Cerebral Darts

The Bear never seems to be without something to say that makes Daddy laugh.

Yesterday I was sitting in a chair minding my own business when I felt a poke in the back of my head.

"OW!"

"Did I get your Brain?"

Everybody Loves Ramen

In our family we have some real doozies when it comes to conversations making no sense whatsoever. A prime example happened yesterday. The Bear, DramaMama and I were in our bedroom preparing the Bear for bed. Everyone Loves Raymond was playing in the background, then this string of sentences happened:

Me: Time for bed Bear.

Bear: I'm Hungry, I want some of Clinton's noodles

Daddy heads off to the kitchen to prepare the noodles.

DramaMama: He means "Ramen".

Bear: His name is RAVE-UND!

...

So in the matter of a few seconds we went from bedtime to a very strange conglomeration of Ramen noodles, Raymond Barone and Raven Simone.

The Bart Simpson School of Yard Care

The Bear and I were laboring out in the Jungle aka our backyard on Saturday. We were having a family party at our house later in the day, so we were trying to make the yard look like someone other than Billy Bob and Momma Lucille lived there.

You may recall a post a long time ago about me pulling down our dead apple tree without an axe or a saw. Well... There were still several branches still encumbering my vineyard so to speak, so we set to cleaning them up.

Since the branches and sticks were so old, and properly baked in the harsh Arizona sun, they were very brittle which made it easy to bust them up and put in the dumper.

As we were thus engaged, the Bear hollered, "BREAKY BREAKY".

Fine Poemage From Drama

I received this lovely poem from my wife today:

My hair is a mess
My clothes, they are dirty.
But one thing I know is
You still think I'm Purty!

Inna Blogga Davida

Hey, everyone!

I want to introduce you to my younger sister's new blog http://musings-of-a-domestic-goddess.blogspot.com .

This is the sister I punched in the mouth, knocking out her loose tooth. The tooth cut my finger (I still have the scar). When she went running to Mom, I beat her there and told her Inna (her current nickname) bit me. She got in trouble.

This is the sister who out of sheer meanness I would not let open the garage door. I held on and pulled it down. The opposing forces twisted the door off one of the runners, and it crashed down on her head. She was loopy for awhile. Since she was out of it, I told Mom and Dad that the garage door just fell off the thing and smacked her. I left out a few key details.

This is the sister who got the raw end of the deal when I ate only part of an apple and threw it in the garbage. Mom found it and confronted both of us. She carried out a scientific investigation by comparing the bites to our teeth. She determined that Inna's teeth matched the bites better than mine, and she was forced to finish the apple.

This is the sister that I hung out with as much as I could when she was in jr. high and high school. For some reason back then I guess I liked her or something. So I would drive her and her friends around a lot.

This is the sister I taught how to fill the gas tank in her new car, because she had never done it before.

This is the sister that I felt no man on earth was worthy to marry. As she grew up, I often pictured myself beaning some poor guy for being mean to her.

This is the sister I have irritated beyond words because of my internet business. She does a wonderful job handling the orders and processing credit cards. She handles a lot of the customer service stuff which I know stinks. She has been doing this for several years, and I hope she knows how much I appreciate all she does.

This is the sister that I feel like I have grown apart from (again because of the business), and wish that I could fix the situation.

So when you have a few minutes, drop by and say hi, and perhaps she'll give you her side of the story. I doubt she remembers a few of these episodes, she was pretty young.

Everyone... Inna. Inna... Everyone.

A Dumb Question, a Great Answer

Katie Couric, while interviewing a Marine sniper, asked:
"What do you feel when you shoot a terrorist?"

The Marine shrugged and replied: "Recoil."

Why All Dogs Go to Heaven