It’s been a few weeks since I’ve posted my cheese. There have been a variety of reasons for this, most of them liquor induced and involving some small wish for the pain to stop, the Tylenol bottle to magically refill itself and a general wish for the world to stop spinning on it’s axis.

My parents must be soooo proud of me. Snicker.

Ahem, it seems I am digressing into the world of passive aggressiveness. Focus, T, focus.

This morning I woke up to the sound of the birds chirping, the frogs singing, my dog softly snoring and Fric and Frac whispering. They were actually concerned about waking me up. They were being considerate.

Damn it. The one morning I wake up early and can’t get back to sleep, they decide to act like the children I work hard to raise. Polite and respectful. Where the hell are these kids when I’m begging for more sleep, and little hoodlums are chasing each other through the house while practising their war whoops?

Ahem. I’m like a small child distracted by a butterfly this morning. Sorry folks. Back to the cheese. I have some and I’m willing to share. (Don’t you feel so lucky now??)

Now I’m off to go chase butterflies and harness the power of a ten year old and a nine year old. There’s 20 acres of lawn waiting to be mowed, and it’s not going to mow itself. Nor will it be mowed by me.

Just picture me with a lemonade in one hand, a whip in the other, a dog under my lounge chaise while I yell, bark out, er, encourage the kiddies to mow in a straight line. Yah. That’s it.

Enjoy your day, and le fromage.

A toothless termite walked into a saloon and asked, “Is the bar tender here?”

I am still fighting the plague. My nose won’t stop running and is now beginning to get all red and sore from the constant abuse of me honking into tissues that could be a whole lot softer.

Those myths about spunk, sperm, man gravy, sausage juice, semen, love batter, sex goo, life affirming essence, seed of lurve, penile discharge or what ever the hell you want to call it, curing all that ails you…is shit.

I have carpet burn, lock jaw, and a sore throat.

Sorry honey, but your peckercillin, does not in fact, cure what ever ails me.

But it was a good try.

I suppose I shouldn’t bitch. I do, in fact, have new car keys.

(This would be one of the posts I sincerely hope no one in either Boo’s family or mine read…)

Ahem.

On to the pun. (Although, some might see the pun value in the cartoon…Again, hope the inlaws aren’t reading.)

Sign in a pet shop window: “Free legless parakeet. No perches necessary.”

Cut me some slack. I’m sick. I never promised quality.

It’s been a long week. A long cold week. Just when I thought I had my power back on Friday, and posted about it, the Electrical company took it back. Bastards. I had power for about an hour when the world went dark again, and it wasn’t fully restored until Saturday morning. The good news is, I have had power for 24 hours straight now so I am going to assume all is now well.

It had better be. Or I may hurt somebody.

As a special treat for all of your patience, and encouragement (and let’s not forget about the gloating over warm temperatures) I twisted myself into a pretzel and attempted to take a picture of my fresh tattoo. Because I’m a technical moron, I haven’t yet loaded my new software for the snazzy new camera my husband bought me so I had to play contortionist in front of my iMac and snap pictures of the side of my head.

While the photographic (and artistic) quality may be lacking, the evidence is not. Now the world, not just Mama Tulip who talks dirty to me on a regular basis, can see my sound lack of judgment for themselves.

My niece informed me yesterday that I am turning punk. (Good thing she doesn’t know about the nipple rings.) I really need to get a skull and crossbones tattooed somewhere so that I may live up to her visions of me.

Not only do you get the to enjoy the cheese I present to you, but you can oogle my neck and make snide comments about how I’m going to be a wrinkled old woman with a penis on the side of her neck. (So says my sister.) Apparently, all tattoos start to resemble a penis once you hit a certain age. (So says my sister.)

Go nuts, enjoy. I have power, heat and a husband sound asleep in my BED. Life doesn’t get much better than that.

The Founding Fathers were sitting around a table sometime in 1776, working on the constitution. It had been a long day.
Father1: Whew! It’s getting rather warm in here, isn’t it?
Father2: Shall I open the window?
Father1: No, that’s alright. I’ll just take off my jacket, and roll up my sleeves.
Father2: Hey, that’s a good idea. Why don’t we include that in the constitution?
Father1: What? That we’re allowed to take our jackets off and roll up our sleeves while at work?

Father2: Yeah, but that doesn’t sound very smooth. How about “Everyone shall have the right to bare arms?”