Dirty D’s, Don’t You Weep!


Here’s the song, so you can have the tune in your head.

Replace the lyrics Dirty Deeds, Done Dirt Cheap with the words Dirty D’s, Don’t you Weep. And then you’ll know what the inside of Sir Brain sounds like!

Crazy Frog has a crush on Joan Jett. I like her nose. And she’s easier on my ears, than AC/DC. Thus the choice in videos.

I herby proclaim myself a defender of the letter D!

I’ve been thinking about the letter D for about a week now. Yes, this is an example of what I think about. Laugh now, or forever remain silent.What made the D-thinking worse, is having the D’s singing and dancing to the song of Dirty Deeds by AC/DC, inside my head.  I knew there was no resting until I wrote about the letter D. My sanity takes precedence over what I write about. Hmmmm??? I have to wonder what that previous sentence actually means.

Did you know that the letter D has a bad rap? Think about it. The letters A, B, and C get all the credit in grade school and college; D is passing, but barely. It’s like the lowest of the lowest, before you fail. Not a very nice position to be in.

Poor lowly, D!

D is associated with words like dirt, ditch, demon and the ruler of the underworld. D is the beginning letter of dystopia, which means a place where all is as bad as possible! I can’t write that sentence without an explanation mark. It literally doesn’t get any worse than dystopia. (That’s humor.)

D starts the word dysteleology, a doctrine of purposelessness in nature, as in nonfunctional or nonessential parts. Yikes. And the letter D is found in one of the most debilitating phobias: dromophobia, the fear of crossing streets (sidewalks can be dangerous, too). Imagine that one! Thinking Aspergers and dromophobia would be an awful combo!

The more I ponder letter D, the more I realize I do a lot of avoiding of  D-words. (Sorry, Letter D.)

In fact, I often write for the sole reason of avoiding D-words!

I wager you avoid D-words, too, without even knowing. Take a look at this list. How many D-words do you wish you didn’t dwell upon? How many of these words have the potential to drag you down or get the best of you?

Dirt

Discrimination

Desperation

Divisions

Doctrines

Duties

Deliveries

Dating

Debt/Dollars

Decisions

Disaster

Death

Dying

Depression

Dysphoria (uneasiness/general depression)

Darkness

Despair

Dimwits

Dilemmas

Dirty Duds

Dirty Dishes

Divorce

Dog Doo

Daylight (lack of in Washington state)

Diagnoses

Dumbasses

Dork heads

Disabilities

Diving (I just threw this in because the first time, which was my last time too, that I ever dived into a swimming pool, a honeybee landed on my arm and stung me, right as I was taking my plunge. I took this as a sign to never dive again.)

Dormition (death)

Dubiety (doubtfulness)

Doctors

Dentists

Disappearing

Danger

Driving

Dinner (preparation)

Doorbells, Door knocks (This is for those of us with Aspergers.)

More I thought of: Dieting, Deception, Dementia, Delusions, Dust, Dust-mites, Dander, Dank Days, Dictator, Diminishing Democracy, Digestion, Deficit, Dungeons, Doomsday, Drunks, Dirty Diapers…it’s endless…

I can’t formulate another list using only one beginning letter other than D that thoroughly explains things I dread or worry about, as well as this list. I know. I tried.

If you research the letter D, (laughing, thinking this is highly unlikely), you will notice that the letter D has one of the shortest list of positive words available. D is right in there with letters like x and z—limited number of positives. (But a letter that is much easier to use in the game of Scrabble than x and z.)

The letter D has had a HUGE responsibility of holding down a lot of the masses’ frets and worries. Including yours and mine. And the time has come to celebrate D’s uniqueness and positive attributes. To say: “Thank you D for doing the dirty work!”

You can consider me one of those types that gives birthday parties for dogs; just pretend D is a dog. So here’s to you Darling Letter D! We aDore you!

D words to Dig!

Dreams

Dog

Duck

Doves

Deer

Donkeys

Dimples

Disport (play or frolic)

Dance

Dynamic

Dads

Daffodil

Daffy Duck

Dinosaurs

Donuts

Danishes

Darling Dear

Decent

Delicate

Delectable

Desirable

Dreamy

Dazzling

Debonair

Diligent

Dinner

Determined

Divine

Daisy

Dutiful

Dandy

Dessert

Dumplings

And my favorite song when I was eight: Zip-A-Dee-Doo-Dah! (I’m counting this one.)

I Do!

Did it!

Deserving

Doritos Chips

Diamonds

Perhaps even Dreadlocks

Oh! And Dough, as in raw cookie dough!

And maybe Dark as in Dark Chocolate…am I digressing?

After digging up the D-words, maybe I will finally get that dang Dirty D’s, Don’t You Weep out of my head. (Nope. Still there.)

There is a very good chance, I am being haunted by a mob of classic-rock-loving letter D’s. I can see them with long dark hair head-banding and air-guitaring. Cute D’s but very annoying, they be!

Like my mother always says: Anything is possible.

Thinking I used the word think a lot in this post!

Now I’m realizing, if you primarily speak another language, this post is entirely a dud! Darn it!

Does anyone else have an inkling to want to color in the Big Letter D with the Count from Sesame Street atop the post? I’m thinking purple.

D in Love (Thanks AlienHippy for this song)

Wait a second! How did a monkey get in the picture!

Dreamweaver

Day 51: 4 Play

Play

I just discovered the word fore-play can only be used in one way!

In California slang: Oh, My Gosh!

And here I was thinking I could use the word to mean: the time before I played or the time leading up to play.

(I’m hyphenating the word fore-play, in hopes of avoiding the p-er-v-s that might use the search term. No offense if you used that search term and were just looking for tips with your Honey. I don’t mean you. But maybe I do. Can’t be too sure, these days…now I’m realizing I just typed p-e-r-v-. I give up.)

Writing is an act I generally enjoy. Not so much yesterday’s post, but overall, writing is like PLAY to me. I believe I ought to be able to write fore-play to imply the play time leading up to my writing. But it looks like I’m out of luck!

I am picturing myself in a crowded room (heart beating fast) and having a small-chat-chat with a stranger (heart beating faster), and casually offering, “My writing involves a lot of foreplay.”

At this time, I would probably start obsessing about my heart beating so very fast, and start hypothesizing all the ways in which I could be dying, e.g., heart attack brought on by genetic mutation, clogged arteries, and my favorite, that Sir Brain continually obsesses about—heart suddenly explodes for unknown reason!

As I was obsessing, I’d likely miss the nonverbal clues of the person standing next to me, who was processing my statement.

I’d miss the person raise a brow or I’d miss him/her attempt to raise a brow. (I can raise my right eyebrow super high, and forget others don’t have my same skill set.) I’d miss the quizzical-who-the-heck-are-you-smile. I’d not realize a tape (CD for younger generation) was playing in the stranger’s mind.

Perhaps something like this: “Is she naïve, uneducated, bold, or just plain stupid? Or maybe trying to pick me up?”

I’d miss the follow-up smirk or wink—dependent upon interpretation. And I’d mosey along towards the food table, entirely oblivious of the person’s response to my utterance, while gorging myself on prawns and crab-cakes, in an attempt to subside Sir Brain’s rapid thinking on death.

They know what I'm talking about!

 Words like fore-play get tangled in my mind.

I love words. I am fascinated by words. They are brilliant and beautiful. And I love to paint pictures with words. Words are my primary colors blended into soothing pastels, when they merge with the white of my computer screen.

Words are my friends. And they are also my enemies. I keep words close. I watch them carefully and with awe. The slightest change, just one little letter, alters the whole meaning. Just a slight dab of painted word, a speck in the corner of the canvas, transforms the entire picture.

I still don’t comprehend why the word fore-play can’t be used in other ways.

The word fore can mean: the front, that which is in front; the future. A method of proceeding. Before. Previously.

 The word Play means: Engage in activity for enjoyment or recreation rather than practical purpose. Usually involving children.

But when I combine the two together, they don’t mean: the play you do before the play. This is confusing.

Why can’t the word combo mean the play writing I do before the writing? I love to play write before I write. I usually write a half page or more, before I find my voice and know what I want to write about. Then I delete, and begin again.

Some people, reading this post, are thinking, really? This is the best you got after you played and deleted?

Yep. This is ME!

I wanted to call this post the Origin of Fore-play. But I didn’t want to attract creeps.

Just putting that out there.

It is a funny and intriguing title, after all.

Be forewarned, don’t go digging into the word origin of fore-play, unless you want an eye-full. Neither do you want to search for images or search for examples of what p-e-r-v means. And YouTube—you know how Crazy Frog likes to find associated videos for my posts. In relation to this post, AVOID YouTube searches. LV is still hiding in shame. 

You might be wondering about the point of this here post. How this could possibly relate to Asperger’s Syndrome.

Let me point out what this post demonstrates:

  1. Words mean a lot to me.
  2. Words are confusing, especially when they have multiple meanings, or when society has combined two words to mean something different than expected and/or that don’t make logical sense.
  3. I confuse words.
  4. Confusing words can cause embarrassment.
  5. I am often unaware I ought to maybe be embarrassed.
  6. My actions confuse others.
  7. Confusing others can ostracize me (or make people like me even more).
  8. I can pretty much write about anything given a particular topic.
  9. I’m a risk taker and have a hidden talent for finding cool videos.
  10. The combo of Green Tea, chocolate cookies, and the supplement Gaba make me even more interesting.

You Tube Links You Might Enjoy

Sometimes certain words leave me feeling unsettled. If you’re like me, this is to relax you.

For those of you who were really hoping for more out of this post, here’s a frisky dolphin. 

And music, we have to have music!

Now I’m wondering about the words play toy! And thinking about when I was 18 years of age, a college freshman, and how one of my first college courses was all juniors and seniors, an upper division class, that I had no idea I ought not to have signed up for. And I’m thinking about the videos in that class, and the topic, and how my face was always beet-red.

Day Forty-Three: Sam Craft’s Lament

You know what’s great about this blog? Don’t think too hard.

Answer: You never ever know what to expect!

You know what? (Again don’t think so hard.)

I never know what to expect either!

Isn’t that fantastic?

Just nod.

For instance, I thought I’d be writing about the blustering Winnie-the-Pooh day outside, with fallen trees and cresting waves on the Puget Sound. Instead, I end up comparing my experience at the university with the impaling of a vampire. How cool is that?

Just to be completely honest, before I type on, I’ve been working very hard at out-witting my own dang rules. Having seen the dilemma of me against me, I’ve decided to lighten up some. Today, I’m quite gleefully typing in my pajamas and socks. Who wants to get showered and dressed to blog? Who was I kidding?

This is good, or rather beneficial, this rebel mood I’m in, because today is the big day I’ve been both anticipating and dreading, for around three or more weeks. I’ve lost count. And it’s not worth my time to look at the calendar. I’ve spent enough time and energy on this whole university blowup event.

That’s what I’m calling the happening: a huge blowup. Blowup as in filling up a balloon with so much helium that it bursts. Blowup as in a tire’s thread worn to the bone causing the tire to bust. Blowup as in a restless volcano blowing its top!

I’m pretty darn proud of myself that I haven’t blurted out all that transpired in black and white on this blog. I like the mysteriousness surrounding what I have offered, and the respect I’m giving the villains.

I’m feeling okay about calling them villains, even though I know we are all God’s (Universe’s, String Theory’s, what-have-you’s) creatures.

I know these people have taught me plenty; especially about how I don’t want to lead and teach like them. And I know these lessons will carry me far, that the experience has already given me that extra sheet of armadillo-layer across my soft-bellied-sensitive-tummy.

Still, something feels so delightfully good about calling them villains.

Some words for villain are anti-hero and contemptible person.

I picture a little ant with a small red cape that reads HERO going up against a grotesque giant in a huge white nappy (diaper) that reads Anti-Hero. And I envision the ant winning by some divine intervention from the Roman Gods.

I like the term beyond the pale, too. It’s a word related to contemptible and means an unpardonable action. I believe I am in the right to say the professor was beyond the pale.  He was outside the acceptable and agreed upon standards of decency. And dang it, if I have to constantly adjust my actions and phrases to make others feel comfortable, then he ought to have at least had decency.

A little word origin lesson, as I’m a teacher at heart, and always shall be: The pale means a stake or pointed piece of wood. Think vampire. I’m thinking a sexy vampire. Pale is in the word impale, like in the Dracula flicks. A paling fence represents an area enclosed by a fence; so to be beyond the pale is to be outside the accepted home area, or designated safety zone.

Fenced areas or regions were set up for people for safety, such as when Catherine the Great created the Pale of Settlement in Russia.

So the message is: “If there is a pale, decent people remain inside the pale.”

Look what Crazy Frog Found!

By the way, my professor, he jumped the fence.

Now I’m stuck on word origin again. I just reviewed the origin of flipping the bird, ducks in a row, and, you might be happy to know with all my rambling, I’m reviewing that’s all she wrote.  Okay, done.

Last night I dreamt that I parked my ten-speed bike in front of a quaint neighborhood house. When I returned to retrieve the bike, I found it broke into two (repairable) parts. I knocked on the door of the nearby house. An older man answered. (He looked like my professor but way uglier.) The man explained that he took the bike apart because I left too much of my bike sticking out in his driveway. I hadn’t. He then offered to fix the bike for a large sum of money. I knew he was applying trickery and trying to gain from my loss. I declined, and instead had him carry the pieces into my van. I drove away.

Hmmmm? I wonder how my subconscious is feeling about my dumbass professor?

Another thought: How in the world can I produce such deep felt all-loving, nonjudgmental prose like The Wounded Healer and On Leadership one day, and then turn around and have the audacity to call a professional a dumbass?

Oh! I’m raising my hand! I know. I know. Call on me!

Answer: Because I’m human (just like you’re human, I hope), and I refuse to act like I’m not human to earn some semblance of self-manipulated respect. Plus, who hasn’t wanted to call at least one teacher in their life a dumbass?

Okay, just so you know Melancholic Little Me is still around, and obviously Sir Brain (as I’m still rambling). Little Me is carrying an index card that reads:

My Authentic Self: “…caring, nurturing, kind, creative, intelligent, beautiful being who doesn’t wish harm on anyone and wants to be the most beneficial light wherever she is.”

I said those words aloud during a group therapy meeting (in the college course I’ve dropped) when asked by the professor, “What do you wish to share in this group?”

But I didn’t share what I truly wanted to share. I had wanted to say, in group, how my heart had been impaled by two professors and by my classroom study-partner. That would have been authentic!

 

Who is Van Helsing? A protagonist in Bram Stoker’s 1897 Gothic horror novel Dracula.

Day Seventeen: You Rock, Aspergers Girls

It’s 7:00 a.m. and I’m wide awake, even though the chickadees (my kiddos) don’t have to go to school today—which means no hustle and bustle dance this morning. I love the night before school holidays or the weekends. As my head hits the pillow, I let out a huge sigh of relief, knowing I will have no restrictions first thing in the morning. But, I have to be very careful (and I mean very), because without a schedule, I tend to turn into a dog, or more liken to a cat, and I develop this keen ability to lounge around the house all day. Oh, I still stretch, and move from one piece of furniture to the other, eat some kibbles and lap up some water, and even partake in minimal grooming. And when I’m in my true element, I try to look all cute and cuddly, in hopes of acquiring a backrub from my hubby, after he returns from a long day at work. I know…super bad kitty!

Now, I’ve backed spaced, and am sitting here wandering… I confuse wondering with wandering; probably because I am always wondering about something or another. Maybe I’ve hit upon something: mainstream people wander about and Aspies’ wonder about. We just got the words mixed up; that’s all.

I need to think of a word for when I digress, and then return to what I was saying, back to the time before my brain peeled away from the curb (image that is confusing this brain), and left me standing with huge bags of groceries (filled with a lot of information). Mean brain.

Backspace won’t work, because when I backspace I delete all the ingredients simmering in my mind—or fermenting like old fruit. Picturing the green and white moldy fuzz I often find on oranges at the bottom of the fruit bowl. Wondering/Wandering if you ever find old fruit.

The word Back up could feasibly play the part, except when I picture the word backup, as I do picture most words in my brain…(Brain=big squishy mass like those stress balls you squeeze. If you have one. But with carved out ridges on it. And I mean if you have a stress ball, because I’m assuming you have a brain. But you know what they say about “assume.”)

I still remember learning the ass-u-me trick from Felix on The Odd Couple. I chuckled at seeing the word ass on television. The word was written on some board I think, or paper. Oscar and Felix were interesting characters to study. But I liked to study Mr. Rogers, the most. Hey, one time I heard that Mr. R was a navy seal. That was tough because that image, that of Mr. Rogers all dressed mysteriously-like in black, or some other secret-tough-awesome-guy outfit, very much jangled my brain—that squishy stress ball.  See, I can go full circle without even trying.

And you thought I didn’t have a point. The jokes on you. Another one of those sayings!!! Irks me to know (no) end, because my stress ball is now thinking where is the joke actually stuck on you? I’m thinking your shoulder and there’s an archetypal wad of gum there signifying the joke.  No offense. At least I didn’t put the gum in your hair, like the time…

Now I want you to know, that I purposely rambled on so you would see my vital point about requiring some sort of way to Back Up.

And if you believe that, then the joke is on you, and you probably haven’t read any other parts of my blog! This time, the gum on your shoulder is watermelon-flavored Bubble Yum. The flavor doesn’t last as long, but the smell is Yummy. As long as you don’t have food sensitivities and smell sensitivities like me, then the watermelon-gum smells all-fake and chemically (that’s a word?); please back away. I can’t stand the smell. Thanks.

1)   If you can remember what we were talking about (aka: what I was typing about), then you have an awesome short-term memory and do not have dyspraxia!

2)   If you have to scan back up to the first line of the second paragraph and regroup, then you know what it feels like to live in my squishy stress ball.

Now, that I’m thinking about that whole self-manifestation/visualize your destiny mumbo-jumbo, (Not that I don’t believe in active visualization—I just like that word mumbo-jumbo, because I picture little clams playing the drums in a Cajun band. Don’t ask me why.), I’m wondering/wandering if I ought to maybe picture my brain as something other than a stress ball—like maybe at least transferring the image over to a squishy world ball or a water balloon. Any ideas on how I might visualize my brain? If you’re laughing, I don’t want your suggestions.

I don’t have to scan to the top of this post, to know what I was writing about in the very beginning, before I so trade-markedly transgressed, even though I have dyspraxia, because the remainder of my written words are still below this string of letters on my computer screen, from before I had to back up. (That’s a long sentence.)

Very conveniently my thoughts are still here in black and white. Very thankful, as I’ve long forgotten from whence (I like that adverb: picturing a stuffy old English, as in UK, professor. Not that I think your stuffy, if your English. Just stereotyping the professors, like I was stereotyped when I moved to Massachusetts and everyone called me surfer-girl. Still irks me that they didn’t even know what an OP shirt was.)

Hmmmmm….. In analyzing myself this morning, I’m thinking, when I don’t have to get up early, and worry about all the sensory issues involved in starting my day, that I get sort of giddy and humorous, and fun to be around, and because of that I am more relaxed, and it’s easier to be myself. And lucky for you that means you get to read an entire post that never actually went anywhere, except in one big circle.

For you in the slow group, let me connect the dots. No offense if you were ever in a slow group at one point or another in your life. That was unfair for people to put you there. I’m visually patting you on the back…and pulling off the wadded gum. Do you want to chew it?

1)   For you in the slow group, let me connect the dots (Deja vu! Weird!): On the days my boys don’t have school, and on weekends, be prepared to perhaps read only the first and last paragraph of my posts.

2)   Unless you are in the advanced group, then you might figure out it is in your best interest to skip the post entirely.

3)   For those of you that are still confused, I give you permission to press the like button without actually looking at the words on any given page. Also, I give you permission to send the link to a relative—let’s say (since I already stereotyped) a person like your mother-in-law, and tell them: “This is the most deeply insightful post, I have every read in my entire life.” Say it, just like that. And then wait…wait…wait on it! And just see what festers. Kind of like the old fruit at the bottom of the bowl.

4)   And let me not forget the marvelous Aspies. You move to the top of the class! Yes, you do. Because you not only understand this post but you seriously get it. And you’re so happy because you found a new best friend!

For all you who have stayed with me this entire post, let us pause for self-applause, a little pat on the back, a little “You Rock!” aloud.

Say it. “You Rock _________.” Slow group: insert your name on the blank line. Okay, try again.

Finally, back to the dangling sentence from fifty minutes ago. As I was saying, (Dang, I have to scan up to see the other part of the sentence. Just a second.) All right, I found it. It’s in the second paragraph. (All right should be one word, already!)

I’m doing the cool walk, acting like this was all supposed to happen, this rambling on and on and on. I’m picturing my teenage son, who struts like he’s all that (odd saying), and wondering/wandering how I could think fourteen-year-olds were mature, when I was younger and kissed one.  Like super young, fourteen myself. Not an adult. Yuck!

Anyhow, so (I like the word so—leftover rebellion from my youth: SO? Accompanied by eyes rolling up and lips pressed together. Oh, oh, I know like that one multiple personality alter in that show The United States of Tara. )…Anyhow, so, right now, (in my head), I’m doing my inner cool strut, thinking I’m all that, to avoid the inevitable of appearing like a rambling fool, and seriously (another word I like. Won’t get into the visual), and seriously wondering/wandering how to put the pearls back on the string of this conversation.

Note how I called this a conversation. Because for an Aspie—This is a conversation! High-five to my Sista! (That’s Tara again. Watch the show, if you need to know.)

There’s just no easy way to do this. Here it is, the rest of my sentence from (let me count), about thirteen paragraphs ago. Look for IF.

{Here’s the sentence where we left off, from atop the post:} “Now, I’ve backed spaced, and am sitting here wandering… ”

“… IF super bad kitty” is some type of saying the mainstream uses to indicate the unmentionable on my G-rated blog. Pondering. Evaluating. Thinking, I’ll have to double-check with my husband. Just in case there is any confusion: super bad kitty, in my book (which is so darn thick) means extremely inconsiderate cat. There that’s better. I had naughty, and had to strike that, too. Oh, bother!”

Confusing. Isn’t it? I’m nodding, knowing the words came out of my squishy stress ball…I mean globe ball. I’m holistic and earthy now.

I was so excited to write to you this morning that I just now pulled out the earplug from my right ear. I couldn’t before, as I was caught up in this deep insightful prose! (Note this is the last paragraph that the slow group will be reading, as mentioned in number one above. So let them think it’s insightful. Don’t burst their bubble—or stress ball…or water balloon. You get the picture. And that’s why: You Rock, ____________!

(Slow group, insert your name on the line.)

* So far the main insight I’ve gained, by venturing to create this blog, is that I am particularly fond of the words: so, sort of, kind of, see, saying, anyhow, for, and wandering.  Somehow that doesn’t seem like progress?? Oh, and the words seem, like, and oh.

Day Fifteen: Rules and Other Ramblings


Masseuse just phoned to report, in a crackling-croaky voice, that she is sick.  My little inside voice immediately whispered loudly: Glad it’s not me! Then the little voice reminds me I ought to have empathy, while little voice is still whisper-singing, “Glad it’s not me…glad it’s not me…glad it’s not me.”

Changes my schedule for this morning. But I’m not in a hectic state. No panic pansy here.  I’m not. It’s just a little glitch, a little change, and I’ve already adjusted my written schedule for the day. Scratched out relaxing, take-me-away massage, and replaced with the word blog. Blog isn’t a nice sounding word, is it?

Anyhow, thankful I’m not a faucet-nose hacking up snot-colored blobs today.

I’m thinking I don’t have to put “other ramblings” in the title of anything I write. It’s seriously a given. But I’ll leave the words there, for those first timers, as kind of a warning for what’s ahead, like those hazard signs on the road. Danger. Proceed with Caution: Unpredictable Conditions Ahead. I was thinking (big surprise there) that could be the title of my entire blog. But then I was thinking (at a deeper level) that could be the sign for life.

Truthfully, don’t bottlefeed me the shows Love Boat and Fantasy Island, and then wean me with The Brady Bunch. Just start me with the strong stuff. Give me Jaws and Friday the 13th Part Three in 3-D, from day one. ‘Cause that’s what life’s about, isn’t it—watching out for the sharks and whose behind the mask!

You think that’s what life is? You might ask.

I know, I know, I’ve read all those spiritual, feel-good, do-good books. It was a grand fixation last year. I read 100 books in roughly eight months time; give or take a day. So, yeah, I’m experienced with creating your own reality and all that jargon. And I respect and gravitate toward the Buddhist take on here and now, compassion and forgiveness, and uphold the values of Jesus. Delete. Backspace. Delete. Excuse me for a moment, I just rambled on and on about how Jesus is not a bad word and that the religious right-wingers are to blame….and that took us way, way off track. Suffice to say: Delete. Return.

Where was I? Backup. Before Jesus, books, movies, ramblings, snot and schedules, what was my main point? Oh Crap! (My little voice’s favorite saying.) I never wrote a topic sentence! Hail Mary full of grace. Quick sign of the cross. And by now I’ve chased away any devil-worshipers and Jesus-freaks. No offense Jesus, for hyphenating your name with freaks. Amazing the power of words.

Caution. If a person can’t take a joke, he or she probably isn’t going to like this blog. Having Asperger’s and a long string of comorbid conditions that resembles one of those Cheerio cereal necklaces, I laugh to survive. Especially at myself….and you (just kidding).

No topic sentence. No great lead in. No contests. No promises. I’ve probably lost half my blog followers by now. Weep. Weep. Just curious: Do you ever ask yourself why you are following a thing called a blog? I keep thinking of the Blob (‘cause it rhymes, and that’s what’s probably coming out of my masseuse’s nose)—the horror—the fear. I’m so utterly grateful I was raised primarily in the 70’s, with all the access to horror—especially glad my mom dragged me to see Dawn of the Living Dead, when I was all of ten. Yep. I’ll post that recollection sometime. For now, just type terrifying, highlight it; scan up with your mouse to Tools, and then Thesaurus, look under Synonyms (which I can’t spell, but makes me think of toasted bread) and that will just about cover it. And I’m only referring to the disgusting sticky floor where I was huddled in fear. The movie?

Oh dang it! This post was supposed to be about rules and how having a blog when I’m self-imposing a bunch of rules on myself, like only one post a day, and don’t miss a day, blah, blah, blah, is so stressful and draining. And now I’ve typed this whole prose without mentioning rules at all. What is my life coming to?

Oh, and just one more thought, I have to squeeze in, really quick, since you wasted all this time on my babble anyhow. When I typed the word Thesaurus earlier, it reminded me of the word dinosaur, which reminded me of this funny standing joke. (Ouch, that hurts my brain. I don’t understand how a joke can stand.) Well years back, when I was pregnant with my first born, my hubby and I would sit up in bed late at night talking and joking, while trying to come up with a perfect name for our firstborn son. Anyhow, my husband’s grandpa’s name was Ottis and my Nano’s name was Horace. And together we arrived at: Ottis Horace, a new breed of dinosaur! Say it. Just try it. It rolls of the tongue and can’t help but make you smile. And truthfully, that’s what life is really about—connections and smiles.

Time to wrap it up folks. I’ve got a self-imposed schedule to follow. Namaste or whatever rocks your boat! (What does whatever rocks your boat mean?……)