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Archive for August, 2011

Hello, dollface

When my mom died, my dad was in rough shape. Eddie and I thought he had one foot in the grave. Every time I talked to him, it was like talking to Eeyore. And suddenly, six months later, he was a different person. Chipper, even.

Her name is Katherine. She moved in, cheered him up, and whipped him into shape. She speaks in that Old South syrupy drawl and he just oozes contentment. I can’t help but like her. She’s almost perfect. Almost.

Katherine likes dolls, and lots of them. She has taken the first step, though, in admitting she has a problem. (“Hi, my name is Katherine, and I’m a doll collector.”) She and my dad talk about an eBay purging, but nothing has happened yet. So a thousand pairs of eyes greet me when I visit.

The formation taking up prime living room real estate is this Native American tableau. They are taller than my oldest son.

There's a horse in there too.

Here are some of the others:

Cupids? Rejects from "Toddlers and Tiaras?"

Runaway bride? She looks afraid of something. Maybe it's the others in the room.

The Victorian medley awaits the slumber of the guest.

Princess Di stars in "Little House on the Prairie."

This is part of a carousel of horrors.

Chucky and his (her?) pet deer. Same creepy eyes.

Katherine shows off "Rosemary's baby."

Not even the kitchen is immune.

The dolls reside in a garden of silk flowers and plants. Every cranny is a diorama of disturbing elements.

In the jungle, the mighty jungle, Eddie can't sleep tonight ...

Dad reads this blog and will show this post to Katherine. Katherine, I want you to know that our taste in interior design might be different, but I wouldn’t trade you for anything. I’m happy to have you in our lives, even if that means I put up with weird little figures (the ones who are not my children).

(On a side note, anyone in the market for some dolls?)

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A fowl day

I guess we are not meant to have chickens.

Jeanne has gone to that great coop in the sky.

It appears something attacked her in the coop (not Maggie this time, as Maggie passed away last October). Perhaps a possum or raccoon. Jeanne put up a fight, but didn’t make it.

Once again, Eddie is the one who found the carnage. (Hmmm … there seems to be a theme emerging.) He called me on my way to work, while I was already upset about something else:

That’s some jury-rigging right there. Not pretty. This is what happens when you are driving a Volkswagen and can’t swerve to miss a piece of truck tire in the road. And why Eddie hates my car. (He was driving.)

Eddie also hit a deer a couple of months ago. So Progressive loves us, I’m sure.

It was a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day for me. Worse for Jeanne, of course. RIP.

Eddie says that’s it for chickens. Yeah, well. He’s said that before.

I’ll bide my time until March, which is the start of chicken season.

 

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This person needs a "tutor" for English too. Or maybe he DOES want a member of 16th-century English royalty.

I'd rather have an "omelet" or an "omelette."

"Eat of it," meaning the animals will just sample whatever someone tosses in? They are more likely to eat the whole darn thing.

Belk's sign maker needs a crash course in possessives.

No mistake here. I just want to let you know that Zumba is apparently not allowed.

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I am posting?

I have been woefully slack at creating new content for this blog. I apologize.

I’m overwhelmed with possible topics:

  • My doctoral hooding ceremony, for which my chair wore jeans and paint-covered sandals
  • The AEJMC conference I am attending that is making me feel like a James Franco-style slacker
  • The fact that tapas places don’t seem to really understand the concept of tapas
  • That chickens do indeed like the taste of chicken

And the ever popular topic

  • War, what is is good for?

My head is exploding with the possibilities. So, I’ll make it interesting and entertaining by posting images of signs and notices sent to me by my fabulous friends.

From Chad:

For your convenience, software programs offer spell check.

From Kevin:

Please experience a moment with a dictionary.

From Royce:

So is the pro shop apologizing or not? Perhaps they should apologize for mistaking the question mark key for the period.

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Mike Judge is starting to look more and more like Nostradamus; his “Idiocracy” is akin to “The Prophecies.”

You need evidence that we live in a society that is shunning intellectual curiosity and social responsibility? You must not have watched any of the debt debates.

There are other signs all around of our declining intellectual ability. Literally.

Here’s one offered by my friend Lisa, who was mortified to find this at her son’s school:

God forbid the "parnet's" forget eggs on "Wesdnesday." That might be the day they also learn about spelling and apostrophe usage.

Royce provided this selection from the Savannah Morning News:

Maybe a "cachier" is a new term for someone who helps with a cache of coupons.

I saw this during my recent jaunt to Jacksonville:

I wonder if the new ownership will extend care to people of other faiths too.

Karla was amused by this entry in a cabin’s guest book:

It's clear they don't quite have a handle on our "human words." Ah, the intricacies of adverbs, adjectives and verbs.

And finally, from Elyse, here is evidence of a desperate attempt to sound important — an attempt office workers see on a regular basis:

Somewhere the word "use" is weeping quietly.

Sigh.

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