Almostgotit.com

This is Jerry, the purebred Rhodesian Fridge-Snack.  Isn’t he precious?  Isn’t he as cute as  little button?

His Aunt Mary thinks so.  Aunt Mary is taking Jerry’s picture.  Smile, Jerry!

Jerry is so sweet, he just brought Aunt Mary his Wubby. 

Yes, that is too Wubby.  Well, that is Wubby the Second, but we don’t want to talk about that.

Oh, look.  How cute.  Jerry is giving Wubby a little kiss.

Jerry is kissing Wubby. 

That IS a kiss, isn’t it, Jerry?

Uh oh.  That’s not a kiss. 

Oh, don’t look, Mary. something primal is taking over.  Jerry is transforming. 

PLEASE don’t look, Mary.  It’s…. It’s…

It’s Mr. Gomez!  Jerry is no longer Jerry!  He has transformed into his evil alter ego,  Mister Gomez.

Oh, stop taking pictures, Mary.  Don’t look! 

MISTER GOMEZ IS KILLING WUBBY!

Please don’t look, Mary.  It’s too terrible. 

PLEASE don’t look, Mary!

Poor, POOR Wubby.  Bad, BAD Mr. Gomez!!

Aunt Mary has put away her camera.  Aunt Mary has packed her bags and left. 

It is time to get out the vacuum cleaner.

It is also time to go to Goodwill and buy another Wubby.

Inspired by friend David,  here are a few sentence fragments.  Can you finish one or all of them? (I wrote all but the last fragment, which I stole from James Viscosi’s book, Dragon Stones). 

Or can you come up with even better ones?

Humor counts.  I might even send you a prize.

but I preferred the cheese

bitter lettuce, but Gladys did

except for Michael Jackson

Amazon — anyone? 

whispered, “I saw them.”  

In the end, the battles we each have with our inner critics must by fought by our own generals. 

However, there’s no rule against calling for back-up…

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Image: The Inner Critic

I seem to have let the wrong half of my dual blog domaindom expire.  And I thought I was being so economical.

I hope to have the rest of my blog back momentarily…

Click image at left to see video.  Worth it, I promise.

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I was waiting for my son today in a small, crowded waiting room. 

Several people’s cell phones went off while I was there, team fight songs and choruses of The Who playing loudly for the rest of us to enjoy.

GOOD!! OLE!!! ROCKY TOP!! sang an orange purse,  as an older woman in an embroidered denim outfit fumbled to answer it.

The man who kept forgetting his paperwork at the window spoke softly into his RAZR about the weather and his love for the caller.  His beloved, however, had such a resonant bass voice that I’m sure he sings opera.

The lady in the denim outfit worked out some details for a dinner party before hanging up.

Finally, just as I was settling into the latest news about Brangelina, a blonde woman in a bright pink sweater answered her phone. 

“HELLO?  YES?  YES, I LEFT HIM A MESSAGE!  HA HA HA!” 

I pointedly put down my magazine and glared at her, but she didn’t notice. 

“WHAT?   I LEFT HIM A MESSAGE.  HA HA HA!!   ARE YOU A SCORPIO? 

Yes, as it happens, I *am* a Scorpio.

“I’ll TALK TO HIM.  I LEFT HIM A MESSAGE.  I KNOW!!! HA HA HA!”

The scorpion  leaned forward.  “Excuse me.  Could you please take that into the hall?” 

She glared at me. ”“Are you going to come and GET me if they call my name?”  

“No,” I said, suddenly abashed that an insensitive person would actually continue to be insensitive.   “Maybe, um, you should call them back later?” 

My face felt hot.  Clearly she wasn’t going to budge.  Everyone else in the waiting room was pointedly looking at their own magazines and feet.  My last chance.  “It’s just… really loud.” 

How lame. 

But who did I think I was, Captain Kirk?  Capable of changing an entire civilization with a single speech?   The woman continued her conversation just long enough afterwards to make the point that I didn’t have one.  A point, I mean.

However, when her phone rang again a few minutes later, she quietly turned it off, pointedly looking at her own magazine.

My 12-year-old daughter turned into a 13-year -old one a couple weeks ago. 

I’m not sure how I feel about this. 

Fortunately, 13-year-old girls seem to be as fun as 12-year-old ones are, which is reassuring.

She’s going to be famous someday, and I’m not just saying that because she’s my daughter.  Well, maybe that is part of the reason I’m saying it, but Maddie Bradshaw is proof that even 13-year-olds can become company presidents.

Image: Maddie Bradshaw, m3 Girl Designs

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It’s *strawberry season!*  And this recipe for strawberry shortcake is one of the best- ever- recipes- I- forgot- I- had.  My friend Plato reminded me of it a few weeks ago when she got out her Food that Really Schmecks Mennonite cookbook and made it for me. 

Remember Plato?  She’s the one who can see bluebirds when I can only see dead beetles.  But I own a copy of Schmecks now too.

I think Waterjay does as well!

This is my version of the shortcake recipe from Schmecks, and feeds a regular number of people: say, 8 or 9 of them. 

Doubled, it will feed approximately 5,000 visiting Mennonites.

Almostgotit’s Almost Perfect Strawberry Shortcake

• 2 cups flour
• 2 tablespoons baking powder
• 1/2 teaspoon baking soda
• 1/2 cup sugar
• 1/2 teaspoon salt
• 1/2 cup shortening or butter
• 1 cup “sour milk”* or buttermilk
• Extra sugar

*NB: in some experts’ opinion, modern pasteurized milk doesn’t sour, it SPOILS.  I make mine by adding  a few drops of lemon juice or vinegar to regular milk.

Mix dry ingredients together and cut in shortening or butter.  Mixture will be crumbly.   Add milk and mix just enough so all dry ingredients are moistened.  Dough will be loose and lumpy!  Spread dough in a greased 9×9 pan (or 8×8, we’re not picky) and sprinkle with extra sugar.  Bake at 400 for 20 minutes, or until done in the middle (test with toothpick or fork). 

Serve warm with lots of sliced, sugared strawberries (or other fresh fruit.)

 This old-fashioned, sweet biscuit dough is much faster and better than the cut-out-circle version, even from a mix, and so moist and delicious there is no need to split or butter it, nor even to add whipped cream.  You can easily throw it together while the hamburgers are grilling.

… at a hippy retreaty thing in Ohio, and won’t be back until the end of the week. 

While I’m gone, do yourself a favor and go rent “Gran Torino,” which is supposed to hit the video store shelves this week. 

Thankfully, Susan Boyle seems to be recovering following her recent hospitalization for exhaustion.

Celebrity watchers remain deeply concerned about her, however, because of her new susceptibility to celebrity-born diseases.

Susan Boyle’s condition is known as Celebrity Exhaustion Syndrome (CES). While some medical experts question the validity of CES, most now agree that CES is a growing problem. The World Health Organization (WHO) recently announced that CES has now reached a phase 5 on the pandemic alert scale.

After doing extensive research on the subject myself, I found this informative educational video about CES that non-celebrities may find helpful.

While CES previously has been considered a disease only infecting the Famous, Susan Boyle is a clear example that it may cross over to the general population at any time. Fortunately, Celebrity Exhaustion Syndrome may be avoided by taking a few simple precautions:

• Do not appear in concert or on television. Ever.
• Avoid excessive success, following Almostgotit’s example instead.
• If possible, carry a small animal with you at all times. Paris Hilton developed an extreme resistance to CES by taking this very simple measure.

Remember: while the rest of us may suffer from ordinary depression, drug addiction, or psychotic episodes, Celebrity Exhaustion is far more serious.*

Sufferers from CES often require costly treatment at highly-specialized clinics located in the Malibu area. 

Because of her recent shopping spree, however, Susan Boyle may not be able to afford such care.

Almostgotit is asking for your help. Following the example of such humanitarians as Whitney, Bobby and Angelina, please give to the Celebrity Exhaustion Fund today, and please give generously.

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* Important Note: Celebrity Exhaustion Syndrome, though far more serious than any ailment suffered by a non-celebrity, still carries no stigma whatsoever.