This picture was taken in Weippe...by my Aunt Karen... I borrowed it!
And what I see....
I love snow... NOT!! :0)
I've got some 2012 stuff to finish up... Just kinda got side tracked!
Sunday, December 30, 2012
Friday, December 14, 2012
Yet Another FaceBook Gem!!
I need to memorize some of these, so that I can use them next time I'm riding and need to communicate with someone. I will also have to give Chad a copy of this so that he will understand what I'm telling him... Oh, and Mindy will probably need one too!! :0)
Monday, December 3, 2012
My Friend Mike Glick.... One Last Mike Story....
All right, this is the last thing that I "borrow" from his FaceBook page... But it's too funny not to share! He posted it on Turkey Day and I read it to our little group. We all laughed out hinney's off!! Hope you enjoy it as much as we did!!
Yesterday, while paying a 'dine in' visit to the local pizza/sushi establishment, a woman two tables away was having difficulty containing the attention if her two, nose picking, mucous producers.
I witnessed her desperate last stand and inevitable defeat by a 4 and 5 year old.
Soon after, the defiant duo were going table to table asking patrons what they would like for lunch then running to the
Yesterday, while paying a 'dine in' visit to the local pizza/sushi establishment, a woman two tables away was having difficulty containing the attention if her two, nose picking, mucous producers.
I witnessed her desperate last stand and inevitable defeat by a 4 and 5 year old.
Soon after, the defiant duo were going table to table asking patrons what they would like for lunch then running to the
kitchen behind the counter asking the staff for imaginary plates to serve. Running and squealing like a pair of determined attack pigs.
As I watched scene unfold, and the two made their way toward my table, with eager, possessed eyes, seemingly glassed over with devilish intent, giving the bottomless, soulless, piercing gaze of a Great White gliding through his natural environment for a decisive kill,
I felt the certain, inescapable, dread fate of the "slow" guy in a Zombie movie. Sitting in a corner, I realized I had no way out of this.
With wriggling booger pickers outreached, their eyes fixed onto my cowboy hat hanging on the corner of the chair back to my right. As the course of their flat footed, rapid travel pattern honed in on their newly acquired target , and like heat seeking missiles locked in and went for the kill shot, my involuntary, "nobody touches my cowboy hat", reflex kicked in and like the quick draw of a gunfighter I swooped up from my seat and lifted the hat to a safe height of three and a half feet.
Jumping and yelping at my side like ill mannered dogs I would kick in the belly for such a display, with my hat held high by my right hand, I felt hot, steamy breath on my left forearm and jerked myself away from the youngest boy's attempt to bite me.
Now, I really felt like the "slow" guy in a zombie movie. Not sure if I could evade further assaults from juvenile delinquent chompers, especially if the other one followed his younger brother's example, I felt a desperate, girlish, high pitched scream and plea for help welling up from somewhere near my lower intestines, when finally, thank God, the mother felt it necessary to intervene.
Apologetically, she gathered her "Hell Spawn" and informed them gently and kindly as in a "Sesame Street" lesson as to why they shouldn't touch my hat. I meanwhile behind her, assumed a defensive posture wielding a fork, with a terrified gaze on the youngest snot pocket, assessing him to be the greatest threat was girding myself for my last stand.
As they received their "instructional", the "biter" calmed a bit after inserting his index finger in his right nostril, holding it there for the duration of his "learning moment", then transferring it to his mouth when his mother turned to get her things to leave.
With the family's departure, the entire restaurant sighed with relief, and I examined exposed skin for bite marks that would result in a matter of hours to my becoming a Zombie.
Don't they make collars for unruly children in public areas, that once they leave the side of a parental unit or create vocals above a certain decibel, deliver a debilitating current of electricity? They should!!
As I watched scene unfold, and the two made their way toward my table, with eager, possessed eyes, seemingly glassed over with devilish intent, giving the bottomless, soulless, piercing gaze of a Great White gliding through his natural environment for a decisive kill,
I felt the certain, inescapable, dread fate of the "slow" guy in a Zombie movie. Sitting in a corner, I realized I had no way out of this.
With wriggling booger pickers outreached, their eyes fixed onto my cowboy hat hanging on the corner of the chair back to my right. As the course of their flat footed, rapid travel pattern honed in on their newly acquired target , and like heat seeking missiles locked in and went for the kill shot, my involuntary, "nobody touches my cowboy hat", reflex kicked in and like the quick draw of a gunfighter I swooped up from my seat and lifted the hat to a safe height of three and a half feet.
Jumping and yelping at my side like ill mannered dogs I would kick in the belly for such a display, with my hat held high by my right hand, I felt hot, steamy breath on my left forearm and jerked myself away from the youngest boy's attempt to bite me.
Now, I really felt like the "slow" guy in a zombie movie. Not sure if I could evade further assaults from juvenile delinquent chompers, especially if the other one followed his younger brother's example, I felt a desperate, girlish, high pitched scream and plea for help welling up from somewhere near my lower intestines, when finally, thank God, the mother felt it necessary to intervene.
Apologetically, she gathered her "Hell Spawn" and informed them gently and kindly as in a "Sesame Street" lesson as to why they shouldn't touch my hat. I meanwhile behind her, assumed a defensive posture wielding a fork, with a terrified gaze on the youngest snot pocket, assessing him to be the greatest threat was girding myself for my last stand.
As they received their "instructional", the "biter" calmed a bit after inserting his index finger in his right nostril, holding it there for the duration of his "learning moment", then transferring it to his mouth when his mother turned to get her things to leave.
With the family's departure, the entire restaurant sighed with relief, and I examined exposed skin for bite marks that would result in a matter of hours to my becoming a Zombie.
Don't they make collars for unruly children in public areas, that once they leave the side of a parental unit or create vocals above a certain decibel, deliver a debilitating current of electricity? They should!!
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