic, its reasons for not working, for thwarting my routine, for becoming my ultimate nemesis after years of a successful partnership.

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When that didn’t work, I flailed a bit more.  In retrospect, I think my tenuous grasp on sanity was slipping.

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I did the chicken dance.  I… I… I have no idea why.

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I blanked out for a minute after the chicken dance.

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I’d like to think it was my body taking a minute to quietly reflect on that fact that not getting my toast wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world.  But, I’m fairly certain that I blanked out because I didn’t want to remember the moment when I finally cracked.

When I “woke up” again, I felt this pulling sensation, this growing need to eat.  I was starting to starve.

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So, I did the most logical thing I could think of at the time.  I tried to eat my own hand.

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Thankfully, before I did any real damage, it occurred to me that wasn’t actually a very sensible thing to do.  I once again questioned my sanity.

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Shortly afterwards, when the gnawing in my stomach subsided and I calmed down, I realized that I needed to stop questioning myself.  I would still be okay even if I didn’t follow my routine.  I needed to be strong.  I needed to tell my self doubts to go away.

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So, I raspberried my toaster.

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And I came to terms with myself and my situation.

I shook my head and laughed at myself, thinking about being reduced to a flailing, blubbering, fool over a broken toaster and a messed up routine.

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I relived the craziness and laughed about it on my drive to work.

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I relived the craziness and laughed about it at work.

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In the end, I successfully made it through my day without having had my toast, and I learned a valuable lesson: don’t let your routine own you.

Okay, that’s not the lesson I learned, but it sounds better than the truth.  What’s the real lesson then, you ask?

Always, always have a back up toaster!

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And now I’ve shared my story with you, so that you too can learn from it.  Pick whichever lesson makes the most sense to you…


*This is not a true story.  You can see the post that inspired this silliness here.