Yes, we have no donuts

On my way to Dunkin.

Geez!  Where are all the cars?

Ordered coffee and a donut.

“We have no donuts.”

“You’re kidding, right?”

“No”

“Ok, so were the cops here or what? Did they eat all of them?         

No response.

“What do you have that is sweet?”

“We have muffins.”

“OK, blueberry, please.”

“We don’t have any blueberry.”

“What do you have?”

“We have one muffin, and it is chocolate chip.”

“I don’t like those, so forgettabout it.”

“So  you want the coffee?”

“No, not without a donut.”

“We are out of donuts.”

“OK, so I will take the chocolate chip muffin.”

“Too late.  It’s gone.”

“So am I.”

True story.

Xoxooxxoo

Wolf

The Interview

The interview:

“What do you do all day?”

“Live.” 

“You live alone.  Don’t you get lonely?”

“I live with myself, and I am a lot to handle.”

“You’re getting kind of old, do you still drive?”

“I do, but sometimes I forget where I’ve parked and get in the wrong car.”

“Do any community service?”

“Yes, I am a key contributor in keeping the local bars open.”

“Are you a Democrat or a Republican?

“I am an American.”

“How about cooking?  Do you do any cooking?”

“I am constantly cooking up trouble.”

“Are you an introvert or an extrovert?”

“Neither.  I am a loose cannon.”

“Are you mentally stable?”

“Not since I fell face first on the basement floor, watching my Dad pluck at turkey.  I think I was 12 years old.  Haven’t been right since.”

“Why did you quit your job?”

“Well, I didn’t get the glue sniffing job, in bindery. They said I was over qualified.”

“Is there anything that would make your life happier?”

“Yeah.  Ending this interview.”

Friends:  Enjoy the July 4^th holiday!  Be safe and have fun!

Xooxoxox

Wolf

Duck Duck Goose

I think I need to schedule an appointment with my doctor.

My problem is becoming an obsession.

It is a growing concern.

I have a goose problem.

No, I don’t have any geese.

It’s worse than that.

And it isn’t because a goose chased me when I got out of my car, hissing and squawking as I tried to fend him off with an umbrella.

Actually, I like the way Mom and Pop goose are faithful companions for life, and are wonderful parents.

When the babies are born, they are the cutest little geese (or is it goslings), as they waddle in formation, creating traffic jams.

I believe my problem stems from the unfiltered behavior that has creeped into my life.

I goose people.

And not just people I know.

My hand just hovers around the target, and goes wild.

The victims usually say the same thing:  “You goosed me!”

No %@#%@#%.

I can’t leave a gathering until I have fulfilled my feathery fetish.

Until I see the Doc, I am wearing mittens, so my hand is severely limited in the art of goosing.

I wonder if there is an AGA:  Anonymous Goose Association:  “ Hello, my name is Chicken Butt and I goose people.”

The best part about my irresistible urge is that I like it.

You know what they say:  “Find your passion and go for it’.

I am cancelling my Dr Appointment.

Wolf

What an idiot

Was I born yesterday or what?

It’s good to have young friends who can explain what the heck is going on.

Oh gullible me!

1.  I believed that ring toss was similar to a corn hole game.

Truth:  Size does matter.

•    Old people are not into dating web sites to find a “companion.”

Truth:  Only Tinder.  Tsk Tsk.

•     Someone took my pickle at lunch.  I said: “Give me my pickle back.”

Truth:  I got a shot of Jameson and some pickle juice.

•    I ordered a handbag with a concealer.

      Truth:  The makeup never arrived.

•  A trip to Florida would be nice, to see what the scoop is on the sarcasm.

Truth:  “it’s sargassum, you idiot.”

Can someone please take me out back and shoot me?

Wolf

I want a plump one

It was supposed to be a  low key, casual party.

Up scale residential area, conservative, right wing, refined, established.

12 plus 1 attendees.

Think about this scenario.

I am at the party.

Number 13.

Abynormal, loose cannon, not so silent elephant in the room.

Try fitting into a carton for a dozen eggs when you are number 13.

The lions were in the arena, waiting for a snack:  me.

The hostess threatened to take me back to the home if I didn’t behave.

There were a few attendees I hadn’t met before.  They asked me if I was at the wrong party.

I showed everyone my pickle, but they would not show me theirs.

They talked about their high faluting jobs.  They asked me about my profession.  Glue sniffer.  One of the faluters fainted.

The hot dogs were amazing.  Not plump, but moist.  Similar to some of the guests.

I left early, explaining I had to pick up my birth control pills at the pharmacy.  Once again, cold stares coming from the faluting cage.

Reflecting on the picnic,  I felt like Cousin Eddie in Christmas Vacation.

I can’t wait til next year’s picnic.

Too bad I won’t be invited.

Xoxoxooox

Wolf

The bigger the better

Have you ever owned a red car?

Red cars have a reputation for being stopped by the cops.

No so.

Would you believe it’s actually the white cars that hold that record.

I’m on my 5^th red car.

No trouble spotting it in a crowded parking lot, right?

Walked right up to it.

“Fobbed” it to open the door, and hopped in.

Looked around for my phone. 

Strange, I don’t see it.

The interior had magically been cleaned by a neat freak.

Hey! Wait a minute.

This is not my car.

How in the world did I get in?

This is just peachy.

I am sitting in a stranger’s car  who could show up any time now, with a car jacker inside.

Hightailed it out of there, and saw 2 more identical cars.

Luckily I picked the right one.

Whew!

Same day, walked out of a restaurant.

It was a slow night. 

Not many cars in the lot.

Geez.  I don’t remember parking on the left side.

My memory must be whacked out.

Used my fob to open the door.

Nothing.

Tried again and again.

Nope.

Sure, I bet the battery in the fob is dead.

Now what?

Walked to the front of the car and noticed my rubber chicken was not hanging on the rearview mirror.

Not again.

As they say, not my monkeys, not my circus.

I say: Not my chicken, not my car.

10 cars in the parking lot and I picked the wrong car again.

There she was :  2 doors down, as the song goes.

Putting an ad in the paper.

Wanted:  A large weiner.

Xoxooxoxo

Wolf

And the survivor is……

Anyone still watching Survivor?

Tonight’s finale is a 3 hour marathon, wrapping up another season.

 3 hours? Really?

5 people are left.

The first hour will eliminate 2 of them.

Then the final 3 get the spotlight, in the next hour, appealing to the jury, to vote for them.

Finally, in the 3^rd hour, the winner is announced.

And then?  I turn it off.

Ok, so all but one person lost, but the losers want to rehash their experiences.

Why beat a dead horse?

It was brutally boring to hear them discuss their strategies during the airing of the show, mostly filmed in darkness, which did not favor my limited attention span.

Half the time I could not even understand what they heck they were saying;  very poor sound quality.

Ok, so why do I watch it?

Simple:  I get nice and cozy, in my pjs, in bed, thinking I will be entertained.  However, after 10 or 15 minutes, I am sound asleep.

I have to check the website the next day to see who got voted off, wondering who the hell is that?

I plan to go out for dinner tonight.

I might not be home in time to catch the opening.

Let’s see:  3 hours, starts at 8.

I think I will tune in at 10pm, see who won, and turn on forensic files.

Wolf.

Frau Blucher!

Life gave me an inch.

I took a mile.

That was last night.

I should know better.

I do know better.

I just do it anyway.

Put me in coach, and I will hog center field, grandstanding.

By nature, I am a quiet, introspective, unassuming woman.

Ok, slightly obnoxious, but ever so endearing.

However, after an unusually brutal and dysfunctional life, I have learned to cope, by hanging out with strays, strangers and oddballs.

They seem to appreciate my sense of humor, and my raucous laughter.

I mean, why not? 

No one else will talk to them.

I have always depended on the kindness of strangers.

Stella!!!

What hump?

When I ask them if they ordered the code red, they tell me I can’t handle the truth.

And that is exactly what I am trying to say.

I cannot handle the truth, nor do I even know what the truth is.

Instead of trying to figure out what this life is all about, my nightly routine with the misfits just may be the secret to happiness.

By the way, what’ s your name?

Who’s your daddy?

Have you ever seen a grown man naked?

Xooxoxooxoo

Wolf

Fat. I got fat.

So I didn’t feel so hot this week.

So what?

I refuse to talk about the virus I have.

It is boring and mundane.

However, it had its moments.

I called a friend and she thought I was Barry, from Florida.

“How’s your koi pond coming along?” she asked.

I love it when my voice modulates from alto to baritone.

No, I am not Barry from Florida.

I am a “berry” sick old bag, who refuses to go to the doctor.

Wait a minute.

I went.

To urgent care.

That is a rarity.

After an exam and a chest xray, it was determined that I had a virus.

It could be Covid, but it is a virus, and they are all pretty much treated the same.

You could take a test, if you really want to.

Hmmm. Even the doctor is getting tired of the covid tests.

Go home, rest, take Tylenol and stay away from people for 5 days.

Oh boy!  5 days at home.  I need snacks.

Hello ice cream, brownies, Cheetos, bananas, raisin bread, chocolate covered coffee beans, cookies, pistachios, and cherry pie.

After 5 days, I am still coughing, taking Tylenol and experiencing cabin fever.

And… I am fatter than a medium sized elephant.

As soon as I feel better, I am joining the circus.

I look good in those cute elephants hats with the pompons.

Xoxoxooxoxoxo

Wolf

I have 8 good toes

2 of my toes turned purple.

“Oh no!  It must be gangrene”

How the heck am I supposed to walk if those 2 toes get put on the chopping block?

I must confess, I love the “Chopped” show on the Food Channel. Can you tell?

Anyway, getting back to the toes, I have been eating a lot of doughnuts lately, since Dunkin had the nerve to eliminate the chocolate croissants again.

Oh yeah, I cancelled my yearly check up and blood test in April.  Said I would reschedule in May.

I didn’t specify which year.

I am not in the mood to find out the blood sugar whichamacallit.

I can hear it now:  Doctor:  “I saw you going into Dunkin Donuts again. And the nurse said you drank 3 beers the other night at the club.  You claim you only have one drink a week.”

“Oh that!  Well, I lied.  I rarely tell you the truth.  I get anxious and have spells, thinking you will be sending me for shock treatments to cure my lying ass.  But now that you know I am eating pastries up the ying yang, guzzling beers and lying to you, what’s next?”

“Those infested/ infected toes.

“Look Doc, forget about them.  I am going to let them continue to deteriorate and fall off, naturally.  I prefer a holistic approach.”

“Just a few more questions before you leave:  Do you ever think about hurting yourself?”

“Only when I make an appointment to see you.”

“And what about alcohol consumption?  How many drinks do you have in a normal week?”

“None.  I have never had a drink in a normal week since I retired”

(My weeks are abynormal.)

PS  No gangrene.  I remember now that I hit my foot on the door, as I was going into Dunkin Donuts, to holler at them for not having chocolate croissants.  Very colorful bruise, however.

Xoxooxoxo

Wolf