Pearls

People who own 5 dogs should not wear black pants.

Nothing tastes better than a ripe piece of fruit, until you dribble some of the juice on your shirt.

Large men walking small dogs look like sissies.

Whenever possible, buy a house with dual zone central air.

If you can’t run a football pool and win it, you’re not running it right.

People do not consciously try to be “good,” they just lack the opportunity to do otherwise (Thanks, P).

They only say it’s good luck if it rains on your wedding day because they don’t want you to feel bad.

Never insult someone behind their back until you’re sure the person you’re telling isn’t their relative.

Sooner or later everyone in your life will disappoint you.  Adopt a greyhound.

Someone who says they have never done anything in their life they’re ashamed of is a liar and should be ashamed of themselves for saying that. 

Dead people don’t look out for you.  They’re all off playing cards.

There is no such thing as fate.

Never assume you know what’s best for another person.  You don’t.

Life’s big decisions should not be left to children.  The vast majority have no idea what they want to do with their lives or who they want to do it with when they’re young. 

When life gives you lemons, lemonade is just gonna make you have to pee.

IIIIII of One; Half Dozen of the Other

I bought a big clock with Roman Numberals for over my fireplace.  I like it a lot.  

As I stared at it idly the other night I noticed that “4” o’clock was displayed as IIII.  Was that right?  It didn’t look right to me so I goggled it.  It was wrong.  Do Roman Numberal clock manufacturers think we’re all stoopid?  I watch the Superbowl.       

Frankly, in all my IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII years on the planet, I’ve never had my intelligence so insulted; not even when I was IIIIIIIIIIIIIIII years old and myself and III others were unjustly accused of trying to steal a IIIIII pack of soda from the IIIIIII/IIIIIIIIIII.  

I am writing to the Roman Emperor and telling him about the error.  My advice will be to hire Eli Manning for $IIIIIIII an hour as their Kwality Kontrol Soupervisor.   If he takes off his shoes and socks I think he can count to IIIIIIIIIIII.

   

Bambi with Broccoli

My daughter’s boyfriend Nick told me he was standing outside his place of work one day when he saw someone transporting a dead deer. 

When I expressed my dismay over the senseless killing of animals for sport, he assured me that the animal had not been hunted.

When I asked him how he knew, he told me that the deer was on the handlebars of the man’s bicycle.  Somehow, he had managed to pick it up from the side of the road and was trying desperately to ride with it.

I have no idea if the man was attempting to bring it home for his own consumption.  What concerned me was the direction Nick said the guy was heading. 

I need to find a new place for Chinese.

Let the Printer Beware

My husband Jack lost his job at a privately owned printing conglomerate, an industry he’s been in and has vilified since the age of 18.  I always assumed he was exaggerating.

Jack contacted an old colleague, a VP of Sales and Marketing, about an open position at this man's company.  The man, slated to move into the President’s chair, told Jack to send his resume and he would get him a job. 

As it turned out, the man, 20 years Jack’s junior, instead decided to voluntarily leave his six figure a year position.  Like Jack, he had had it with the printing industry.  Unlike Jack, he is young enough to be able to pursue an entirely different career.   Want to know in what?  Law enforcement.

I thought to myself, the printing industry is so bad that a person is willing to give up a six figure salary to get away from it?  And be shot at instead? 

I will never complain about my job again.

The Old Cliche

My husband Jack lost his job a few months ago.  Roughly translated that means I’ve been feeling sorry for myself a lot lately. 

As I was driving down the road one day, lamenting my life situation, I passed a man and woman riding a tandem bicycle.  I noticed that the woman was missing a leg.  How truly awful, I thought.  Not only did she have the hardship of dealing with only one leg, but certainly there must have been heartache dealing with whatever tragedy that caused the loss of limb in the first place.  At that moment in time it occurred to me that the old saying is true:  there is always someone worse off than you.  I felt better.

But then I started thinking about how that chain works.  Who was worse off than this woman and what was their malady?  And who was worse off than that person?  And that person?  And that person?  Surely the succession of people worse off than the one before had to end somewhere. Who exactly is this person who is the worst off in the entire world and what are his total number of afflictions?  Is he a deaf, one-armed leper with scabies and a bad hair weave?  Who lives in New Jersey? 

Why doesn’t this person step forward?  If he identified himself, he could make everyone else feel a lot better. 

He sounds selfish.

    

If it Wasn't for Bad Luck

My refrigerator is leaking water all over my kitchen floor.  My garage roof is leaking water all over my husband Jack’s Harley.  My electronic garage door won’t close anymore.  I could go on for days.

I decided that nothing was earth shattering enough to warrant calling in a repair man.  So we try to remember to close the garage doors at night and live with a towel on the kitchen floor.  The Harley is on its own.   

After two months of a leaky fridge I thought that perhaps not fixing the problem might lead to more damage so I figured we should call in a professional.  Since I save EVERYTHING, I got out the 12 year old refrigerator manual and told Jack to find the service 800 # and call to find an authorized service tech in our area.  Instead, after two months, he decides to read the troubleshooting section.  He finds “leaking” and the next thing I know he’s asking me if we have baking soda.  No I tell him.  Then he asks me if we have a turkey baster.  Honestly, I had to look at what he was reading to be sure it wasn’t the Letters to the Editor section of Hustler magazine.  I’m assured it’s the refrigerator manual.  No, we don’t have a turkey baster I tell him. 

We went to the store and bought baking soda and a turkey baster for about $4.00.  When we got home Jack filled up a container with warm water and mixed it with baking soda.  He used the turkey baster to squirt it somewhere in the freezer and honest to God the darn thing is fixed.  Do you believe it? 

Now what do you suppose would have happened if we called a repairman in?  First of all, they would have charged me $175 just for the service call.  And I can’t imagine the guy would have gone out to his service van and come back in with a turkey baster and baking soda.  My guess is he would have pondered over the “problem” for about half an hour, told me it was a busted Fallopian tube and charged me $600 to fix it.  Frankly I’m still in shock. 

In the meantime I told Jack to get out the manual for the garage doors and see if he needed some Pepto Bismol and a Pez dispenser.