I know I haven't been updating this every few days, but I've started a second job and I haven't got the time right now. Hopefully in a few weeks when school lets out I'll have more. I did post a few more funny emails I received. I hope you enjoy.
I've spoken to Jonathan, and he says Zoey is doing wonderful. She really doesn't like the beach as much as he thought she would with her wheels because of the sand being too soft. She has to go where the water makes it packed down hard. He will be leaving for Montana in a few weeks and he thinks she will absolutely love hiking those trails. She is up to 2 miles in her wheels. Best money I ever spent.
Tyler is doing well, I think he's gonna go onto the 3rd grade. His report cards are increasingly better, so hopefully this last one will be too.
I'm really looking forward to the Eastern Whippet Specialty this year which is the 29th, 30th and 31st of May. Should be fun, as Amanda and I will be rooming together. We'll get the smoothie machine cranking and suck down some of my homemade Margaritas.
As of now I only have three adults left to place into homes. I really want to get down on my numbers, cause I have two wonderful litters planned for this fall/winter, whenever the girls come into season. You can see who will be bred to whom on my website under "planned litters".
Hope all is well with everyone, have a great Memorial Day weekend, and I'll be in touch.
diane
Sunday, May 17, 2009
Don't Talk to my Parrot
Wanda's dishwasher quit working so she called in a repairman. Since she had to go to work the next day, she told the repairman, 'I'll leave the key under the mat. Fix the dishwasher, leave the bill on the counter, and I'll mail you a check. Oh, by the way don't worry about my dog Spike. He won't bother you.' 'But, whatever you do, do NOT, under ANY circumstances, talk to my parrot!
'I MUST STRESS TO YOU: DO NOT TALK TO MY PARROT!!!'
When the repairman arrived at Wanda's apartment the following day, he discovered the biggest, meanest looking dog he has ever seen. But, just as she had said, the dog just lay there on the carpet watching the repairman go about his work. The parrot, however, drove him nuts the whole time with his incessant yelling, cursing and name calling. Finally the repairman couldn't contain himself any longer and yelled, 'Shut up, you stupid, ugly bird!'
To which the parrot replied,
'Get him Spike!'
See - Men just don't listen!
'I MUST STRESS TO YOU: DO NOT TALK TO MY PARROT!!!'
When the repairman arrived at Wanda's apartment the following day, he discovered the biggest, meanest looking dog he has ever seen. But, just as she had said, the dog just lay there on the carpet watching the repairman go about his work. The parrot, however, drove him nuts the whole time with his incessant yelling, cursing and name calling. Finally the repairman couldn't contain himself any longer and yelled, 'Shut up, you stupid, ugly bird!'
To which the parrot replied,
'Get him Spike!'
See - Men just don't listen!
The Nun
A nun, badly needing to use the restroom, walked into a local Hooters. The place was hopping with music and loud conversation and every once in a while 'the lights would turnoff.' Each time the lights would go out, the place would erupt into cheers. However, when the revelers saw the nun, the room went dead silent.
She walked up to the bartender, and asked, 'May I please use the restroom?" The bartender replied, 'OK, but I should warn you that there is a statue of a naked man in there wearing only a fig leaf.' 'Well, in that case, I'll just look the other way,' said the nun. So the bartender showed the nun to the back of the restaurant.
After a few minutes, she came back out, and the whole place stopped just long enough to give the nun a loud round of applause. She went to the bartender and said, 'Sir, I don't understand. Why did they applaud for me just because I went to the restroom?' 'Well, now they know you're one of us,' said the bartender, 'Would you like a drink?' 'No thank you, but, I still don't understand,' said the puzzled nun.
'You see,' laughed the bartender, 'every time someone lifts the fig leaf on that statue, the lights go out. Now, how about that drink?'
She walked up to the bartender, and asked, 'May I please use the restroom?" The bartender replied, 'OK, but I should warn you that there is a statue of a naked man in there wearing only a fig leaf.' 'Well, in that case, I'll just look the other way,' said the nun. So the bartender showed the nun to the back of the restaurant.
After a few minutes, she came back out, and the whole place stopped just long enough to give the nun a loud round of applause. She went to the bartender and said, 'Sir, I don't understand. Why did they applaud for me just because I went to the restroom?' 'Well, now they know you're one of us,' said the bartender, 'Would you like a drink?' 'No thank you, but, I still don't understand,' said the puzzled nun.
'You see,' laughed the bartender, 'every time someone lifts the fig leaf on that statue, the lights go out. Now, how about that drink?'
The Bathing Suit
When I was a child the bathing suit for the mature figure was boned, trussed and reinforced, not so much sewn as engineered. They were built to hold back and uplift and they did a good job. Today's stretch fabrics are designed for the prepubescent girl with a figure carved from a potato chip.
The mature woman has a choice - she can either go up front to the maternity department and try on a floral suit with a skirt, coming away looking like a hippopotamus who escaped from Disney's Fantasia or she can wander around every run of the mill department store trying to make a sensible choice from what amounts to a designer range of florescent rubber bands.
What choice did I have? I wandered around, made my sensible choice and entered the chamber of horrors known as the fitting room. The first thing I noticed was the extraordinary tensile strength of the stretch material. The Lycra used in bathing costumes was developed, I believe, by NASA to launch small rockets from a slingshot, which give the added bonus that if you manage to actually lever yourself into one, you are protected from shark attacks as any shark taking a swipe at your passing midriff would immediately suffer whip lash.
I fought my way into the bathing suit, but as I twanged the shoulder strap in place, I gasped in horror - my boobs had disappeared! Eventually, I found one boob cowering under my left armpit. It took a while to find the other. At last I located it flattened beside my seventh rib.
The problem is that modern bathing suits have no bra cups. The mature woman is meant to wear her boobs spread across her chest like a speed bump. I realigned my speed bump and lurched toward the mirror to take a full view assessment. The bathing suit fit all right, but unfortunately it only fit those bits of me willing to stay inside it. The rest of me oozed out rebelliously from top, bottom, and sides. I looked like a lump of play dough wearing undersized cling wrap. As I tried to work out where all those extra bits had come from, the prepubescent sales girl popped her head through the curtain, 'Oh, there you are,' she said, admiring the bathing suit. I replied that I wasn't so sure and asked what else she had to show me.
I tried on a cream crinkled one that made me look like a lump of masking tape, and a floral two piece which gave the appearance of an oversized napkin in a serving ring. I struggled into a pair of leopard skin bathers with ragged frills and came out looking like Tarzan's Jane, pregnant with triplets and having a rough day. I tried on a black number with a mesh midriff and looked like a jellyfish in mourning. I tried on a bright pink suit with such a high cut leg I thought I would have to wax my eyebrows to wear it.
Finally, I found a suit that fit... a two-piece affair with a shorts style bottom and a loose blouse type top. It was cheap, comfortable, and bulge-friendly, so I bought it. My ridiculous search had a successful outcome, I figured. When I got home, I found a label which read -- 'Material might become transparent in water. 'So, if you happen to be on the beach or near any other body of water this year and I'm there too... I'll be the one in cut-off jeans and a t-shirt!
The mature woman has a choice - she can either go up front to the maternity department and try on a floral suit with a skirt, coming away looking like a hippopotamus who escaped from Disney's Fantasia or she can wander around every run of the mill department store trying to make a sensible choice from what amounts to a designer range of florescent rubber bands.
What choice did I have? I wandered around, made my sensible choice and entered the chamber of horrors known as the fitting room. The first thing I noticed was the extraordinary tensile strength of the stretch material. The Lycra used in bathing costumes was developed, I believe, by NASA to launch small rockets from a slingshot, which give the added bonus that if you manage to actually lever yourself into one, you are protected from shark attacks as any shark taking a swipe at your passing midriff would immediately suffer whip lash.
I fought my way into the bathing suit, but as I twanged the shoulder strap in place, I gasped in horror - my boobs had disappeared! Eventually, I found one boob cowering under my left armpit. It took a while to find the other. At last I located it flattened beside my seventh rib.
The problem is that modern bathing suits have no bra cups. The mature woman is meant to wear her boobs spread across her chest like a speed bump. I realigned my speed bump and lurched toward the mirror to take a full view assessment. The bathing suit fit all right, but unfortunately it only fit those bits of me willing to stay inside it. The rest of me oozed out rebelliously from top, bottom, and sides. I looked like a lump of play dough wearing undersized cling wrap. As I tried to work out where all those extra bits had come from, the prepubescent sales girl popped her head through the curtain, 'Oh, there you are,' she said, admiring the bathing suit. I replied that I wasn't so sure and asked what else she had to show me.
I tried on a cream crinkled one that made me look like a lump of masking tape, and a floral two piece which gave the appearance of an oversized napkin in a serving ring. I struggled into a pair of leopard skin bathers with ragged frills and came out looking like Tarzan's Jane, pregnant with triplets and having a rough day. I tried on a black number with a mesh midriff and looked like a jellyfish in mourning. I tried on a bright pink suit with such a high cut leg I thought I would have to wax my eyebrows to wear it.
Finally, I found a suit that fit... a two-piece affair with a shorts style bottom and a loose blouse type top. It was cheap, comfortable, and bulge-friendly, so I bought it. My ridiculous search had a successful outcome, I figured. When I got home, I found a label which read -- 'Material might become transparent in water. 'So, if you happen to be on the beach or near any other body of water this year and I'm there too... I'll be the one in cut-off jeans and a t-shirt!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)