Hot Off the (Church Lady) Press!

(HT to KellyToo, who sent me this hilarious list. WC)

They’re Back! Church Bulletins: Thank God for church ladies with typewriters. These sentences actually appeared in church bulletins or were announced in church services:

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The Fasting & Prayer Conference includes meals.
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The sermon this morning: “Jesus Walks on the Water.” The sermon tonight: “Searching for Jesus.”
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Our youth basketball team is back in action Wednesday at 8 PM in the recreation hall. Come out and watch us kill Christ the King.
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Ladies, don’t forget the rummage sale. It’s a chance to get rid of those things not worth keeping around the house. Bring your husbands.
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The peacemaking meeting scheduled for today has been canceled due to a conflict.
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Remember in prayer the many who are sick of our community. Smile at someone who is hard to love. Say “Hell” to someone who doesn’t care much about you.
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Don’t let worry kill you off – let the Church help.
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Miss Charlene Mason sang “I will not pass this way again,” giving obvious pleasure to the congregation.
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For those of you who have children and don’t know it, we have a nursery downstairs.
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Next Thursday there will be tryouts for the choir. They need all the help they can get.
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The Rector will preach his farewell message after which the choir will sing: “Break Forth Into Joy.”
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Irving Benson and Jessie Carter were married on October 24 in the church. So ends a friendship that began in their school days.
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A bean supper will be held on Tuesday evening in the church hall. Music will follow.
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At the evening service tonight, the sermon topic will be “What Is Hell?” Come early and listen to our choir practice.
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Eight new choir robes are currently needed due to the addition of several new members and to the deterioration of some older ones.
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Scouts are saving aluminum cans, bottles and other items to be recycled. Proceeds will be used to cripple children.
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Please place your donation in the envelope along with the deceased person you want remembered.
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The church will host an evening of fine dining, super entertainment and gracious hostility.
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Potluck supper Sunday at 5:00 PM – prayer and medication to follow.
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The ladies of the Church have cast off clothing of every kind. They may be seen in the basement on Friday afternoon.
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Ladies Bible Study will be held Thursday morning at 10 AM. All ladies are invited to lunch in the Fellowship Hall after the B. S. is done.
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The pastor would appreciate it if the ladies of the congregation would lend him their electric girdles for the pancake breakfast next Sunday.
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Low Self Esteem Support Group will meet Thursday at 7 PM. Please use the back door.
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The eighth-graders will be presenting Shakespeare’s Hamlet in the Church basement Friday at 7 PM. The congregation is invited to attend this tragedy.
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Weight Watchers will meet at 7 PM at the First Presbyterian Church. Please use large double door at the side entrance.
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The Associate Minister unveiled the church’s new tithing campaign slogan last Sunday: “I Upped My Pledge – Up Yours”

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What’s That Smell?

A few years ago I lived in a little cottage in a rather pastoral setting. There were several other little cottages on the property, all beneath a canopy of grape leaves. In the summer the grapes would ripen and there would be beautiful, deep purple clusters of grapes seemingly hanging in the air. The landlord, a crusty old coot from Hungary also liked to garden and there were rows and rows of fresh tomatoes, berries and peppers – all freely available to we little cottage dwellers.

So there we were all tucked away in this psuedo Tuscan atmosphere, with our grapes and our fresh veggies and little cottages. Mine being, of course, the ultimate writer’s garret. I could pretend to be Hemingway or at least Erma Bombeck. On warm summer nights, I’d prop open the front door to get in a breeze, since the cottage was woefully lacking windows. Still I loved my little space and my privacy.

Well, one night whilst I plopped on the sofa and watched television, I could swear I saw the frying pan dance. I had one of those open floor plans where the kitchen really was just a few feet from the sofa and the stove was definitely in plain sight.

I was puzzled. Now just how does a frying pan dance, I wondered. I shrugged assuming it was shadows playing tricks on my eyes and looked back at the television – but damn if it didn’t happen again. I got up slowly and tip-toed a little closer to the stove and eeek what did I see but a little mouse doing the boogaloo in my frying pan. (Can you say, throw that pan away?)

Naturally, we both screamed – he scurried off and I ordered my cat to attack. No deal. The cat was just a kitten really and not much bigger than the mouse and my dog was so old she barely noticed earthquakes. So, naturally I got the elimnator (the broom) and attacked the back of the stove and the walls and stuff to scare the little bugger out. Yep, didn’t work.

Next day I talk to the crusty old Hungarian about getting rid of the mouse. He acted like he didn’t understand english and so I went to the store and bought some mouse poison. I don’t really like doing stuff like that but hey – I couldn’t have the little vermin running around my house and nibbling on my toes or ears whilst I slept – so mouse poison it was. I place one packet behind the stove and one behind the sofa.

Every night I’d hear a frenzied, gleeful squealing and rattling of the platic bag. Apparently that was mousie coke based on his obvious enjoyment of that which would eventually do him in. Every morning, I’d peek to see just how much of this stuff he was eating – thinking any day now it’d be over. Well, believe it or not, it took several days. Now that mouse had quite an appetite. But finally one day I came home from work and there he was lying dead on my bath mat (yep pitched that too). Phew! that was over. Must remember not to prop door without babygate in it. All is right with the world.

So a couple of days later I’m sitting at my desk and ‘sniff-sniff’ what the heck was that smell? I looked under the desk, checked the trash – tried to remember if I was wearing dirty sweat pants and so on…but nothing. I went back to work. There it was again. That smell! I checked my armpits – was I going through some serious detox? Was I drinking too much water or not enough? Was the exercise tape really making me stink taht much.

I took a shower.

Sure enough the next day, it’s back again. What was it? What other horrible thing had crawled into my house? Where had the dog barfed or the cat peed? What the hell was that smell? I simply could not find the source.

Saturday morning, I got the bug to do a spring cleaning. I whipped out the cleanser and sos pads, the furniture polish, the window cleaner and finally the vacuum. Yep my little cottage was going to sparkle and shine. On went the vacuum and it went merrily about its business sucking up hidden dirt (and I hoped smells) and sand and rocks and whatever else me and the dog dragged in. Ooops had to move my big desk chair – now for as small as that place was I always insisted on having a big comfy leather chair, so it took up some room – but it was worth it. So move chair out of way and gasp! what do I see? Yep, my mousie’s dancing partner. There she was in all her white and brown speckled glory. And she was rightly stinking the place up. I could never find the source of the smell cuz it was right under my big fat ass the whole time.

So the moral to the story is, if you got one mouse than probably have two. And a dead mouse really stinks!

WC

The Joy of Creating

My good pal JG lives in Texas now. I miss her but I also envy her, as Texas has a certain something about it – where you just feel like the individual is king. You know? She sent along some pics of recent innovative inventions out her way. I’m in awe frankly, the ingenuity it took to come up with these is amazing. 😉  WC

Now you did know I was funning ya, didn’t ya? 😉

The Blog Gods Are Angry!#$%@&*!

First of all let me just say this is all Bill Gates’ fault! The dawg!

Okay, I’ve been blogging for a little while now- I think I’ve learned the ropes more or less. Know how not to crash my hard-drive, or blow up my computer, can’t write code but sort kinda know what it is, right? Right. Got a photobucket account, just like my mentor told me to – learned how to download pics so they don’t look like you’ve just had a hit of acid or something. Can tag surf, check my comments, response to readers in bold, add links and blah, blah, blah. Right?

So suffice to say that given the glorious ease that WordPress gives you in blogging – I can function within the normal confines of blogging. I’m not a blackbelt or anything – but I know my way around the ol’ blogosphere. And yet….

In my adventures as a blogger I have had to actually shut down a blog and reopen it under a different name because one day I just couldn’t add categories to my posts. For you layman out there, those are ‘tags’ ‘keywords’ that people use to find subject matter on the net. I tried and tried. But there was clearly no way to trick the system – even tech support was baffled. So – okay, no big deal transfer the blog over and start again.

Then I’ve had posts just disappear. Now you see it now you don’t. Again, some sort of glitch in the cyber universe, as I’ve commiserated with others whose posts have vaporized as well.

I’ve had code that simply refused to be deleted and finally won because after two hours you just say uncle. Which resulted in half the post being in one font and the other half in another.

I’ve had regular readers end up in the spam box, rather than having their comments posted and spammers doing pingbacks, making nonsequitor posts and happily running down the halls, spraying graffitti everywhere.

Not long ago, I added a bright new blogger to my blogroll. He’s bright, funny and a pleasure to read. And I thought, what the heck, I like this guy and I’m linking him. No problem, right? Well the weird thing is that whenever I click on the link I get redirected to some weird admin link and one of those insipid messages that says basically ‘screw you, you’re not getting in.’ I’ve recently discovered that if I’m logged out I can sometimes actually access his page. Sigh. So, I’m trying Chris.

Then today – well I had this cute little post all set up about snow in L.A. and a great little vid to go with it. But nope, wasn’t going to happen. The last two hours have been chewed up trying to make it work and it just goes into download hell and never arrives.

Poor tech support, I’ve emailed them so much lately that surely I’m in their permanent spam list – and pain in the ass file. And who could blame them? I feel like that little old lady who is always bringing stuff back to the store insisting it doesn’t work but of course it works for everyone else.

So, now I’m sure of it. It is simply the Great Blog Gods in the sky. They are pissed at me. They are making me pay. They got an email from Bill Gates telling them I refuse to download yet another version of his piece-of-shit IE browser and they are conspiring against me. They’re all up there smoking cigars, counting their money, drinking beers and laughing their asses off. Trying to figure out how else they can screw with me. The rat bastards!

Well, I will not relent! I will not download that hideous browser. They can torment me all they like. I still refuse to be herded like cows into their mindless one-world order composed of all of those who must obey! (Can you hear the trumpets now?)

Give me liberty or screw you! I have not yet begun to bitch! I will prevail!

Phew…I feel better now. Have a nice day. 😉

WC

Time To Embarrass Mom…

Sorry folks, I just couldn’t resist – it was too funny not to post. In fact, believe it or not, it reminds me of a real life story from my childhood and it goes like this…

One winter morning (I was about 13) my little brother, CE was outside with his buddy Jimmy playing war. No big deal because he was always outside playing with Jimmy no matter the weather, much as you would expect of an 8 year old.

My bedroom was in the back of the house and had a back door, with a window, that led out to the back yard. Mom and I were in my room chatting about something or another and for some reason Mom looked out side. All the color drained from her face and see ran to the door and pulled it open. She screamed for my brother to come in immediately.

I had no idea what was going on or why my mother was so non-plussed but was quite intrigued. My little brother hurried inside and said, ‘What’s the matter?’

I almost died. Around his head he had wrapped a kotex, which he also colored with ketchup or something red and I suppose he was make believing it was a head bandage or something, given that he was playing war.

I had to keep digging my nails in my closed hand to keep from laughing out loud. So it went like this:

Mom: What is that on your head?

CE: It’s a bandage.

Mom: Where did you get it?

CE: (pointing to me) Her closet.

Mom: Take that off right now!

CE: Why?

Mom: Because I said so!

CE: Oh man!

Mom: Right now, young man!

He took it off and handed it to her and she almost passed out.

Me: What’s that red stuff?

CE: Ketchup.

That was it, I fell over laughing and even Ma joined in. We couldn’t even speak much less answer all of my brother’s demands to know what was so funny.

Nothing like making the most of what you’ve got, eh?

Life is funny sometimes, doncha think?

WC

Hard to be Humble…All Hail Mrs. America!

Oh Lord it’s hard to be humble when you’re perfect in every way… I can’t wait to look in the mirror, cuz I get better lookin’ each day…To know me is to love me – I must be a heck of a Nan…Oh Lord, it’s hard to be humble but I’m doing the best that I can..(please forgive me Mac Davis 😉 )

Well there she is folks, Ms. America…oh yeah. This pop-eyed, botoxed, nasty, mean bagillionaire is now the Speaker of the House. According to Drudge (or somebody) the most powerful woman in the world – Uh – duh! doesn’t she know Hillary owns that title? Could be problems in her future. Yep, this demon-crat has got her pitchfork ready and her first target is your wallet.

Aren’t you ever so glad that you decided to teach the Republicans a lesson? Well if you’re not yet, you surely will be soon.

While she is standing at podiums and appearing on talk shows gushing about how she’s made a monumental strike for woman-kind by ‘breaking the marble ceiling’ in American politics (jeez-louise, who the hell writes her speeches?) – her accountant is madly working on what tax shelters he can hide her bagillions in for her tax return. While she is expounding the virtues of raising the minimum wage, she is refusing in her own business to hire union workers and instead employing illegal aliens – lest she doesn’t take too bad a cut on her bottom line. While she is damning places like WalMart, who provide a service for lower income families, not to mention jobs – she and her cronies are figuring out how we can actually get Hillary’s universal healthcare in place. Of course that means somebody is gonna have to pay for it. Hmmmm….I wonder who?

Something tells me it isn’t going to be Nan, Teddy or Harry. Naw…they have bagillions and intend to keep it all. They can spend our tax dollars with wild abandon though – yep, better start stuffing your mattress now cuz you may need it in order to fund all the ‘free’ healthcare for people who feel the ‘government’ can pay for all the stuff they need. Of course, we are actually the government. Get it?

Hail the Queen of the May. Mrs. Speaker. The most powerful woman in the world. Oh yeah – she’s sure is the symbol of America huh? I know I can identify with her and use her as a role model. I think I’m gonna run right out and buy me an ugly red suit and some botox injections – cuz when I grow up, I wanna be just like her.

Let the games begin.

WC

Julia Child’s Turkey Christmas – 12 days of xmas #6

New house, new man (with two sons…why do they come in two’s?) and yet another memorable Christmas. Still cooking. In this case, cooking up a veritible storm. It started out pretty simple me, Tom and the boys with a few friends…but then I started getting these phone calls. There was a bevy of Christmas orphans that year with nowhere to go and could they come to my house? Sure, the more the merrier!

As each day inched nearer to Christmas, more phone calls, more unexpected guests to feed. I’d never made a really big turkey but this was the year to do it. The house was small so there was no way we were all going to sit down, so a buffet it was.

It’s a rather odd and surreal experience (even to a Christmas nut like me) to have a houseful of guests for Christmas dinner when you’ve never met half of them. Sort of like stumbling into a big frat party. But I loving to cook and have guests the way I do decided to just roll with it.

I got up early (can you say 5 am?) and Tom just had to get this shot of me in search of my first cup of coffee. Oh how I love to have my picture taken in my jammies with no makeup and a dumb expression on my face.

But I digress.

So, out came the 30lb turkey to sit on the counter while I drank coffee and made the stuffing. Now I’m a kind of organic cook – I generally abhor recipes and I honestly can’t follow one completely as I always add things or change things. So instead of taking the easy way out and following Mrs. Cubbitson’s recipe that was quite conveniently on the back of the box, I set to chopping up apples, nuts and onions, sauteed all that in some butter and threw in a few handful of raisens – I happened to have some cranberries too so in they went. Once the vat of dressing was made and the turkey stuffed to the gills and the remaining dressing in a sheet pan, we set to making the basting sauce. Butter, chicken broth, orange juice and white wine, a little sugar for good measure and we were ready to roll. Into the oven it went.

The next hour was spent peeling potatoes because of course home made mashed potatoes were a must and I had a lot of guests and they were going to want those darn potatoes. Ooops, one of the kids just shot a toy soldier into the potato pot. No harm done, the soldier was barely injured. On the back burner with those. Next sweet potatoes, peeling, dicing, glazing with butter, cinnamon, pineapple juice and brown sugar. My gawd how glad was I that I made the pumpkin pies the night before? Very, I must say.

As an afterthought, I grabbed a couple of bags of frozen peas since no one really likes vegetables with their Christmas dinner, do they? Unheard of, really , absolutely scandalous!

And between the basting and trying to find enough dishes and the the parade of guests and little gift giving, before I knew it, it was time to pull it all out of the oven. Of course by that time I was ready for a nap but i had an army to feed and they were getting restless with Ruffles and beer being their only appetisers (I know, shame on me – but I just couldn’t clone myself to make nibblies).

The turkey needed to rest before we could carve him up – so I put on my best Julia Childs impression and entertained the guests while extolling the many virtues of the giant perfectly browned bird.

Then came the rue for the gravy and separating the fat from the drippings – oh my where was that little bit of coffee I saved for the gravy? Is that bowl big enough for the potatoes? Why on earth don’t I have an electric mixer? Do you know how hard it is to mash and whip 10 pounds of mashed potatoes? My biceps were quite impressive that day. At least Tom opened the cranberry sauce and carved the turkey.

Finally we ate and ate and then we ate some more. We played Trivial Pursuit, got drunk and finished the leftovers. I think I finally had to kick everyone out around midnight. Since my orphans had cleaned up after me when dinner was over, I had a clean kitchen and just enough to share a turkey sandwich with Tom before we crawled into bed for a long winter’s nap. Of course I swore I’d never do that again. And yet I did, the next year and the next year and the year after that. 😉

WC

Christmas on the Boulevard – 12 days of xmas #5

 

Cooking is something I love and coincidentally one of the things I do best. For that reason (and many others) when time and space allow I can usually be counted on to cook up a storm on Christmas. This particular year though I opted out.

It was my first Christmas after Mike and I broke up and something about doing the big dinner just didn’t sit right with me. Instead I put together a co-op Christmas Brunch. Which really turned out to be great. I made the eggs, bacon, sausage and fresh-squeezed juice, Maxine brought breads and muffins, Libby brought fruit, somebody brought deserts, and yet another brought cheeses and other nibblies. We all lazed around in my tiny livingroom, after feeding heavily from the buffet I set up in the kitchen. It was a wonderful 80 degrees outside and it was more like a pool party than Christmas.

One by one my guests bid their goodbyes, having dinner plans elsewhere and I made sure that each took away some of the leftovers, lest they pass my lips and end up on my thighs. A brilliant plan I thought….at the time.

Libby, my somewhat eccentric friend had no plans so she stayed and we yakked and laughed and smoked for hours. We were having such a good time in our chat we decided to keep it going and thought what fun it would be to just go out for Christmas dinner. Nothing fancy mind you, especially since Libby was attired in her usual denim overalls and sneakers, but surely Denny’s would be open or someplace like that.

So, we decided to walk down to the boulevard. That’s Hollywood speak for Hollywood Boulevard. You know that famous little strip of land that you hear about and read about out there in the real world? Where every step you take lands you on the star and name of somebody famous. Where drag queens, hookers, tourists, wannabes and regular folk alike stroll and take in the sights.

A good plan, right? I mean how could something go wrong? Who woulda thunk that not one shop, store or restaurant would be open? Ah…us! Yep, that’s right. We walked and looked and walked and looked and walked some more. But, ah…no….didn’t we realize it was Christmas day? Didn’t we have family or friends who could feed us? I mean…didn’t we?

Of course we weren’t having any of it. We knew if we just kept walking that we were sure to find someplace. Just as we reached Grelman’s Chinese Theatre (you know the one with all the handprints and footprints of movie stars?) we spotted a lovely pink neon sign that said ‘open.’

“See,” Libby crowed, “I knew we’d find someplace.”

So we crossed the street and pulled open the door to Frank’s Diner. (Yep, that is really what it was called.)

Oh good, I thought – some good greasy spoon Christmas dinner was going to hit the spot.

The waitress who was a mere 150 years old shuffled over to us as we sat at the counter. “What’ll ya have?”

“Turkey dinner, of course,” we said.

She screwed up her face in a sour puss. “We don’t got no turkey dinner.”

“Really?” our eyes were wide and hearts very sad.

“What’ll ya have?” she asked again completely unphased by our charms.

“Menu?” Libby chirped.

Two xeroxed sheets of paper were plunked down in front of us. “Coffee?”

‘Ah, sure.”

We studied the menu and looked for anything that could possibly approximate Christmas dinner. We both decided on the hot turkey sandwich. It was almost like Christmas and we’d have pumpkin pie for desert. We ordered.

The coffee came and our spoons stood straight up in it. We went through two cream pictures in an effort to make it drinkable but the color never really changed from the muddy brown hue it came with.

At last the hot turkey samiches arrived and our eyes sparkled until Myra (we named all old waitress Myra) slapped them down in front of us. Okay, ready? Wonder bread with turkey loaf, instant mashed potatoes and BROWN gravy all over everything – even the peas and carrots. To say it was fucking awful is to pay it too high a compliment. But we were starved so down it went. And we laughed like a couple of giddy cokeheads. For some reason it was hilarious to us that this was our Christmas dinner.

When finally we gave up on the brown gooey mess we asked for pumpkin pie. “We’re out,” she said and gave us our check.

Of course they were.

We paid our check and walked arm in arm back down the boulevard toward home. On the way back we spotted a Falaphel stand and ordered a couple. Hey, at least it was edible and the big tanker of diet coke helped it go down nice and easy.

By the time we got back to my place it was late and Libby decided to go home. I plopped down on the couch and turned on the tv – what luck – White Christmas had just started and it was the perfect end to a perfect day.

WC

Ha, ha – ho, ho…funnies for you

Here’s a little assortment of little Christmas funnies…

 

hahahahahahahahahahahahahahahahaha!

WC