Tuesday, November 20, 2012

Everyday Thanksgiving

Thanksgiving Day is almost here!

Aside from the bounty of turkey and stuffing, the mounds of mashed potatoes swimming in homemade gravy, and the friends and family that surround us, it is often a day that we take a step back and reflect on what we are thankful for, big things, little things, things we often take for granted. 

Counting ones’ blessing is a surefire way to jump start feelings of gratitude.  

I stumbled across a prayer years ago and it really resonated with me. There have been some rough patches along the way, times that were tougher than I would have liked. Even with many personal and financial challenges, I realized that, I was so very blessed. Let me say that again. So. Very. Blessed.

I read this prayer before Thanksgiving dinner that year, choked up, tears streaming down my face, barely making it to the end:

Everyday Thanksgiving
Even though I clutch my blanket and growl when the alarm rings each morning, thank you, Lord, that I can hear. There are many who are deaf.
Even though I keep my eyes closed against the morning light as long as possible, thank you, Lord, that I can see. There are many who are blind.
Even though I huddle in my bed and put off rising, thank you, Lord, that I have the strength to rise. There are many who are bedridden.
Even though the first hour of my day is hectic, when socks are lost, toast is burned and tempers are short, thank you, Lord, for my family. There are many who are lonely.
Even though our breakfast table never looks like the pictures in magazines and the menu is at times unbalanced, thank you, Lord, for the food we have. There are many who are hungry.
Even though the routine of my job often is monotonous, thank you, Lord, for the opportunity to work. There are many who have no job.
Even though I grumble and bemoan my fate from day to day and wish my circumstances were not so modest, thank you, Lord, for the gift of life!

It has become our yearly Thanksgiving family tradition for me to recite this prayer. So simple and basic, but always gets to me and is always, always accompanied with tears. Today is no exception. Blubbering away. Tapping on my keyboard. Blubbering. Tapping.

“Every year a tear,” as my son cleverly put it.  I’m blessed to have him in my life. One of my many blessings.

“Everyday Thanksgiving” has even spread to our Christmas traditions, as well as other family events. The attitude of “Everyday Thanksgiving” really ought to be a year-round outlook. Gratitude makes both the sweet and the sour in life sweeter.

What are you thankful for this year?

I am thankful for many things.

While I still assert myself as a non-cat person, I was blessed with a kitten family this year. My favorite little bundle of feline fur is an adorable white and black spotted kitten, akin to a dalmatian or a speckled cow, whom I appropriately named "Deja Moo."

Thank you Deja!! Silly cat that you are.
I’m grateful to have a son who became a college graduate. Proud Mamma. O – H – I – O!

I’m pleased that my family will soon be growing by adding a son-in-law to the mix in a few years, as my daughter is now happily engaged.

I’m thankful that I enjoyed a fun and sun filled vacation in Mexico this year with wonderful people that I’m blessed enough to call my friends.

I’m relieved that this year was a healthy one for my family and me. With a broken jaw for me and an appendicitis from hell for my daughter, the last few years were not as smooth sailing in that department.

I’m grateful that there are some real “turkeys” out there, for they make you appreciate the truly wonderful people that do exist. Some very nasty things were recently said about me and to me. Taken aback initially, in the long run I realized that I was now a strong enough person to not let a “sticks and stones” moment beat me down. One “turkey’s” unfounded opinion doesn’t change a single thing. Gobble, gobble that nonsense elsewhere, but thank you all the same for the affirmation that I am not any of those “words” you threw at me and that I have countless people who love, respect and care about me.

While I have been somewhat lax in my posts as of late, I’m grateful that by starting a blog this year I have fulfilled a dream of mine, to write. I have no idea whether I am a good blogger or not, nonetheless, I’m truly overwhelmed with the positive feedback I have received. Every comment, share and like have meant the world to me. Several people have even thanked me? Seriously? I’m humbled. Truly humbled.

So with that, I am thankful for all of YOU! Thank you, thank you, thank you! Big Turkey Day hugs to everyone of you!

From the "Sherrie Sherrie QC" family to yours, "Happy Thanksgiving!"

Thankful for the cute pilgrim AND Indian pictured here. (Both are my daughter over the years)

Tuesday, October 16, 2012

Help Me, Help Me, I'm No Good at Goodbyes

Breaking up is hard to do. 
Train and their "50 Ways To Say Goodbye" will help you, help you, get you through.
Can’t face telling your friends you got dumped? Take a few cues here on ways to tell them your ex is no longer with us. Festive mariachi... poppy rock... humorous lyrics... it’s all just good silly fun.

MUST see hilarious video:

My heart was paralyzed
My head was over-sized
I'll take the high road like I should
You said, "It's meant to be.
That it's not you it's me."
You're leaving now for my own good
That's cool but if my friends ask where you are I'm gonna say
She went down in an airplane

Fried getting sun tanned
Fell in a cement mixer full of quicksand
Help me, help me, I'm no good at goodbyes
She met a shark under water

Fell and no one caught her
I returned everything I ever bought her
Help me, help me, I'm all out of lies
And ways to say you died
My pride still feels the sting
You were my everything
Someday I'll find a love likes yours
She'll think I'm Superman
Not Super Minivan
How could you leave on Yom Kippur?
That's cool but if my friends ask where you are I'm gonna say
She was caught in a mudslide
Eaten by a lion
Got run over by a crappy purple Scion

Help me, help me, I'm no good at goodbyes
She dried up in the desert
Drowned in the hot tub
Danced to death at an East Side nightclub

Help me, help me, I'm all out of lies
And ways to say you died
I want to live a thousand lives with you
I want to be the one you're dying to love
But you don't want to…

Now if you're counting, that’s only ELEVEN ways to lose a lover.
I added to Train’s list to make a quick and dirty 50 ways:     

          1)      Went down in an airplane

          2)      Fried getting sun tanned
          3)      Fell in a cement mixer full of quicksand
          4)      Met a shark under water
          5)      Fell and no one caught her
          6)      Was caught in a mudslide
          7)      Eaten by a lion
          8)      Got run over by a crappy purple Scion
          9)      Dried up in the desert
        10)   Drowned in the hot tub
        11)   Danced to death at an East Side nightclub
        12)   Caught cat scratch fever
        13)   Was gnawed by an angry beaver
        14)   Gazed directly at Medusa
        15)   Vanished in Tuscaloosa
        16)   Tripped on the treadmill
        17)   Rollerbladed downhill
        18)   Stepped on banana peel
        19)   Shocked by an electric eel
        20)   Dreamt about Freddy Krueger
        21)   Tried to tame a wild cougar
        22)   Surfed in a typhoon
        23)   Pierced with a harpoon
        24)   Blood sucked by a vampire
        25)   Lost balance on a high wire
        26)   Journeyed down a manhole
        27)   Fell asleep on cruise control
        28)   Break-danced with a porcupine
        29)   Went belly up in a vat of wine
        30)   1,000 paper cuts that wouldn’t heal
        31)   Ate a bad Chinese meal
        32)   Played footsie with a grizzly bear
        33)   Thought they could walk on air
        34)   Hit by lightening on a sunny day
        35)   Circled by a bird of prey
        36)   Choked on a chicken bone
        37)   Couldn’t pass a kidney stone
        38)   Toxic rainstorm without an umbrella
        39)   Fatal case of salmonella
        40)   Piranha came to skinny dip
        41)   Walked the plank on a pirate ship
        42)   Sawed in half by a senile magician
        43)   Coronary in missionary position
        44)   Head shrunken up on a pole
        45)   Heart literally turned to coal
        46)   Parachute opened at ground level
        47)   Sold their soul, cheap, to the devil
        48)   Swallowed up by a whale, Karma did indeed prevail
        49)   Rendezvoused with Sasquatch
        50)   Nasty flea infestation of the crotch

So help me, help me, I'm all out of lies.          
Comment and share some of your creative and wild ways to say goodbye. I would love to hear to them.

Saturday, October 13, 2012

Chivalry Dead?

                    Ollie Ollie Oxen Free!  
                    Come out, come out wherever you are, Chivalry!
                    Are you there Chivalry?!?
                    Let’s all go home girls.
                    Chivalry isn’t gonna come out of hiding today.
Okay guys, just relax. This is not going to be an estrogen-laden-male-bash-blog-tour de force, although, you never know when one of them there just might pop-up. God knows I have plenty of material along those lines. Writer’s block? Pffft. The male gender has given me plenty to vent about. My keyboard is ready, willing and able. So watch those p’s and q’s boys.

Despite what many say, I believe chivalry is not dead.  It might not be kickin’ it hard like it used to, but it is still alive. 

Gone are the days of brave knights and noblemen decked out in armor that made it their duty and pleasure to honor and be gallant towards women. Hell. Gone are the days that you can even expect and assume every man will be polite and decent to you. 

Modern day chivalry is not as overt. As we “damsels in distress” have become stronger and more independent, chivalry has become weaker and frailer. It’s evolution. Fewer opportunities for our Knights in Shining Armor to come to the rescue and save us. It doesn’t mean we don’t like those chivalrous moments, however. Last time I checked, we are still “woman” and like “men” so it will only behoove you to act like a man, preferable a “gentleman.”

I’ve been lucky and most (not ALL) guys have been chivalrous in the new-age sense towards me. Want to make us feel special and appreciated?
  • Open doors for us (Yes, we can open them ourselves and we barely even expect this anymore. Bonus points for you!)
  • Compliment her when she looks nice (She probably spent a lot of time picking out an outfit and getting ready for you. It’s nice if we feel it wasn’t all for naught.)
  • Conversely, dress for a date (If you wear your every day garb every time, are we not worth a little extra effort? You will look hotter. You will benefit. Trust me.)
  • Offer to carry heavy packages (We may or may not need the upper body workout, but having a “spotter” is probably a welcomed gesture.)
  • If it’s cold, offer us your jacket (Can’t smooch if your teeth are chattering.)
  • If it’s raining, offer to drop us off at the door (From a curly haired girl, do offer or at least have an umbrella handy. Add water? My hair will go “Hulk” on your ass. It won’t turn green, but it won’t be pretty.)

Such a scant amount of effort, right? Simple common courtesies. Do them. It won’t kill ya. We aren’t expecting you to slay dragons for God’s sake, although, the occasional slaying of a spider would really be wonderful. 
I got this!!

We will be grateful for what amounts to mere politeness. We will believe that you respect woman and want to treat them accordingly. Your Momma raised you right.

Just this week at work I saw “Chivalry” in action, proving it is not a thing of the past. A female co-worker sitting at her desk struggling to get her water bottle open. Cue her “Prince” who quickly jumps up and runs to her rescue. The “Prince” here being played by the real-life version of Family Guy’s Peter Griffin, then add smell-a-vision. 

Peter Le Pew also can not open the bottle. Twisting. Turning. Grunting. Thankfully not belching, burping or expelling any other kinds of gases, as he does this often. The bottle is shut tight. He needs “traction.” What better thing to use than his shirt which is tucked deep into his pants? Pulling, pulling and pulling it out of his drawers which rivaled a clown with a magic handkerchief; he finally used the bottom edge of his shirt and is able to “conquer” the unyielding bottle. The woman sat unbelievably quiet, dumbfounded, but managed to blurt out a “thank you.”

Meg Ryan once said, “I heard that chivalry was dead, but I think it’s just got a bad flu.”
In this case, I believe it just needed a shower and a clean shirt?

But alas, it is alive!! ALIVE!!

Wednesday, September 19, 2012

Beware o’ Pet Mutiny!

This day be th’ the International speak like a scurvy pirate day. Can ye believe, tis th’ 10th anniversary o’ ‘tis celebration? It be!

(I honestly... Can. Not!)

Now ye may or may not be knowin’ I live next to ye buccaneer. You can read all about him HERE

Yar - har - fiddle-dee-dee, havin’ a pirate neighbor is alright wit’ me! Well… it’s been alright wit’ me ‘til I began to spy wit’ ye eye signs o’ a pet mutiny. 

I be predictin’ me neighbor has had an influence on me?? I'm off to try ‘n collect all them cute wee little pirate hats from th’ pets. 
Grog-filled International Talk Like a Pirate Day to ye Mateys!

Sunday, August 26, 2012

Poochie Le Pew

Sniff. Sniff. The fragrance of fresh skunk in the air, that intense, sophisticated bouquet featuring warm woodland musks from one perfumed bandit’s anal glands.  Ahhhh….

Breathe it in.

In—ha—le.  Ex—ha—le. 

* Cough * Cough * Cough *

Out-hale. Out-hale. Out-hale! Gag! Gag!

Poochie Le Pew you wonder? Yeah, skunks and dogs don't mix well. Shocker right? 'Tis a very foul combo that I hope you haven't had the misfortune of gracing your doggie door.

Dogs love sticking their noses in places they don’t belong. Keep your grubby snout away from the receiving end of anything that is gonna blast and super soak your furry ass with a gun freshly loaded with greasy fart juice. Is this too much to ask? You do know which side your dog bone is buttered? Adding a skunk’s backside to the list of “Don’t go theres,” right between the garbage can and the crotches of my guests. K? Are we all clear here?

My dog, Palomino, got himself skunked a while back. Now to say he got “skunked” would be an understatement. He went out and clearly pissed off the Granddaddy of them all, the King of the Skunks. He got “SKUUUNNKKKEED.” You see the difference, right? Not remotely the same thing. No. No. BIG smelly difference. Captial “P,” Captial “U.”

Now this is a dog that loves a good stink. He reveled in the scent of dead squirrel once and decided that it was so very lovely that he just had to have it for himself. Just. Had. To. Have. It. Commence “Operation Roll All Over Squirrel Carcass.” Writhing and wriggling on top of it. Grinding every inch of stench from the decaying flesh beneath his large Labrador frame. Mission complete. Drenched in eau de toilette of decomposing rodent, he was happier than a pig in shit and smelled even better.
Even HE, a fan of all fermented things, was appalled with the way he smelled after his brief encounter with King Pepé. His sad eyes pleading with me, “help me.”

Exiled to the back yard, he sat, lowly, tied to the swing set until I could locate a magic potion. 
I never had any luck with tomato juice. Its only success was in emulating finger painting for adults with a mushy hairy nasty mess. Passing on that art project as an option, I immediately called the Vet. They suggested feminine douches, even said pharmacies usually have cases on hand for this very occasion. Presto chango, this was the rabbit in that hat I was looking for. Makes sense, cleansing and neutralizing odors of an intimate kind just might work on the stink of a more public variety.
Hi Ho! Hi Ho! It’s off to get my case of douches I go!
Enthusiastically at the pharmacy I requested my case of makeshift skunk-be-gone. The immediate look of horror on the girl’s face, I knew I had made a grave error and did not fully consider the execution of this purchase.
Back pedal. Back pedal. Back pedal. I began stammering and stuttering, “my dog got skunked, the vet suggested this.” She’s not buying a single word and her repulsion for me is clear and unwavering. This woman has now figuratively placed a giant “V” on my chest, like the scarlet “A,” but I’m the stinky “V.” Great.

I have a strong need to defend my personal hygiene. But what do you say? “I don’t need extra cleansing?” “I smell good?” “I wash habitually?” “I haven’t had any complaints?”  Feeling I can’t redeem any sense of decorum or pride at this point, I turn and walk away, dragging my humiliated, but squeaky clean “V” with me. Ya hear that? CLEAN!

Still needing a remedy for the dog, I grab as many twin-packs of disposable douches off the regular shelves that I can hold on to. I check-out with the cashier up-front and I get the hell out of there! A flowery mist of wonderfulness follows me out to my car and it ain’t from the dozen plus douches that I now have in stow. Just saying.
At home, the delicate deskunking process begins.  Scrub-a-dub-dub, it’s doggy douche time in the tub. Pour it over. Rub it in. Soak. Repeat. And it works!  Bottles and bottles of “Extra Cleansing” followed by equal number of “Country Flowers” and the dog is clean, deodorized and feminine fresh. Aside from his owner, this male dog is the second best smelling female in the house. Ah-em, second to the owner and he’s my dog. Got it? Good.  
I can’t blame Massengill or Summer’s Eve for the unjust disgrace and shame my poor “V’ had to endure here. Nor can I attest to whether their products can renew girly parts gone wild. But I can tell you, a vinegar-and-water douche can come in handy at unanticipated and surprising moments. Due to that fact, I’m suggesting a new picture for their boxes:
***4 out of 5 Pooches recommend for that “not-so-fresh” feeling!!


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