Here are some recent searches that landed people at Finding the Funny. I think the fact that they found FTF with these funny searches is hilarious.
And, here they are in no particular order:
angela lansbury and her grandchildren
"departure door" salad
chrystallaketylertexas (all one word...)
8th grade promotion dresses 2011
bb guns rifle
fat hot crany (scary!)
period chocolate on the 17 day diet (I do hope this woman found the answers she was looking for.)
There were a couple of phrases that I won't disclose because they were rather disturbing. I hope that those people DID NOT find what they were after.
Anyhoo. These things struck me as funny on this fine day of April 25, 2012.
Enjoy the day that God has spread before you!
Tuesday, April 24, 2012
A cousin asked me not too long ago if I had any interests or hobbies. "Hmmm," I said, "Do I have any interests or hobbies?..." I was wishing that I could say things like "I just love to sail catamarans in the open sea" or "I raise Arabian horses" or "I'm a collector of ancient Egyptian art." Instead, I replied, "I just LOVE wrapping presents!" He shot me a look of curiosity. "I don't just wrap them. I WRAP them. It's like creating art to me! I take a picture of every gift that I wrap." "Oooh kay," he tentatively replied.
I'm guessing that "gifts" is my love language. I actually love giving them more than I love receiving them. There's the thinking of the perfect thing. There's the purchase of the perfect thing. And then...there's the WRAPPING of the perfect thing.
|a cookbook and a labeler|
|some sort of "girl stuff"|
|a wedding shower gift|
|a gift for a baby boy who was adopted in Africa|
More to come!
Sunday, April 22, 2012
Yesterday, Mimi (86), Leonard (86), and their designated driver, Mark (92) went on a little errand. Picture Meems and Leonard toddling all the way to the lobby from their respective Raider Ranch apartments, ambling out to Mark's car which I'm envisioning as a mile long American-made luxury sedan, and slowly, but surely, folding their creaky bodies into the car. And, that's just the first 10 minutes of the errand.
Mom tells me that Mark is a "real good driver." Seems like Leonard has mentioned something about how slowly Mark drives. Either way, I don't like knowing about these errands until after the fact. One less thing to worry about.
Mark slowly pulled out of the Raider Ranch parking lot onto 43rd St. and inched the purring vehicle up to the light at Milwaukee. According to Mapquest, there is a Stripes Convenience Store 1 min./.63 miles from the Ranch. Just a block and a half north on Milwaukee. Putt. Putt. Putt. Putt. Putt.
At Stripes, before they unfolded their little bodies and slowly pulled themselves out of the sedan using every handle and sturdy surface available, they sat still for a minute like they always do. The elderly never just jump out of a car. There is always something to discuss. Here is how I imagine the conversation went...
Leonard: Unbuckle your seatbelt, Helen. We're here.
Mimi: Is this Stripes? (They only went on one errand yesterday, so she could have ruled out the cleaners or the grocery store.)
Mark: Yes. This is Stripes. (Mark is a man of few words.)
Mimi: Is this where they sell lottery tickets?
Leonard: That's what the sign says. "Lottery Tickets Available Here." I guess that means you can get 'em here.
Mimi: I can't find the seatbelt buckle. (Mark slowly reaches over and released the buckle for her.)
Like a little band of turtles, they perambulated into the store with Mark and Leonard holding onto Meem's elbows "just in case."
At the counter...
Mimi (a little too loudly because she doesn't think that shop keepers or department store salespeople can hear very well): WE NEED LOTTERY TICKETS! HOW MUCH ARE THEY?! (mumble. mumble. mumble.) I WANT THE ONE THAT WINS THE MOST MONEY. I WANT TO PAY MY GRANDDAUGHTER'S TUITION TO BAYLOR. (mumble. mumble. mumble.) TWO DOLLARS? I'LL TAKE ONE!
Each adventurer bought one Powerball ticket for $2.00. According to Leonard, they let the computer pick their numbers.
On the way home from church today, Mom reminded Leonard that they needed to check the winning numbers to see if any of them had won the jackpot of $94,000,000. What? They didn't check BEFORE church?!
As I was kissing Mom goodbye, she told me that she sure hoped she won the money. "I'm going to pay Kelly's way to Baylor. Then, I'm going to send the rest of the money to my brother (who has Parkinson's disease) so he can get the best care money can buy!" (Lucky brother! The "leftover" lottery money would provide the best care money can buy on the beach of his private island.)
There was no mention of springing for our ever-growing debt to Baylor University times two. No mention of buying me a dream house. No mention of replacing our two very tired vehicles (see: BU tuition X 2). Nope. I would get squat. Her only living child. I'm not bitter.
When I asked mom about the distribution of wealth and my dream house she replied just as serious as a judge, "But I thought you already HAD your dream house." Yes, Meems. According to 98% of the people on the planet our home is a dream home based on the mere fact that it has both electricity and running water. According to her "anticipated" lottery millions, not so much. "Hmmm. A bigger kitchen would be fun," I replied. I mean...it's the thought that counts.
I can see it now. A month from now, the State of Texas will be waiting for the person who bought the winning ticket at the Stripes on Milwaukee Avenue in Lubbock, Texas to come forward to claim the prize. And, Mom will have no idea which purse she left it in.
I check your blog every morning, and you haven't written in forever.
Hope you are okay and just not in the mood to compose.
Boys doing good? Alan doing good? Your mom? You? How's Kelly?
The words above were part of an email I received yesterday from a precious, precious friend who lives in Dallas. I guess I'd lost track of the blogosphere time and space continuum. It has been a while since I've either had the time to blog or had something to share.
At Christmas, if I don't receive a Christmas card from one of the "regulars," my mind "goes there." I imagine that someone in their family is sick with a terminal disease, a divorce has rocked their world, or their home of 25 years was blown off of the planet. It never occurs to me that the high price of stamps or accumulated Christmas stress could have been the reason for skipping the annual holiday greeting.
So, in case you're wondering:
- I am OK!
- I have been really busy helping with a dear friend's daughter's wedding.
- I had a couple of other big events to tend to.
- I added the Bejeweled app to my iPhone. (Not to worry. I deleted it on Friday.)
- I've been kind of lacking in the blog topic department lately.
- The boys are great!
- Alan is great!
- The Meems is doing great!
- Kelly (niece) is doing great!!
Thank goodness Meems and Leonard ran an errand yesterday. See next blog coming asap!
Tuesday, April 3, 2012
Let's see...where was I? Oh, yes! I had begun my quest to find a middle name. Well, not just find it...to have it ceremoniously bestowed upon me legally. I began to pester my mother who thought that the idea was somewhat ridiculous.
"Mom, will you pleeeeeeeeeease help me get a middle name?!
"How on earth would we possibly do that?!"
Then, I went for the maternal jugular: "I don't know but...that's ALL I want for my 20th birthday!!! I don't want ANYTHING else!!! Nothing at all!! Not one shoe! Not one polyester pant suit! Just a middle name!!!"
That did the trick as I figured it would. Call in Uncle Billy. He knew some legal stuff because he was a CPS caseworker.
"Well, you'll have to get a lawyer to petition the court for a name change. Then, you'll have to go before a judge to make it legal."
Huh?! The process sounded daunting and expensive to say the least. I was a tad discouraged but extremely determined. I would have a middle name if I had to pay an attorney in installments of $5.00 a month for the rest of my life! (We were not rich people.)
Slowly, with Uncle Bill's help, the plan began to unfold. He talked to one of his judge buddies (juddy?) who was happy to help me out. All I needed was an attorney to submit some sort of paperwork. Hmmmm. What to do? What to do?
Aha! Travis Kitchens! He was my brother's high school friend. And...he had just graduated from Baylor LAW school, ie, he worked cheap. He was more than happy to help me because he really needed the 50 bucks that he charged us.
The next step was to choose a middle name. That turned out to be the hard part. I polled my friends and was given suggestions of big names like Suzanne, Michelle, and Nicole. (I had just begun dating Alan, and Nicole was his suggestion. I almost went with it because I really liked Mr. Alan Lackey.) Suggestions of short names like Ann, Leigh, and Lynn were put forth. Really? Carolyn Lynn?
There was the dream of someday having a lovely middle name. It was fun to dream. But, this was really going to happen! It was like having a magic lamp but just one wish. I had to get this right. I began to stress out. I filled sheets of paper with possibilities.
Carolyn Michelle Kinzbach
(I can't really explain it, but I just wasn't a "Michelle.")
(I can't really explain it, but I just wasn't a "Michelle.")
Carolyn Nicole Kinzbach Lackey
(just in case)
Carolyn Adelle Kinzbach
("Cack?" Uh, that's a big NO.)
Carolyn Suzanne Kinzbach
(a frontrunner because S looks great in a monogram)
(a frontrunner because S looks great in a monogram)
I happened to be taking a great English class that semester. I don't remember which one exactly, but we talked about Queen Elizabeth for a while. So I tried it.
Carolyn Elizabeth Kinzbach
("Keck" wasn't awesome, but it sure beat "Cack.")
Hmm. Sounded good. Regal, in fact. It had lots of letters...I mean...as long as we were paying for it, I wanted to get Mom's money's worth.
And so it was that on March 3, 1977, I stood before the Honorable Judge Bill Logue in his chambers to legally become Carolyn Elizabeth Kinzbach. I had to raise my right hand and swear that I wasn't trying to evade creditors or the law. Mom snapped pictures as I declared that I didn't owe any money and hadn't broken any laws. Travis Kitchens stood by Judge Logue's side looking all official in his Lawyer Man 3-piece suit. Also in attendance: my mother, my sister, Uncle Billy, and one Alan Loyd Lackey.
|"I hereby declare that you are now and forevermore|
Sure enough, in 1979 I added "Lackey" to my name.
I am now and forevermore
Carolyn Elizabeth Kinzbach Lackey
And that, my dearies, is why to this very day, I sign all of my correspondence with cel.
Just tryin' to get Mom's $50's worth.
Sunday, April 1, 2012
When my brother came howling into this world, my parents held him up high before the pride and announced, "This is our FIRSTBORN! A SON! We shall name him CHARLES...KIRK...KINZBACH!" Roars of approval echoed across the savannah as the word spread. "The FIRSTBORN! A SON! CHARLES...KIRK...KINZBACH!" The joy of the parents lifted up into the cool April breeze and circled high above their glorious male offspring.
CHARLES KIRK KINZBACH
His very name paid homage to his father.
WILLIAM CHARLES KINZBACH
Three years pass and lo, my mother discovered that she was again with child. "Ho hum," said she, "Another big belly. Another stiff round of anesthesia when the time comes." And so it was that on a bright March day in the early afternoon a baby girl was born to my mother who was punch-drunk in her "twilight sleep." Alas, this she-child came forth from my mother's womb with skin as yellow as Miss Elphaba's was green. A benevolent donor was called in, and the sallow Rh babe was transfused with his blood from the top of her little downy head to the tip of her tiny toes.
Somehow in all of the hubbub brought on by the talk of jaundice and the tangle of needles and tubes, no name was immediately bestowed upon this child. It wasn't until the day after her traumatic birth that the question was raised. "What name shall be given this golden child?" "Hmmm," said my mother. "Uhhhhh," my father. Together they pondered for a few minutes before announcing the name of their girl-child.
"She shall be called Carolyn!" they declared choosing a name out of thin air that had absolutely no familial link whatsoever.
"Is it C-A-R-O-L-Y-N? Not C-A-R-O-L-I-N-E?" asked the nurse making sure that they weren't forgetting the more feminine and slightly southern form of the name.
"Nope. C-A-R-O-L-Y-N." They stated.
"What about her middle name?" the nurse continued.
"That's all. Just Carolyn. Carolyn Kinzbach. That will do nicely," they assured her.
"Just Carolyn Kinzbach," she parroted so that they could hear how the name sounded coming out of the mouth of a stranger.
So it came to be that I was given no middle name when I was born. As I grew from babe to child to adolescent to adult, I had to bear the indignity of being middle-nameless.
"What is your middle name?" an inquisitive mind would want to know.
"I don't have one," I would say with a sigh longing to be able to answer with a simple "Kay" or "Suzanne" or "Jo."
"Ahhh, come on! It can't be that bad! Tell me what it is!" the inquisitive mind would insist.
"Nope. I'm not kidding. My parents did not give me a middle name when I was born," I would explain.
"So what are your initials...just CK?" the incredulous mind would query.
"Yes. Just CK," I would quietly answer waiting for the moment to pass. The subject to change. Sigh. Most of the time a game would commence. The guessing of the awful, unrepeatable middle name my parents must have saddled me with. "Hortense?! Ethel?! Edna?! (my maternal grandmother's FIRST name) Mildred?! Ursula?!"
My high school diploma looked rather incomplete with a simple "Carolyn Kinzbach" centered lonely on the page. Then, came Baylor. I remember standing in the registrar's office my freshman year. I don't know why I was there, but I do remember what happened.
"Name?" asked counter lady.
"Carolyn Kinzbach," I said getting ready for it.
"Full name?" she said changing the question in case I just didn't get it.
"Carolyn Kinzbach" I stated enunciating a bit more clearly.
"What is your middle name?" she said with a hint of frustration.
"I don't have one," I replied matching her level of frustration.
"So, it's just Carolyn Kinzbach? That's all?" she pushed.
"Yep. That's it and that's all," I said staring into her eyes in search of some sort of glimmer of understanding.
"OK. So it's C-A-R-O-L-Y-N-(N-M-N)-K-I-N-S-B-A-C-K," she continued.
"That's K-I-N-Z-B-A-C-H. It's German. What the heck is N-M-N?" I asked squinting my eyes a wee bit.
"N-M-N? That's the abbreviation for No Middle Name."
It was then and there that I began my quest in search of a middle name.
To be continued...
*This story, while basically true, has been painted by the brush of a histrionic middle child.
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