Make Life Easier

Everything is a crisis in the U.S. People are always worried about their rights being trampled on. Their privacy being invaded. The latest one in the news is the full-body scanners at the airports. Now, personally, I have no negative feelings whatsoever about full body scans. If they want to see my innermost body workings, more power to them. I will not be responsible, however, if they gasp in horror and pitch over dead in a heart attack. As a matter of fact, I intend to wear a shirt that states clearly and simply "Enter At Your Own Risk."

I don't know what the big brouhaha is all about. I feel safer knowing that everyone's crotches and armpits are being explored. Other body openings are perfect for little mini-weapons just waiting to be used. I do have some suggestions for the airline companies to make it more appealing to those who find it degrading.

1. The obvious answer is to let them find alternate transportation. Perhaps a bicycle could be provided for those people who feel violated.
2. If the TSA people could have specialized agents for the scanning that would help. (I am thinking Richard Gere, Brad Pitt, the Chippendales, Calendar firemen, People's Sexiest Men of the Year.) Any guy that looks good in a Speedo would be okay for the women. And for the men, some Playboy bunnies, Hooter's girls, and anybody topless would be okay.
3. I know that I myself would plan on flying more often if Richard Gere was doing body searches. Maybe once a day or more.
4. If that plan does not seem feasible, then let's get x-ray technicians to the airports and have them do a body scan, print out how our health is, and give us a free check-up along with each trip. The best for me would be of course having Richard Gere do the scan and passing the information on to a technician who would then interpret it.
5. There are a lot of benefits to this type of security precautions. Not only will we be safer, we will be happier travelers.

Jennifer Grey

It really annoys me sometimes that I am not Jennifer Grey. I was watching some of her interviews and her dancing on DWTS and it occurs to me that she and I are very similar. Yet, she is winning accolades for her talent in dancing and I am not.

Well, to be quite fair, I am a klutzy dancer. I have a poor sense of balance and I am more likely to fall over on some of the fancy moves. And swinging me around in the air would probably not be the best thing for my back that has a rod implanted in it. And I do have a bad case of vertigo that would affect me.

And Jennifer Grey is very tiny and does not have a big protruding stomach. She can do real splits without hurting her crotch area and after flying all over the stage, she is still smiling and not dead.

It might seem to the uninitiated that we have little in common. Not true. First of all we are both women who liked Patrick Swayze a lot. We are both brunettes, although I have let my hair turn gray now. And our first names begin with "J."

A little more research and I am sure I could uncover some more information for you on how Jennifer Grey and I are similar. I think perhaps I will let her take over and determine our similarities. I can't do ALL the work!

Gas on Mars

George, my husband, likes to watch anything educational on TV. As for me, I don't really want to be educated in my spare time. I teach in a school all day and by the time I get home, I look forward to TV's best mindless drivel shows. I don't want to have to think.
However, George was explaining, in his own unique way, what he learned from his latest educational show and I have to tell you, it interested me a great deal. It seems that, now remember, this is all coming from George's memory. I am not ascertaining that it is scientific fact, because I did not watch the show. But it seems that scientists have discovered fresh methane gas on Mars. So what, you say?
Well, I'll tell you what. A good source of methane gas is, of course, fresh cow patties out in the pasture. It is the same gas that causes...well, farts.
So what does that lead me to believe? Lots of interesting theories.
There are cows on Mars.
Martians tend to be a bit gassy.
Martians eat a lot of beans, which means beans grow on Mars.
I am not sure that we should be thinking about going to Mars anymore. We have enough gas here on earth.
It is nice to know that we are not the only gassy beings in the solar system. Now I am suspicious about that dense layer of clouds around Venus. Venusians are probably farting up a storm there. Time will tell.

Away For the Weekend

George and I did something unusual for us. We went away for the weekend, up to Orlando to visit my son, Jeff and his beautiful girlfriend, Shannon. It was a relaxing and fun weekend. It started off with a big bang. I left my travel bag behind on the sofa at their house when we went out to eat and when we came home, Abbey, my grand-dog, had helped herself to several granola bars, cookies, an entire package of Skittles and a partridge in a pear tree. (Just kidding, but there was an awful lot of chewed paper on the rug.) We waited for the eventual barf-a-thon, or rampant diarrhea that was sure to occur but Abbey remained steadfast. Not even any gas. Amazing dog.
My son had just purchased a Jeep Wrangler with all the cool jeep stuff on it that guys drool over. Shannon and I sat in the back, with the top off (the top of the jeep, not our tops) and the wind whipped us into a frenzy on the highway. You could hear "Yee Hahs" from me a mile away as we tooled down the road.
Sometime during his late 20s our musical interests merged more than they ever had. On this trip, Jeff confessed that he actually like a lot of the 60s music, and one favorite of his was "Runaway" by Del Shannon. One of my all time favorites. I found myself interested in what he had playing from his i-pod. Particularly a "song" called "Detachable Penis." The back up singers repeat that phrase over and over during the song and so we all sang "Detachable Penis" in the jeep on the highway.
Of course a trip to Orlando was not complete without, you guessed it, Bubble Tea. Evidently someone in the course of history decided that a smoothie would taste better with a bunch of balls of tapioca dumped into it Black balls at that. The drink comes with this really wide straw so that you can sip the balls right up. So we had Bubble Tea. I ordered Mango, Shannon got Watermelon. Jeff for some reason ordered Green Tea Bubble Tea and George said he would have what Jeff had ordered.
Later, George confessed that the Green Bubble Tea tasted like grass.
I asked him why he ordered it.
"I didn't have my glasses on and couldn't read the menu. So I just got what Jeff got."
A lesson well learned. The grassy green bubble tea was not tasty and was dumped at some point.

Our trip was complete with a horsedrawn carriage ride in Mount Dora, Fl. It was a beautiful day. I could not help but reminisce with the driver about the Seinfeld episode where the horse had tremendous gas after eating a whole can of Beanarino. He had heard that story one too many times. I guess he thought it took out the romance of the trip.

More Punny Stuff

Today was a tough day. All of the schools in Broward County were on lockdown because of a threat posed by a phone call. I spent 3 hours with two fourth grade classes. At the end of the day, we still had kids who had not had lunch because the lockdown determined that we could not go out and go to the cafeteria. So it was challenging. So I determined that it was a day for puns. I need a little humor.

I have a few favorites here.

A cardboard belt is a waist of paper.

Contacts are easy to lose, so keep your eyes on them.

Police were called to a daycare where a three year old was resisting a rest.

Show me me a piano falling down a mineshaft and I'll show you A-flat minor.

What did the grape say when it got stepped on?
Nothing-but it let out a little whine.

A will is a dead giveaway.

Daylight Saving Time

In my quest for accomplishment, I always look forward to daylight saving time. I am gifted with an extra hour for each day. It's like a dream come true. And it leads me to visions of extraordinary productivity, at least on the first day.

In my book, "Wrinkles, Waistlines and Wet Pants," I actually examine the data of how leading a low-maintenance kind of Jeanne Kraus life can actually provide many extra hours of fun, frolic, and general carousing. Careful comparison of my maintenance lifestyle to those of a HMC (High Maintenance Chick) revealed some interesting data. My life yields an extra 66 hours and 30 minutes per week, compared to the HMC. In the average year, I can gain 3.445 extra hours. In ten years it swells to 34, 450 hours, which amounts to 1,435 extra days to play around with.

So my low maintenance lifestyle is a blessing I bestow upon myself. And daylight saving time, well, that is the icing on the cake. So today should be productive.

Unfortunately, some issues this morning have caused it to be a little less productive than I had hoped. The camera we rushed out and bought Friday night does not seem what we wanted at all, and so we have to return it today. In addition, I spent my extra hour trying to figure out how to send an email on a mailing list site, which is supposed to be so easy even a monkey can do it.

Add to that several errands, and the fact that I got a reminder call that I am due for a haircut appointment today (my one high maintenance allowance for myself) and my Sunday off is frittered away like seeds on a windy day. Oh well, there is always next weekend.

Halloween Went to the Dogs

My friend Trish called me on Halloween and asked us to go to the Dog Park with her and Nobu, her little dog. Oddly enough we live only 2 blocks from a dog park but have never been there with our 12 year old wiener dog. There is a good reason for that.

The story begins way back when Maggie, in the early bliss of puppyhood, suffered a traumatic event at a dog park. She was tiny, about 4 pounds soaking wet, and was innocently trotting down the sidewalk of Doggy Town. All of a sudden, she was accosted by a huge Rottweiler. It was a friendly Rottweiler, who obviously felt great maternal yearnings toward the tiny puppy. She picked her up in her cavernous mouth and carried her a brief distance before George, Maggie's panicked daddy, whisked Maggie away and wiped off all the slobber with his shirt.

After that, Maggie's time in the dog park was spent in George's arms, way out of the reach of other dogs. It seemed that they all wanted to sniff her, lick her, eat her, etc.

So Maggie had not been to a dog park in over 12 years.

We were getting ready to leave. George was in favor of leaving Maggie home. I disagreed.

"You've got to be kidding!" I exclaimed. "We're going to a dog park without our dog? How pathetic is that?"

George eyed Maggie. She knew some major decision about her future was being discussed. Her tail wagged and her eyes pleaded for...whatever it was.

George scooped her up and off we went. The dog park had a fenced off area for little dogs. We headed in there. Nobu and Trish were there and so were a dozen poodley type dogs, a pug and some mixed breeds.

Several of the dogs, being that it was Halloween, had on costumes. One dog seemed content to wear a bumblebee costume even with the little feelers on his head. He seemed unaware that he appeared to be a dork dog. Even Nobu had a devil costume on.

Dog society is quite interesting. Of course, Maggie remained in her daddy's arms. She watched canine life unfold from the safe height of the park bench we sat on. Nobu sniffed and lifted his leg on every leaf, every piece of grass he came in contact with. I watched intently and am quite certain there was no pee at all coming out, but he was still lifting his leg on everything. He was quit social, going all the way to the far end of the dog park to stick his nose in everyone's business. Trish ran after him, armed with a Publix brand poop bag.

Then there was Stud Muffin. One little poodle, probably about 3 pounds at the most, trotted past us a number of times. He was a well hung specimen, his balls probably 2/3 of his body weight. At least they kept him firmly anchored to the ground. We dubbed him Mr. Balls. My personal opinion was that I would have left his hair a little longer to conceal his genitals. Or maybe a fig leaf would work. But he knew....he was a major stud.

All hell broke loose. 7 fuzzy German Shepherd puppies caroused into the puppy yard. The activity level of the area zoomed to a new high. Unfortunately so did the poop content of the area, the owner not interested in cleaning up after her rollicking brood. They were cute little poop producers though.

We don't plan to wait till next Halloween to go to the dog park again. Maggie enjoyed sitting with the grownups, far above the snorting, sniffling butt-lickers she considered as commoners. George covered her eyes when she observed a gang-banging group of horny canines engaged in a major hump-a-thon. But Maggie had eyes only for Mr. Balls.

Halloween Candy

I am not a big fan of Halloween. Oh, I like to see the kids, especially the little tykes, dressed up in their costumes. And I enjoy the Halloween activities and festivities around our neighborhood but the Halloween candy is such a problem. This year I did my usual thing. I bought some candy that I knew I would not be tempted to eat. I would give it all away. If, by any chance, it looked like I would have some left over, I would give it all to the lucky late-comers.

Nothing worked out according to plan. I bought a big bag of miniature Tootsie Roll pops. They sat on the table near the door unopened for several days. On Halloween we went out for a bit and came home and got ready for our trick or treaters. There were none. NONE! The word was out that we were giving out cheesy little suckers I guess. I went to bed undisturbed, but yet certain that the minute my head touched the pillow, the doorbell would ring. Not so! However, I got up in the night and ate 7 of the little Tootsie Roll Pops, even an orange one.

The next night, I raided the bag again. George awoke to a battlefield of candy wrappers and sticky sticks. He looked at me quite sternly.

"We need to get rid of these Tootsie Roll Pops!"

I agreed. They were a hazard to my health. I took them to school where I teach the next day, and planned to pawn them off on someone. But who? I did not want to keep them and maybe nobody would want them either. Then I had a brilliant idea. Put them in someone else's mailbox and let them deal with them.

I had finally solved the problem. I went to my next meeting in the principal's office. Halfway through, in walked the teacher who had been gifted with the Tootsie Roll Pops. She did not want them either. She gave them to us for our meeting. In no time at all, they were put into a nice wicker bowl and we each had a lollipop. They are obviously stalking me.