blue girl

The Streak Continues (New 50-100-50 Challenge, Post #25)

Driving earlier, I was in a beboppy mood. Oh, what a beautiful morning ... oh, what a beautiful day!

Ohhhhhhhh. Nooooooooooooooooo.

I hit the brakes. Too late. He passed me and turned around. Heard the whup whup! Saw the flashing lights.

Knowing I was guilty, I got my license and insurance card ready.

“You were going 52 in a 35.”

“Sorry.” I handed him my stuff.

“It’s expired.”

“It is?!” Panicky, I found another insurance card.

“This one’s expired, too.”

“Oh my God!”

“Oh, nevermind. Wait here.”

Minutes later, “You get a warning. Just slow down.”

“Thank you.”

Oh, what a beautiful morning!

A Little Extra August Lift

I so wanta get me one of them there things, too.

...written so Un-Algonquin-ish. I really need to get back to New York.

Summertime, and the Livin' is Easy (New 50-100-50 Challenge, Post #24)

Blue Kid and his friend were watching TV downstairs. I was upstairs.

I heard a car pull into the driveway. Well, I didn’t hear the car, I heard music blaring from the car. And lots of girls laughing. I could see the driver was a brunette. (Yes! Because I was spying out the window!) She was bouncing around, drinking a fun looking milkshake thing from Starbucks.

BK yelled, “Be back soon, Mom!”

“Ok!”

He and his friend ran outside, jumped in the backseat, and off they went.

Late July. At dusk. Friends, music and laughter. Oh, to be seventeen again.

Their Brains Have Been Battered (New 50-100-50 Challenge, Post #23)

If you hear I’ve watched Morning Joe again, immediately drive -- or fly -- whatever works best for you -- to my house, rush in, toss aside the couch pillows I usually have surrounding me while watching TV, and beat me senseless with my remote.

Although I only catch a few minutes every now and then, a few minutes every now and then of that group is more than I can take.

And no matter what they choose to believe, playing the Rolling Stones before cutting to commercial does not make them cool.

Well, it might make Harold Ford, Jr. cooler. No surprise.

Lethargy (New 50-100-50 Challenge, Post #22)

I got no pep. No pizzazz. No get up and go. No zip or zing. No verve. Definitely no vim.

I am vimless. Fireless. Birrless.

“Birr” means: force; energy; vigor when it’s used as a noun. When it’s used as a verb, it means: to move with or make a whirring sound.

Can’t do either. No birr to whir.

Wait. Maybe I can. Nope. Just tried. Ain't happenin'.

I’m probably using “birr” incorrectly. I can’t even whip up enough pep to care.

If I can’t whir, I certainly can’t whip.

I need to start writing these things in the morning.

Soul Sister (New 50-100-50 Challenge, Post #21)

My mom and I met for a glass of wine tonight.

Seems silly, but the thought hits me -- all of us -- that my stepfather’s really gone.

Him? Really?

Wow.

We talked about death. And life.

I said, “You know, it’s like Seedy. Her hair’s getting thin. Doctors can’t do a thing. She said, ‘Think about it. We’re not young. Our bodies are dying. Gotta make the best of it.’“

We kept talking and after 10 minutes my mom stopped and said, very thoughtfully, “Seedy’s pretty deep.”

“Yeah, she's deep. That girl is my heart and soul. She’s the truth to me.”

She Is A Contender!

Just went down to get the mail. There was an envelope addressed to our family, but no postage. Expecting to find an invitation to a neighborhood party, I was surprised to find a photo of a baby. About 15 - 18 months. Soft, cuddly, pudgy, tan skin. Rolls, stacked one on top of the other around her knees and elbows. Perfectly shaped pinkish red, sweetheart lips wedged between plumped-out chipmunk cheeks. Her light brown, mostly straight hair falling in her eyes with a few dippity-do curls resting on her left shoulder.

Only wearing a diaper, the baby was sitting on a man's lap. The man was holding her tight, his left arm wrapped around her little belly. She was leaning way forward, holding a paintbrush in her right hand, dabbing at a yellow and very messy, paint-covered styrofoam tray.

The card that was included read in part:

As you can see in the photo, our little fighter is making an amazing recovery!

What a miracle!

I'll bet the man in the photo, whose hands are covered in paint, will find it impossible to ever let go again.

Hall of Famers' Stats (New 50-100-50 Challenge, Post #20)

Dan Marino. Cute.

Troy Aikman. Cute.

John Elway. Rotten, awful, horrible person.

Joe Namath. Cute. So cute. Even when he gets creamed.

Larry Csonka. Csonka. Best name ever. Not so cute.

Jack Lambert. Sorta scary.

Joe Montana. Kinda cute.

Ozzie Newsome. Totally cute.

Walter Payton. Total sweetness.

Lynn Swann. Traitor.

Alex Wojciechowicz. Wojocie-whaaa?

Y.A. Tittle. Who?

Weeb Ewbank. Who?

Joe Greene. Mean. Sorta, maybe, kinda. Not really.

Mike Ditka. Loud.

Dick Butkus. Hee-hee. Dick. Butkus.

Franco Harris. Cute.

Tony Dorsett. So very cute.

Eli Manning. Cuter than Peyton. Oops! Not a Hall of Famer. My post! My rules!

Gut-wrenching

And how does the Pro Football Hall of Fame immediately follow up an exhibit on the Pottsville Maroons?

With an exhibit of the saddest thing ever.

Don't worry. I won't link to the song.

The Pottsville Maroons

Has there ever been a funnier name for a sports team than the Pottsville Maroons? I say no.

Like The Skimmer said, "It's something out of a Bugs Bunny cartoon!"