Tuesday Titters: Week 31; how well do you know your knots?

I can’t remember if I ever shared this particular joke with you.  I tried cruising my archives to see if I had, but gave up after I spent about 20 minutes getting lost in laughing at old posts.  So, I’m making the executive decision to tell it whether it’s been done here before or not because it is probably my most favorite shaggy dog story of all time.

A little background on this joke….

When I was a teeny-bopper, circa 1986, my parents had company.  Any company not related by marriage or blood was an event to be remembered, as my parents had no friends.  Probably because my dad is an ass, but that’s not the point of this story.  This gentleman visitor humored me and my brother by telling us jokes all night long.  I don’t remember any of them except this one, because in my mind they were your average, run of the mill knock-knock jokes, chicken cross the road jokes, and riddle jokes and I was way too old to be impressed by the likes of those jokes.  But then he told this joke.  I’d never heard a joke like this before.  And, with this joke my love affair with shaggy dog stories began.

A string had a very horrible day.  It was the worst day of his whole life, which was saying something.  As he was making his way home he decided to stop for a few drinks, hoping to forget about it all.  He found a little hole in the wall bar and hopping onto a bar stool called out for a shot of Tequila.   The bartender turned around and with a look of surprise said, “Hey, aren’t you a string?”

“Yeah.”  Said the string.

“You better get outta here.  We don’t serve your kind.”  Said the bartender.

“What?”  Said the string.

“You heard me.  We don’t serve your kind.  Now get.”

Confused the string tried to reason with the bartender.  “Look,” he said, “I think we got off on the wrong foot.  I had a horrible day, and now I just want to drown myself in a bottle of Tequila.  My money is good.”  And, to prove his point the string slapped a fifty dollar bill on the bar.

Enraged, the bartender shoved the money back at the string and hollered, “I don’t care about your money or what kinda day you had.  We don’t serve strings here.  Get the Hell out of my bar or I’ll call the cops!”  At this point a few other customers rose up from their seats glaring at the string and flexing their muscles.

“All right!  All right!  I’m leaving!”  The string said as he backed away toward the door.

Once out in the street the string sagged against the wall of the bar.  He was angry, confused and he wanted that drink now more than ever.  Suddenly, an idea came to him.  He deftly folded his top half over and around his bottom half, until he looked like a pretzel.  Stretching his two ends away from each other he pulled until he had formed himself into a tight knot.  Then, with a smirk, he tore at the loose ends of himself until the fibers of his string body were frayed and strode purposefully back into the bar.

“Good evening bartender.  Gimme a Tequila, and leave the bottle!”  He jumped onto the stool and slapped his money on the bar.

The bartender looked him up and down and growled, “Hey, aren’t you that string I just sent packing?”

“Nope.  I’m a frayed knot.”

Happy Tuesday!

“I don’t think my palate is refined enough to eat here.”

Seriously, I spoke these words just about 6 hours ago.

My new boss took me to her favorite restaurant.  I couldn’t pronounce half of the items on the menu, and despite being a glutton for Hell’s Kitchen and Master Chef episodes, I had no idea what 90% of the ingredients listed in their menu items really were.

For the record, a tomato sandwich with fresh mozzarella is not as safe a bet as you might think it to be.

The best thing about this place was the view, which was lovely and we were seated at a large picture window to fully appreciate the waterfront below the expansive garden, and the dessert, which contained all things I recognized:  Blackberries and a creamy cheese tart.  It was worth suffering with a smile through all the rest of the meal.

Now I just wish the meal would leave me in peace.  It was bad enough tasting it the first time, but burping it back up for 6 hours is getting tiresome.  Why can’t I burp up the deliciousness of dessert instead?

And don’t ever forget your towel

I had to take a moment today to wish my Leif a very happy birthday.

Today is his 42nd birthday, and so he is now the Answer to Life, the Universe and Everything.

Well, at least my life, universe and everything that matters to me.  There’s no one else I’d rather hitchhike the galaxy with.

Happy Birthday to you!

Hey you sonofab*tch driving the maroon Plymouth Voyager, it’s your lucky day

Lucky because you didn’t kill me.  You didn’t even injure me, and my car survived equally unscathed once Leif pulled it out of the rough on the side of the interstate at no more expense than the cost of Leif’s gas to drive the 25 miles each way to where you left me stranded.  Lucky, because despite being so absorbed by your phone conversation you didn’t even stop to see if you killed me or injured me after running me off the road at 70 miles an hour, and the kind people behind me who avoided hitting me as my car spun across two lanes and a shoulder at speeds in excess of 55 miles per hour, followed you down the interstate to get your plate number and a physical description and came back to give it to me to give the police, the police officer who arrived on the scene decided there was no need to write up a police report.  Lucky, because I’m not a mean, spiteful, vindictive, revenge happy person who instead of feigning indisposition didn’t cry for an ambulance and attempt to sue your oblivious, rude and dangerous ass into non existence and with great emotional composure put up with the humiliation of having to try and convince the police officer I didn’t deserve this or do it to myself then went along my merry little way with most of my dignity intact and nary a tear shed.

Yup.  You are one lucky bastard today.

Well, actually you were one lucky bastard on Monday, I just didn’t have the calmness and presence of mind to write coherently about your good fortune until today.  I would be careful though if I were you, for though fortune may favor the foolish, that kind of good luck can get people killed.  I’m just saying….

Tuesday Titters: 03 keeW

What do you call some one who stays up all night wondering whether there’s a dog?

A dyslexic agnostic insomniac.

Happy Blogoversary!!

Today is the 2nd anniversary of Janie’s Place.

Janie has blogged in a few other places before, so this isn’t really the anniversary of my first time blogging.  My very first blog, circa early 2008 was a casualty of a marriage beginning it’s long slow death spiral (a long story no one would really be interested in).  However, I do still have the record of my intermediate blog, and my very first post there was on Sunday, August 10, 2008:

Because sometimes if you scream in a forest, no one is around to hear….  Me Jane, questionably sane.  In a world where everyone has a voice, yet it feels like no one hears you, one more Jane is adding her shriek of angst to the cacophony of noise pollution. Listen or not, this is opening day on my story… Janie Jones

Ah yes.  Harkening back to my much darker days.  When my snark was a bit more obvious and a bit meaner.  I played around with this flashback Friday thing for a while last year where I thought it would be loads of fun to revisit some of my clever long-lost posts.  But, it didn’t last long because I got kind of tired of it, and of sifting through angsty blog posts for the occasional gem here and there.

If nothing else, reading the old blog occasionally does highlight how much hard work I’ve done getting my poop in the proverbial group.  And, if blog color choice alone is an indication of my progress out of insanity this blog should say “Congratulations Janie Baby, you’ve made it.”  Goodbye cloudy skies and dark greys.  Hello doggies hanging their heads out car windows, green leafy trees, bold yellow sunshine and bright skies.  Opening day has come and gone, but I’m still here yammering away whether anyone listens or not.  The wonderfully amazing thing is though, that you are still here too!  So, I want to give a heartfelt “thanks a million” to those readers who have stayed and followed me to newer, greener blogs in the pasture of life.  And, my flag counter is reminding me to thank all  my new readers, too, ome of whom have become very wonderful blog friends, for making my blogging such a pleasure.    My blog is for me to speak all the things I can’t always share with the people immediately before me in life, but knowing so many of you are there, listening, commiserating, laughing and supporting, all over the U.S. and the world is a wonderful feeling.  You all make my blog a brighter place.

Hugs,

Janie the much more normally insane

I don’t do garden gnomes

But this little critter has been seen in my garden:

And, I also have a Rupert instead.

Isn’t he a handsome doggins?

Anyway, I finally got some photos that were conspicuously missing from my July 10th post about my garden.  I can’t say my photography skills do it justice, then again, that may be a good thing to disguise how woefully overdue a weeding is…

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