Tag Archives: humor

Whatever Wednesday: Too Cold for Wine n’ Jesus

Due to the extreme cold our area experienced yesterday, a real event called Wine n’ Jesus was cancelled last night. This is a very fictional conversation based on the decision to cancel the Wine n’ Jesus event. Enjoy.










ROGER? Is that you?


(clearing throat)

Hullo, MARTHA.


ROGER, I am worried about the meeting tonight. It is entirely too cold out there.


Too cold out there for Wine n’ Jesus? 


Yes, ROGER. Entirely too cold. There is a time and a place for Jesus but we shouldn’t expect people to freeze to death and meet their maker earlier than they are meant to, now should we?


For heaven’s sake, MARTHA, it is just a bit of cold. The church has a heater. The power is not out, the roads are not icy, and vehicles have heaters in them. Explain to me why we are cancelling our Wine n’ Jesus. I have the wine already chosen and ready to go. Also, I thought tonight was going to be the Bible Jeopardy night. You know how much fun Bible Jeopardy is once we have all had a bit of wine.


Yes, yes, I know. But ROGER…sometimes, we have to put safety before Jesus, and particularly before wine. I love wine just as you do, ROGER, but tonight it seems we need to put it aside. It is what He would want us to do.


You’re not thinking clearly, MARTHA. There is no danger aside from the frigid cold. Which, from what I understand, you should be quite adept at surviving.


(inhales sharply)

What on EARTH is that supposed to mean, ROGER?


Oh you know exactly what I mean, MARTHA.


No, I am afraid I don’t, ROGER.

(she crosses her legs and adapts a defensive seated position)


Oh, I’ve talked with Frank. I KNOW how frigid you are, Martha. I know.



I am not going to dignify that with a response, ROGER. How dare you bring that up in this conversation. Wine n’ Jesus is cancelled. Do you hear me, ROGER? (yelling loudly now) CANCELLED!!!!





She hangs up the phone and appears to mumble furiously to herself as she dials the number for the local news station to get the information for the cancellation submitted, pressing the phone to her ear once she is done dialing. 


Hello? Is this where I submit information for cancellations?


Yes, it is. Name of the event?


Wine n’ Jesus.


Wine and Cheeses?


(exasperated sigh)

No. Wine n’ Jesus. As in Jesus our Lord, not cheeses as in Brie, Gruyere, and Colby Jack. JESUS. As in the Son of God.


Oooohhhh. Yes. As in Jesus turned the water into wine.


Well, if that is how your simple mind wants to remember it, yes.


Excuse me, ma’am?

MARTHA (mumbling)

Oh, nothing. The Wine n’ Jesus event is tonight at 6pm. It is cancelled because of the cold.


Because of the cold?


Yes, that’s right. What is so difficult to believe about this? It is dangerously cold out there!


Yes ma’am but it is actually warmer tonight than it was this morni…


Don’t you get all high and mighty on me too, missy. It’s cancelled due to cold. Now put it up on your website so the people know it is too cold for the Wine n’ Jesus tonight, please.


Yes, ma’am. Is there anything else I can do for you? Pray, refer you to a therapist, give you some wine?


Well, I never… (sighs loudly and pushes the END CALL button)

Martha sinks back into her floral chair, a frustrated look on her face. She slams the phone down, sips her tea. It is now cold.

Whatever Wednesday: Please Move the Human Crossings

This post is inspired by a YouTube video featuring an audio clip of a woman who called Y94 in Fargo, ND. Her rant? Deer crossings in high traffic areas and the refusal of the Department of Transportation to move them to “lower traffic areas.” She’s written letters too.

I reached out to some deer in the ND area and shared Donna’s thoughts with them. They agreed to talk with me. The following is a transcript of our meeting, held deep in the forest, in an unnamed location.

“Wow. So this is nowhere near any type of civilization. Is this how you prefer to live?”

“It’s how we’ve always preferred to live, actually, since before that nosy Columbus popped over here and dragged the rest of Europe with him. Sure, we had the natives to contend with but hey, let’s face it – horses? Distant cousins and not given to mowing us down like the SUV’s and 18-wheelers of today.”

“I noticed on the way here that the Interstate divides the forest for quite some distance. Has this had any effect on nuclear families and their ability to stay close?”

“Of course it has. When the Department of Transportation came in, they didn’t ask us to relocate, we didn’t receive any government funding or consideration. We just woke up one day and BAM. Huge concrete path in between us and our loved ones. Families have been split up for generations. Remarriage, mourning, confused fawns, and don’t ask me about the Great Crossing of ’67.”

(Please note at this point, Rudolph’s eyes watered up and he turned away from me, his voice breaking.)

“Now I have to ask – what’s the Great Crossing of ’67?”

“This story has been handed down for generations, a warning, if you will. A number of us gathered together to talk about reunification with those trapped on the other side. We decided to watch traffic patterns for a few days, get the lay of the Interstate before crossing, you know. Scouts took shifts in trees with binoculars and reported back to those in charge. Once we thought we had established a pattern, we gathered together at the edge of the road, you know, where a sign with a deer stood. We assumed it was safe. There was a huge group of us, hundreds, if not thousands. The first wave, at least 100 deer, tentatively stepped out onto the hard black river. Headlights, a whole herd of them, appeared suddenly out of nowhere, speeding toward us. The first wave froze, the second wave rammed into them, and the third wave jumped over them. The headlights tore through all three waves. The carnage……..” his voice fades, cracking as tears slip down his tawny cheeks.
(I hand him a hanky, he wipes his eyes and blows his nose.)

“Far worse than Donna’s mere three car accidents, then, eh?”

“Far, far worse. Speaking of Donna’s car accidents, does she perchance drive a Red Honda?”

“I… I don’t know. She didn’t say in the recording.”

“If she does, she killed my cousin Louis –smashed him to a pulp. And my Uncle Dasher too. I don’t even want to discuss the hell she wreaked on my Aunt Catherine. Do you know Aunt Catherine can’t even graze by herself anymore? No – we had to rig a wheelchair just so she could haul herself around. The worst part? She can’t just go to the bathroom like she used to with that thing on. It requires regular cleaning. Do you have ANY IDEA how difficult it is to haul a deer hooked up to something like that in and out of a river multiple times a day? Look at these guns I’ve developed just helping her wheelchair stay clean!”

“Wow. I can’t begin to imagine. Nice guns, by the way.”

“Thanks.” He sniffles slightly, looks around nervously.

“Something wrong?”

“You weren’t followed, were you?”

“No, I took all the precautions you mentioned, left my car a mile away from the entry point, parked in a well-lit parking lot, walked in circles for 30 minutes, Gangnam Styled for 20, then hop-skipped-jumped for 10 toward the entry point before donning my ninja gear in a phone booth to slip away. There’s no way I was followed.”

“Mmmk. You know, with the advent of PETA and environmental gurus, we thought we’d be protected from the horrors of vehicular homicide. But alas, we are not. That’s what it is though – vehicular homicide. Why isn’t anyone doing anything about this? Instead, they’re putting up signs telling us we can cross, luring us into believing these particular spots are safer than all the others and then BAM. Mowing us down. Sure, we procreate like rabbits –well, almost– have you seen those little bastards get it on? Christ I’d give anything to have a libido like that. Anyway, I’ve digressed. It’s entrapment -plain and simple- Government endorsed entrapment ending in vehicular homicide. I’m not even the slightest bit apologetic for damage done to any cars. They encroached on our territory, not the other way around. Hell, I don’t see anyone apologizing to US for all the homicide and “population control” you people seem so keen on with our kind.”

“How do you feel about Donna’s request to move the Deer Crossing signs to lower traffic areas? Do you think this would be best for all parties involved?”

“I think it would be very helpful for all involved, but quite frankly, we can’t all read the signs. Most of us can, but some of us are just, well, plain stupid. We’re animals, yanno, and we’re not meant to read signs. And the Great Crossing of ’67 taught us not to trust the signs which is why we rarely cross in herds any more, but rather in single file, waiting for the one deer to cross before venturing across the road ourselves. Then there’s the issue of freezing when we see headlights. That too, is a remnant of the Great Crossing of ’67. A genetic form of PTSD, if you will. So you see, it’s really not our fault that we don’t move when we see a vehicle coming. It’s inbred fear of the ineptitude of humanity and their vehicles. Damn Henry Ford and his ilk.”

“How has the introduction of cell-phones affected the rate of “vehicular homicide” among your kind, if you will be so kind as to elaborate. Do you have that information? Any aggregated data?”

He holds out a hoof. “Does it LOOK like I’m capable of using a keyboard?”

“My apologies. Forgive me. Let me re-phrase: Has there been a noticeable increase in loss since the advent and popularity of cell-phones?”

“Across the board, yes, there has been. People are stupid enough behind the wheel as it is but they’re even more idiotic when they have a cell phone. Amazingly enough, the advent of Starbucks has saved lives because caffeine, as I’m sure you know, allows your kind to stay more alert. Although there have been a few instances when the blended caffeinated goodness in that green and white cup has been so orgasmic that the driver to loses control and mows a few of us down but overall, Starbucks has been good for the our increasing survival rates.”

“Last question – if you could tell Donna one thing, what would you say?”

“Oh, that’s simple. Please move the human crossings to a lower traffic deer area. We were here first.”
(Author’s note: There’s been an update from Donna – it’s a MUST LISTEN.)

Whatever Wednesday: Like a Vulcan

I made it through the wilderness
Somehow I made it through
I didn’t know how lost I was
Until I melded with you

I was beat incomplete
I’d been had, I was cold and blue
But you made me steel
Yeah, you made me steel.
Shiny and new

Like a vulcan
Purged for the very first time
Like a vulcan
When your logic rests
Next to mine

Gonna give you all my mind, boy
My emotion is fading fast
Been keeping it all from you
‘Cause only logic can last

You’re so devoid and you’re mine
Make me heartless, yeah you make me cold
Oh your logic thawed out
Yeah, your logic thawed out
What was getting cold

Like a vulcan (hey)
Purged for the very first time (yeah yeah)
Like a vulcan
When your logic rests
Next to mine

Oooh (whoah)
oooh, (whoah whoah)
oooh (yah yeah yeah)
(whoah whoah)

You’re so devoid and you’re mine
I’ll be yours ’till the end of time
‘Cause you made me steel
Yeah, you made me steel..
I’ve nothing to feel

Like a vulcan , hey
(you make me feel like a vulcan)
Purged for the very first time
(Ohhh baby)
Like a vulcan
When your logic rests
Next to mine

Like a vulcan, ooh, ooh
Like a vulcan (yeahh)
Feels so empty inside
When you purge me (when you purge me)
When your logic rests (when your logic rests)
When you neglect me (when you neglect me baby)

Oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh (yeah)
Ooh, baby
Like a vulcan


(the inspiration for the above rewrite of Madonna’s “Like a Virgin” came about after a brief discussion with my mother about how to politely tell someone you didn’t want to discuss emotions – by telling them you wanted to be “Like a Vulcan.”)

Whatever Wednesday: On Surviving a Coldathon

Day One: The wind whips around the trees outside. Toss on a sweater before taking the dogs out for their morning potty break. No hat. No gloves. Enjoy the zip of the cold against my nose. Breathe deeply, filling my lungs with cool air, remember 107 degree days not too long ago. Ever so grateful for the string of 40 degree days we have been experiencing.

Night One: Wind seems to have picked up some. A few aluminum cans from the recycling bin get tossed into the yard. I pick them up and put them back. Fingers tingly and cold after taking dogs out. Still wearing just a sweater over a t-shirt and jersey knit pants. Slippers on my feet. The brisk cold is oh so invigorating. Can’t wait to get back inside to a hot cup of tea to warm up my hands. I begin to wonder if snow will soon follow. Christmas isn’t far away and a White Christmas would just rock.

Day Two: Fail to look at thermometer because the dogs are insistently yipping at the door. Grab a sweater to toss on over my PJ’s. Go outside.

Half the cans from the recycling bin have been tossed into the yard by the cruel wind. And…..

Oh.DEAR.GOD. Ears nearly freeze off. Toes? Gone. I’ve no idea how – I had slippers on. Nose in danger of turning black. No chap-stick so my lips froze together (for this, the husband is happy.) Look at thermometer. 28 degrees. Real feel? 16. With a stiff wind. Inside the house is brrrr. Hands and feet fail to warm up for bulk of day.

Night Two: Dogs yip at door again. Grab huge oversized windbreaker with thermal insert. Zip all the way up, put on hood, OVER sweater turtleneck and scarf. Still no gloves. Nearly lose my fingers to frostbite. Trip over even more cans tossed into the yard by wind, almost breaking leg in process. Nearly bite off lower lip as teeth chatter constantly the whole time I am outside. Still no snow to show for all this brrrrrrness.

Day Three: Sunny, not breezy much, blue sky. Looks warm. Grab sweater. Step outsi.. holy mother of … scramble back inside for huge jacket, socks, and actual shoes. Slippers just won’t keep what used to be my toes warm enough. Glance at thermometer. 23!!!!! Shouldn’t it be snowing? Why is it not snowing? Why does it look warm outside? Damn you Mother Nature!!!!

Pick up 374 cans to return to the recycle bin as I hang with the dogs as they do their thing, taking their time of course because THEY have built-in fur coats.

Return indoors, even the dogs are shivering. Put their sweaters and jackets on them. They don’t protest and keep them on all day as they search out blankets under which to snuggle.

Shudder and shiver all day long, even under a fuzzy blanket whilst drinking Peppermint mocha.


Night Three: Finish putting kids to bed after an insane afternoon. Dogs decide they need to go outside right after I curl up on the couch with my fuzzy blanket. Grab big jacket. Dart outside. Come back inside. Clean up kids toys. Dog #2 decides peeing isn’t the only thing she needs to get done. Grab big jacket. Put it back on. Do jumping jacks as the dog poops in the front yard. Dart back inside. Sit down on couch, curl up with fuzzy blanket and attempt to thaw while watching a fireplace. On TV cuz we’re fancy like that here. I ignore the icicles hanging from my eyelashes and nose.

Shoveling snow would at the very least provide an outlet for my frustration.

Mother Nature is a cruel mistress – instead she’s given me cold. But STILL no snow on which to exert my frustrations.

*Please note that I live in Georgia. Where it was 100 degrees or higher most days this past summer and up until recently has been 60 – 70 degrees outside. Yes, I’m spoiled. If I survive the winter without turning into a huge popsicle, it will be a miracle, one for the Guiness Book. I’m sure of it.

Whatever Wednesday: Yankee Drawl Y’all

To listen to me read this post and hear what I’m talking about, click here:

I have a strange accent. Very strange.

Sometimes there’s no accent.

Sometimes it’s southern, sometimes yankee, sometimes midwestern.

I also have the ability to morph into different accents without thinking. What does this mean? I once pissed off two Irish exchange students in college because after spending 45 minutes with them, I started talking like them unintentionally. You should have heard me after spending time with the African exchange students from London, Madagascar, and the Ivory Coast. And heaven help me if I watch Bridget Jones’ Diary, Dangerous Liasions, Steel Magnolias, or Crocodile Dundee one too many times.

Also – if I spend too much time on the phone with my mom or my cousin, both from the midwest, I sound a bit, well, midwestern.

I was born in New Jersey. Lived there until I was 13. Then moved to Virginia for the 7-12th grades. Spent college in Southern Georgia where I dropped my Yankee accent real quick like because the Good ol’ GA boys didn’t much like it. I now live in Northeast Georgia and have for the past 10 years. I have now adapted to the Southern Accent. For the most part.

My dad was born in New Jersey. Lived there until he was in his 40’s. No, he doesn’t sound like Joe Pesci. In fact, he doesn’t have much of an accent at all. Not to me, at least.

My mom is from Michigan. She’s got that Midwest thing going on.

And me?

I’m a bit mangled. Possibly even completely mangled.

In college, while working at a local movie theatre, they had a blast getting me to say everything on the refreshment menu which ended and/or had an “er” sound in it.

I realized I am incapable of saying ButterFinger as spelled. It comes out more like “ButtahFinguh.”

What gets really fun is when I mash several accents in one sentence.

Like tonight.

Tonight I told my almost 3yo son to “Getcha hayand outa yuh diapuh.”



The first half of the sentence sounded very southern. The last half? Notsomuch.

And then there’s the famous argument about how I say Dawg, water, quarter, and car. My parents even make fun of me for the way I say Water. That says a lot.

Car often slides out as Cah. But here lately it’s been very midwestern. Not sure how to spell that but there is an overemphasis on the A. Maybe I’ll just call in tomorrow and read the post so y’all (see!) can hear how I talk. Yeh, that’s what I’ll do!

Oh, and heaven help you if I’m mad. I sound like Rosie Perez meets Paula Deen these days. It scares the crap out of me.

I don’t change my accent to appear wishy-washy. It’s just something I have done my whole life. It’s just me.

So if you ain’t gonna spend a quartah to get me a buttahfinguh and some wadduh, then fine. Bless your heart but you best be fixing to get in your cah and leave me alone he-uh in Dawg country, y’all.

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