Be My Guest!

I am so honored to be Penny Wilson’s very first Guest Blogger! Please go on over and check out her blog. She’s a great writer and was recently published here https://introvertdear.com/news/introvert-loved-one/ Be sure to check out her WordPress blog here https://pennywilsonwrites.com

Be My Guest!

Please welcome my First Ever Guest Blogger!  I’m thinking of making this a regular event on my blog.  So if you have an interest in doing a Guest Post for this blog, please contact me using the Contact Form here and we will see if we can put something together.

Linda over at Everyone Else Has the Best Titles has graciously offered to do my First Ever Guest Post!  She is sharing a touching story here about a family pet.  I’ve closed the comments here.  Please visit Linda’s blog to leave your comments. Please enjoy:

Ripley’s Believe It Or Not!

Bill was driving the truck along a dirt road when he spotted him.  He whistled and the kitten came to meet him.  He went to all of the nearby homes to see who might be missing a kitten. No one claimed him. The poor thing was abandoned in the woods and was hungry and thin, but he wasn’t scared.  All I knew was that Bill drove into the driveway with a kitten.  Little did I know that this was the be the beginning of a beautiful relationship.

When I saw him, I was speechless.  Bill is always the voice of reason when I want to adopt the entire animal world, but this time he was the one who was smitten…with a kitten!

We named the little guy Ripley after a nearby town and once he was fed and cared for he grew into a lovely healthy kitten.  He was somewhat unusually marked with a white background and tan patches.

At the time, I had a lot of fish tanks.  I was in love with tropical fish and, like I do with most of my interests, I went completely overboard!  I had a lot of tanks.  Bill would pick Ripley up and do what I called The Fish Tank Tour.  The two of them would go from tank to tank so that Ripley could see what was going on in the fishy worlds behind the glass.

Man and cat were inseparable.  Until Ripley disappeared.  It was only about a month after we got him that he went missing.  It was a couple of days after that when we found his body.  He had been struck by a car.  I was so upset and Bill was inconsolable.  There were a lot of tears shed as we buried him.

It was a three-day weekend and we spent it mourning.  It was amazing how attached we had become to that little furball in such a short time.  We spent the rest of the weekend half-heartedly doing chores around the house.  Neither of us felt like doing anything else.  For some reason, I had to go to the basement to get something.  I opened the door and I saw a creature coming up the stairs.  It was Ripley!

I was dreaming.  I had to be dreaming.  I thought I was seeing a ghost.  I was sobbing with happiness and couldn’t believe my eyes.  Bill was upstairs and heard me sobbing. He came running, thinking I must be wrong.  When he saw Ripley, he started crying, too!

It wasn’t a dream.  Ripley came marching up the steps and nuzzled me when I picked him up.  We fed him and sat there in wonder.  How could this be?  We buried him two days before.  I saw the cat we buried!  It was definitely him.  The size and the markings were identical.  Had he come back from the grave?  Bill said, “If this is Ripley, then who the heck did we bury?”

The only explanation we could come up with is that the cat we buried was one of Ripley’s littermates.  That poor thing was never rescued and ended up crossing the busy road and getting hit.  Nothing else made sense.

As the months went by Ripley became a big part of our household.  He was the most friendly cat we’d ever met.  He got along great with our dogs.  We had two other cats at the time and one of them was very mean to Ripley.  From the time Ripley first arrived, Toby made his life miserable every chance he got and Ripley took it all.  He never lashed out, he never complained.  Then Ripley outgrew Toby and the tables turned.  Karma was on Ripley’s side then!

During one of Ripley’s vet visits, it was found that he had a heart murmur that was pretty significant.  The vet said that it was possible that he would grow out of it, but he had the potential to die of a heart attack at any time.  Bill was crestfallen, and so was I.  After all of this, it was possible that we might lose him well before his time.

As it turned out, that was exactly what happened.  A year and a half later, we found him after he had obviously had his heart attack.  There he was, stretched out, with a mouse in his mouth.

Linda’s Bio:

Hey, I’m mainepaperpusher and if you like this story please join me over at Everyone Else Has the Best Titles  My blog is based on humor and you can find stories from my past that are often embarrassing.  I also host a series called Guest in Jest where guest bloggers submit humorous pieces that are published every Friday.  Check out one of those posts and you will find out how to participate.  My followers are also encouraged to submit fun URLs and quotes.  I like it when my blog is a two-way street.  So come on over.  We have a really good time and everyone is welcome!

Penny Wilson Writes

Please welcome my First Ever Guest Blogger!  I’m thinking of making this a regular event on my blog.  So if you have an interest in doing a Guest Post for this blog, please contact me using the Contact Form here and we will see if we can put something together.

Linda over at Everyone Else Has the Best Titles has graciously offered to do my First Ever Guest Post!  She is sharing a touching story here about a family pet.  I’ve closed the comments here.  Please visit Linda’s blog to leave your comments.  Please enjoy:

Ripley’s Believe It Or Not!

Bill was driving the truck along a dirt road when he spotted him.  He whistled and the kitten came to meet him.  He went to all of the nearby homes to see who might be missing a kitten. No one claimed him. The poor thing was…

View original post 791 more words

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Guest in Jest #11 Rhapsody Bohème

A shitty affair

I’m telling you right now, be forewarned that this post will not be like my regular posts. It will be a horse of a different color and you have never heard words like these come out of my mouth. Some content won’t be ladylike, it may have you laughing out loud, and yet at others it might be downright shitty. Plus it’s a long one. All pun is fully intended and I might as well go all out. And there we go, it already has started. Welcome to my first colonoscopy. Something pretty private right, but I’m going to share it anyways. It was a good thing that I decided to take the day prior off. I had received various warnings of what to expect and I could have not done it while working. One person told me that the prep was the worst, that I would gag and have trouble getting all the liquids down. A few others who knew, had a different theory altogether. Myself, I thought the IV would be the worst since nobody ever finds my veins. I knew I can handle the prep and I would be out for the actual procedure, so the needle was most likely my biggest worry. But let’s just start with the morning prior to the procedure.

By 10 AM, I ate what felt like my last supper. From there on out, I would be on a liquid diet that included Popsicles, (which I didn’t have), gelatin, (not a fan, but came to love it after starvation) chicken or beef broth, water, tea, soda (a thing I usually don’t drink) and that was pretty much it. I was hungry all day, even lightheaded and dizzy at times. By 5 PM I mixed 64 ounces of water with two packages of Gatorade. At 6 PM the entire bottle of powder solution (prep) was added to the yellow Gatorade mix. Here we go, time to drink up, and the first 32 ounces, four glasses, 8 ounces each, every 15 minutes, was waiting for me. Surprisingly the prep was of pleasant flavor and not at all how the one person had described it. Perhaps I had received the updated, new and improved version. Instant relief hit me, well not literally and no pun there, but it was in a different sense, and phew….I felt lucky leaving the first hurdle behind me.

Nothing happened for a while and it wasn’t until two hours later that I finally ran to the bathroom. Yes I said “ran”. Little did I know that this was the first of many trips to follow and a colonoscopy prep maybe just the thing you need to find out just how full of shit you really are. All pun intended. The prep worked it’s way through my system and wanted no part of me. I never had anything leave my body with such high speed velocity as on this day. Well ok, let’s just leave the gross part right there and you don’t need a visual. But, oops, pardon me, have I mentioned that I was glad to be home alone? Already vulnerable, at least I was left to make fun of myself.

I was beginning to worry about bedtime and if I should make an adult size diaper out of some sheets or some material that I could wrap around me. There was almost no prior warning and no time to waste when the urge came to visit the toilet God. Nobody had forewarned me about that, but in the end everything was OK and I slept a few short hours. 6 AM came and the rest of the 32 ounces of prep was waiting for me regardless of my system already being clear. Yellow Gatorade was exiting my body the same way it was entering. It looked unchanged having made the journey of passing through my body and was just what we wanted. Over the next hour I would drink four more 8 ounce glasses until all the prep was gone. I waited as long as I could, letting the prep do its work, before heading to the shower. It was then that it became apparent as to why the prep kit included “Tushy wipes” and I had a feeling that they would come in handy after the shower, should I have to go again. I dressed and off to the clinic it was with my escort and my driver in tow. A requirement as I would be incapacitated to drive myself. The excitement was building, what two fantastic days off, I thought.

Fast-forward, a few legalities in the office signing that the $2000 procedure would be my responsibility if my insurance doesn’t pay, (really) and it’s finally my turn. Yeah. The nurse calls my name, escorts me to the back and hands me a clear cup while soliciting Urin in order to perform a pregnancy test. What? Next I strip down to nothing while being instructed to leave the gown wide open in the back, don’t tie it we need unobstructed access. On my Gurney, the entire medical team which consists of three people makes an appearance to review my medical history and start the dreaded IV. Events and occurrences are read off to me while another feels my arm in the hopes of detecting a vein. No, wait a minute, I never had my gallbladder removed, leaving everybody stumped and shrugging their shoulders. Has somebody stolen my identity and my medical history? Who could be jealous of that! Apparently it’s no big deal and I have no idea if it was ever corrected or if I still exist without a gallbladder in some medical file in the universe. One quick prick and the IV is in, I’m relieved and if this was the worst, I would be in the clear. I’m prepped and I’m ready to go, just waiting. The nurse peaks in and I inquire if I should plan a baby shower. She turns to me, eyes wide open, asking how I knew she was planing to become pregnant. She thinks I’m one to predict the future and while my intuitions are strong, I was talking about my own pregnancy test, I just did.

I hear panting through the thin curtain divider. Another nurse stops at the bed next to me while asking the man to scoot up in his bed and comments about his blood pressure being 200/120. The Dr stops and the man is beyond nervous and frightened about the procedure. Doc, tries to put him at ease before peaking over to my side, “Awe she is ready to go” he says and it is decided that I would go first to give the man time to calm down and stabilize his condition.

Now, next to my gurney, he asks if I have a living will or directive. There is always a chance that the intestines lining could get torn, but he ensures me that he will take his time. Thanks Doc, 👍🏼 I guess, way to comfort me and even though I’m not like the poor man next to me, naked and afraid, I still ain’t thrilled to be here either. No wonder the guy to my right is freaking out.

Here we go, and before I can dwell on it too much longer, the oxygen is in my nose and wheeled into the procedure room I go. I have to state my birthday and someone notices that it was only a few days ago. I said yeah thought I’d try something different this year, belated birthday present to myself. “Well aren’t you the party animal, we’ll just invite you every year from now on” someone from the three people team says. Pleasure but no thanks I say and this year is special. Someone else responds by saying “Well you went all out, this year”. Literally and I’m all out of it alright. What a shitty business that was I say. Everyone is rolling and it’s a party in the procedure room with all pun fully intended about the shitty affair. I wonder how many times this happens that there is loud laughter coming from the operating room, as my mind flashes back to the man next to me in the waiting room.

Next thing I know it’s lights out I wake up in the recovery room. I remember the nurse reminding me to take deep breaths as I forget to breathe and the machine monitoring my vitals is making alarming sounds. Every other minute she peaks around the corner, taunting me to breathe deeply while reminding me that I wouldn’t go home until my oxygen stabilizes. I don’t really care, I just wanna sleep. Apparently the doctor who performed the procedure and which official title I don’t know, was there as well to talk to me about the results. I have given him the lovely nickname of “Booty pirate” by now as I often name people and animals I encounter. I guess he has found it’s way into my inner circle, (haha, more pun) thorough my butt and I’m grateful that nothing has torn and that I’m alive. I can’t remember for the life of me that I talked to him and God knows what I said. But hopefully “Thank you very much” dear Booty Pirate comes to mind.

Everything is well and the results are good. A small cyst that appears to be normal and no signs and symptoms of my booty being violated in any way. Life is good and the morale of this story is that no matter how shitty life can get, there is always fun to be had and a party to be lived.

Sorry, no pictures on this one 😉   Rhapsody Bohème

 

Please join us in our Guest of Jest series.

Here are the rules:

  1. Give us some info about your blog.  Make sure to add a link to it.
  2. Write up something amusing.  It doesn’t have to be “laugh out loud” funny, but a bit of humor would be great.
  3. Pictures optional, but encouraged.
  4. The post can be one that has been posted before.

The piece can be anything that is humorous.  A story, a recollection, even something as simple as a joke.

Send your submission to Linda at mainepaperpusher@yahoo.com and I’ll pop you right in the schedule.

C’mon, you know you want to!

The featured image was created by Silas at  My weird, crazy and mundane life Journal 

Guest in Jest and Weekly Request

This week’s Guest in Jester is Rhapsody Boheme

 

This is where I start my shameless begging:

 

Please submit your guest posts to mainepaperpusher@yahoo.com and they will be published in order of submission every Friday here at Everybody Else Has the Best Titles
Here are the rules:
  1. Give us some info about your blog.  Make sure to add a link to it.
  2. Write up something amusing.  It doesn’t have to be “laugh out loud” funny, but a bit of humor would be great.
  3. Pictures optional, but encouraged.
  4. The post can be one that has been posted before.
The piece can be anything that is humorous.  A story, a recollection, even something as simple as a joke.

 

C’mon, you know you want to!

Humph! Day #9

When I found out that a number of my posts were buried away in the archives rather than published in order, the first word that came out of my mouth was Humph!!! I decided I would reincarnate some of my old posts in a regular weekly series and I’d call it Humph! Day.  What better day of the week should I have Humph! Day?  Wednesday, of course.

The Rice Racist

My husband Bill is a health nut.  He reads everything he can get his hands on about food.  Mostly he wants to know what the latest research says he should be eating.  Those “rules” change often, but the latest one is a doozy!

Bill had read an article stating that rice has high levels of arsenic.  However, rice from India, Thailand, and California did not have as much.  So the other night we had the server at our favorite Thai place check the origin of their rice.  Our faithful waitperson came back with the info.  He said they used a couple of types of rice.  One was from Thailand and, he proudly proclaimed, “the brown rice is from the good old US of A!”  I saw the look in Bill’s eyes and I knew what was coming.  “What state in the US?”

The server blinked, looked confused, and then headed back to the kitchen. He was back in a flash.  Before he even reached our table he announced for all to hear “Arkansas!”  I could see by the look on Bill’s face that he was sorely disappointed.  Being the healthy guy he is, brown rice was the only type he would ever eat.  To find out that his favorite rice was from one of the most arsenic-laden rice states was a blow.

We eat at that Thai restaurant frequently, which is probably why the server was willing to go on a rice fact-finding mission for us.  Now Bill needed to make some decisions regarding his starch choices there.  I knew it was a lost cause, but on the way home I tried to give some helpful suggestions:

Question:  Maybe noodles would be nice?   Answer:  No, they are made with processed flour!

Question:  What about rice noodles, they’re good!  Answer:  No, they use white rice for that and who knows where THAT rice came from?

Question:  What if you had them use the “safe” Thai rice and you could just eat a little of it?  Answer:  It’s white!!!

It must be terrible to be a rice racist.  Being married to one has its challenges, too.

We Regret The Error

These are great. Language is a tricky thing sometimes!

Learn Fun Facts

Omitting a single letter can change the meaning of a statement, as the following sentences from the old periodicals illustrate (the words with a missing letter are in italics):

  • “The conflict was dreadful, and the enemy was repulsed with considerablelaughter.”
  • “Robert Jones was yesterday brought before the sitting Magistrate, on a charge of having spokenreasonat the Barleymow public-house.”
  • “In consequence of the numerous accidents occasioned by skaiting on the Serpentine River, measures are taking to put atopto it.”
  • “When Miss Leserve, late of Covent Garden Theatre, visited the ‘Hecla,’ she was politely drawn up the ship’s side by means of ahair.”
  • “At the Guildhall dinner, none of the poultry was eatable except theowls.”
  • “A gentleman was yesterday brought up to answer a charge of havingeatena hackney-coachman for having demanded more than his fare; and another was accused of…

View original post 24 more words

The Paper Tiger

 

I used to work for a paper company.  My office was on site at the mill.  Above you will see the view I had of the pulp mill if I swiveled around in my desk chair.  The building from which this was taken is pretty darned big, too.  Though it is impressive as a whole, this story culminates in the tiny square building between the parking lot and the road.  That is what we called the “guard shack,” because that was command central for the mill guards, but we’ll get to that when the time comes.  First a little background.  Bear with me.

Many years ago my position at this company was that of an inside sales rep.  Brokers would call looking to buy paper in the size they specified.  The paper came in huge rolls that weighed tons, but the width was variable.  They could be anywhere from 16″ wide and 40″ in diameter, up to 108″ wide and 50″ diameter.  The size depended on the press and the job they were going to do.   This mill was special because it had a proprietary process.  People weren’t even allowed on the machine floor unless they were escorted by employees.

Anyhow, we didn’t sell to the presses, we sold to brokers who are called merchants in the paper biz.  Think of the TV show The Office.  The folks at Dunder Mifflin were paper merchants.  My job was to take their orders and work with the people who scheduled the machines to get it made and delivered on time.

Enough background!  Suffice it to say, we got to know these merchants really well.  We talked to the same people often, and sometimes daily.  We knew about their kids and their interests.  Often they became true friends.

You can imagine how upset I was when the Vice President of one of these merchant companies told me that Jay had died.  Jay and I had bonded.  We joked and had fun and sold a hell of a lot of paper.  The VP said that Jay knew he had cancer for months but didn’t want any of his business contacts to know.  And then he laughed.  It was all a prank and I was sitting there in tears.  I vowed that one day I would get him.

When I finally talked to Jay and made sure he was ok, he wasn’t surprised that his VP had done that.  That guy was well known for his practical jokes.  He’d played so many of them at his own company that his warehouse guys got back at him by filling his convertible with packing peanuts.  Oh, how I would have loved to have been there!  But back to my revenge.

My chance didn’t come for a few years.  The VP came with a group to visit the mill.  It might have been a few years, but I hadn’t forgotten.  I told the VP I was going to get him.  Every chance I got, I told him that disaster was about to befall him.  He knew why, too!  I figured that just telling him I was out for blood was enough.  He would worry and wonder and I wanted exactly that!  I wanted him to squirm.

Of course, it was just the opposite way around.  The VP taunted me the whole time he was there.  All good-natured, on both sides, but still I remembered.  One of his taunts was about the proprietary part of the paper mill.  See?  I told you I’d get around to that stuff eventually.  He knew that he wasn’t allowed to go to a certain portion of the machine.  He knew that cameras were forbidden on the machine floor.  Just before his tour, he laughed and showed me a camera he had in his jacket pocket.  He told me he intended to take some pics and sell them to our competition.  He was just joking and I just shook my head and tagged along for the tour.

The tour was uneventful, the group was awed by the size of the machines and they stayed right where they belonged and no pictures were taken.  Thank goodness he was only joking in spite of the fact that he had the camera in his pocket.

The bunch of them came back to the office before heading out for dinner with my department head.  The VP looked at me and was smirking.  He knew he’d gotten through all of this and I had been bluffing.  As he went down the elevator I was ticked off that I’d missed my chance, but I was happy knowing that he spent the whole time watching his back.  Then I had a sudden inspiration.

I called the guard shack.  Yup, that little building up there in the picture.  I could see through the window of the shack pretty well and I knew who was working that day.  We called him Sarge because of his demeanor.  He came across as gruff and about as hard-assed as they come.  When he wanted to, he had the look of a prison guard who was pissed off.  He loved me and I was sure he would do me a favor.

I rushed to the phone and called down.  Luckily Sarge answered.  I told him that I needed him to stop the guy in the blue shirt and VERY gruffly demand that he give up his camera because he had been seen taking forbidden pictures of the machine.  He said sure, he’d be happy to do that for me.

I went to the window and I saw the VP, along with my department manager, walk up the road to the guard shack.  I watched as they walked in and I could see through the big glass window.  All I could see was the back of the VP, but that was enough.  I saw him shake his head no.  Then his arms came up gesturing wildly.  He took the camera out of his pocket and handed it over.  I saw my department head come forward in an attempt to help, but just as that was happening I called Sarge.  I asked to speak to the VP.  Sarge handed the phone to him and said: “Linda wants to talk to you.”

All I said was “Gotcha!”

 

 

Guest in Jest #10 Being Aunt Debbie

Dad’s Chicken

Two days ago, Dad and I went to Springfield. I had an appointment with an Orthopedic Doctor and Dad went along for moral support. We had a nice lunch at Chili’s, although we seem more and more disappointed every time we eat there. Ice tea alone, cost us over $5.00, for just 2 of us! Anyway, I digress.

We were on the way home and had about 30 miles to go. Stopped at a light in a neighboring town (Ava, MO) Dad just happened to glance to his right, off the road. He said to me in a rather surprised voice, “Look, there’s a chicken down there!” “Where?” I asked. He said, “Down there,” as he pointed in the right direction. Trying to keep my eyes on the traffic light, while stretching to see where he was looking, all I could see was a chunk of metal sticking out of the grass. It looked like an old car jack or something like that. It was reddish brown, obviously rusty from being in the weather.

I told Dad, “All I see is a piece of metal sticking up in the grass. No chickens.” Dad says, “No, Goddammit! It’s right there. It moved! It’s looking this way!” I was laughing to myself, knowing that the thing I was looking at couldn’t have moved, and I sure didn’t see anything else down there! He was getting kind of mad because I was arguing with him. I wasn’t trying to argue, just stating a fact. The only thing down there was a piece of metal, rusty and old, left behind by someone. (Later, I realized it was a metal water pipe.) I said, “Dad, all I see is that metal thing. No chickens. It’s not moving.” He says, “Are you sure? I could’ve swore it moved!”

By the time the light changed (finally!) I had Dad convinced there was no chicken. We were laughing now. In his defense – It WAS colored like a chicken; that rusty-red rooster color!

A few days later, I was back in town and stopped to take a photo of what Dad saw. It does look like a chicken, doesn’t it?!

Being Aunt Debbie

 

********************************

 

Please join us in our Guest of Jest series.

Here are the rules:

  1. Give us some info about your blog.  Make sure to add a link to it.
  2. Write up something amusing.  It doesn’t have to be “laugh out loud” funny, but a bit of humor would be great.
  3. Pictures optional, but encouraged.
  4. The post can be one that has been posted before.

The piece can be anything that is humorous.  A story, a recollection, even something as simple as a joke.

Just email Linda at mainepaperpusher@yahoo.com with a submission and you will be scheduled for publication in order of submission.  This series will run every Friday on mainepaperpusher.wordpress.com 

 

The featured image was created by Silas at My weird, crazy and mundane life Journal

Guest in Jest and Weekly Request

This week’s  “Guest in Jest” #10 guest is Being Aunt Debbie

Be sure to check it out!

This is where I start my shameless begging:

Please submit your guest posts to mainepaperpusher@yahoo.com and they will be published in order of submission every Friday here at Everybody Else Has the Best Titles

Here are the rules:

  1. Give us some info about your blog.  Make sure to add a link to it.
  2. Write up something amusing.  It doesn’t have to be “laugh out loud” funny, but a bit of humor would be great.
  3. Pictures optional, but encouraged.
  4. The post can be one that has been posted before.

The piece can be anything that is humorous.  A story, a recollection, even something as simple as a joke.

C’mon, you know you want to!

Humph! Day #8

My Martial Arts Prowess

When I found out that a number of my posts were buried away in the archives rather than published in order, the first word that came out of my mouth was Humph!!! I decided I would reincarnate some of my old posts in a regular weekly series and I’d call it Humph! Day.  What better day of the week should I have Humph! Day?  Wednesday, of course.

I was probably ten or twelve when I saw this awesome show on TV about the martial arts.  These people were beyond belief!  They could chop boards in half, they did all of these really tricky kicks and hand movements.  I was enthralled.  Then I noticed one of them taking his opponent down by pushing against his shoulder and kicking the back of his leg at the same time.  It was beautiful AND, it was something I thought I could do!

I crafted my cunning plan.  My Dad was outside shoveling.  It was one of those really heavy snows and the road was a mess of gritty slush.  I walked out there and I just knew I could take him down!  Now rest assured, this was not something that came out of the blue.  We were always trying to best each other in something or other.

I gave him fair warning.  I told him I’d just seen this cool move on TV.  He told me to give it my best shot.  That when I executed the move perfectly…in my head.  Another part of me became aware that I was sitting in slush!  It was like trying to move the unmovable!  I retreated to the sound of his laughter with my cold, gritty tail between my legs.