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The BOMB

Welcome to the BOMB.



The Blog Of the "Mother" of Bandit.
Bandit is my Hairless Chinese Crested--he's the "normal" one. I, on the other hand, am unrepentantly "pet-crazy." You know the type--the spinster who lives in the haunted house three blocks over with 72 cats...okay, so I don't have 72 cats, and my house isn't haunted--but my dogs wardrobe is better than mine! Need I say more? :~)
I've never been consistant at journaling, so the timing of my blogs will be sporadic at best. I just hope they are as entertaining to you as they are to me; however, be forewarned: Most of my blogs will be about The BaldOne. In spite of his Don King "do," I think he's just as cute as any of the Brothers B!
Now, if I can just remember not to get him wet--or feed him after midnight...

About Me

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My bags are packed and I'm always ready to seek out an adventure with Bandit and Moggy in tow. Bandit is my ten year old Chinese Crested, who I frequently call The Bald One or The BaldOne Boy (like he was one of the Baldwin Brothers). Moggy’s full name is Pip-Moggy. He’s my gansta-resuce kitty. I couldn’t decide between Pip (which are the spots on die and domino tiles) and Moggy (or Moggie when I mistakenly thought he was a she), so I combined the two. Moggy refers to the British term for "cat of unknown parentage .” So in essence, I have an almost bald dog, and I’ve named my cat “Spot.”

Fun Stuff (I'm doing now or have done)

  • Artistic Attempts weekly (alternating between Painting With A Twist, That Art Place, and Peniot's Palette).
  • Bunko with the Belton Bunko Babes monthly.
  • Participating in the A to Z Blogging Challenge.
  • Spades and Liverpool Rummy with the Spadetts weekly.
  • The Mighty Texas Dog Walk, Austin (fund raiser for Service Dogs, Inc--they train shelter dogs to be Service Dogs, then give them free of charge to people with disabilities.)

Saturday, April 30, 2016

Threads of Truth

The other day I remembered the parlor game (who calls them parlor games any more?!)  Two Truths and a Lie, so it seemed natural to make that the emphasis for my Facebook post when I had several odd things happen to me in the course of a day.

Only, I didn't do it right. I messed up the post. I can only attribute it to my sleep deprived state since I've just concluded week number six of six-day work weeks. Or maybe I posted after midnight. I've learned I should never post after midnight. I'm like a Gremlin--don't let me post after midnight or bad things will occur. I'm just too tired. The spelling is disastrous and the sentence structure is wonky. At best. At worst, well, let's just say it's illegible.

So, for whatever reason, my parlor game inspired post was a wreak.

This is what I should have posted:

Hey y'all~ I've come up with a new game. I'm calling it, "Threads of Truth."  I'll describe three things that happened to me--all with at least a shred of truth. You pick out the most true event.

All righty, here we go!

     A horse came inside the  Cefco store.
     I played Hide-n-Seek at the funeral home.
     My magic spoon changed colors.

A multi-talented friend who is an artist, has been a public school teacher, and who is currently a Registered Nurse, responded saying the spoon was the lie.  I love a good mystery--especially when it's filled with Red Herrings, so I had posted a photo of a temperature activated yogurt spoon in mid color change along with the list.  I told her it was in fact a color changing spoon, albeit governed by the rules of science rather than magic. Therefore, it's a half-true statement.

A friend since our college days when I, the Nursing student, would color anything she or any other Elementary Education major needed coloring, picked the horse as the lie--which was totally true--that is to say, she was right, but in my sleep befuddled state I forgot I had not changed the game rules and told her I was calling it a half true because of perceptions:  as I left the Cefco a woman  walked in with her long-handled leather purse hanging off her back and the fringe hung down to her calves making it appear that she sported a horses tail. Because I mucked it up, I told her the perception that she was a horse made it a half true.  But again, I had  mucked up the game and my response.

The first responder was the friend who actually chose the answer I was going for--but for the wrong reason--again, because I mucked it up.  This friend is a wonderful baker.  I met her when I commissioned her to bake and decorate a cake for a group of friends who had successfully competed a 48Hour Film Project in Houston.  For anyone not familiar with the 48Hour Film Project, it's an international competition in which each team has 48 hours to pick their genre out of a bag, develop, write, cast, costume, direct, film, produce, edit, add music and special effects, yada yada yada, and deliver the completed film to a predetermined film drop--all within 48 hours.  To make things even more interesting, every film must include a specific prop and line of dialogue no one is privy to until the genres have been picked.  Cities all over the world hold these contests, the winners of the cities move up the contest ladder to regional, and beyond.  Eventually the overall winner makes it to Cannes. We've never even made it to honorable mention in the first level. But we have a sleepless, fun-filled, hard-working weekend, and bragging rights for completing the task.  Not all teams do. The real fun for me is attending screening night--seeing your film up on the big screen is a rush!  I love to see the creativity of the competing teams--and I try to spot the prop and hear the dialogue in all the other films.  Sometimes they are buried and obscure.  Sometimes they are blatantly obnoxious.

Anyway, I received the name of a baker from a mutual friend and I left an oddly obscure cake-job proposal on her answering machine. Not only did I not scare her off, she delivered the perfect cake.  Literally. I didn't even have to pick up the cake.  This friend is very creative, but has had a string of loser office jobs, which I think she needs to ditch--so she can start up her own catering business full time.  She was the friend who said playing hide-and-seek at the funeral home was the lie.  She picked the right event for the rules that were running around in my head, but I had mucked them up when I wrote them.  This statement of course was actually the FULL truth...

Minding my own business, looking at photo displays and memorabilia of a friend that passed, I felt two tiny hands on my butt. I turned to see who was overly friendly and found myself looking down at a cute little 2-3 year old girl who obviously thought she knew me. Realizing her mistake she startled, then recovered her composure and began to babble at me as a second munchkin joined us. It took a fourth repeat, plus a round of charade-like action before I finally translated their babble, "I hide, you count." So I obliged.  I covered my eyes and began to quietly count. I then quietly sought high and low before I found them. At which point the quiet reverence was broken as they shrieked with glee. Meanwhile, the Grands had turned around and were chagrined that the munchkins had conned me in to a game. I gently reminded the kidos that "inside voices" were imperative. When they shrieked a second time, and a third, shrieking toddler ran and joined us, I reluctantly ended the game. Making my apologies to the mourners closest to me, I told the Grands the kiddos were precious, and I quickly exited stage left.  And that's the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth....with just a slight amount of embellishment allowed by creative license. The mourners there who know me, expected nothing less.

Due to my lifelong habitual tardiness, Daddy used to tell me I would be late  to my wedding, to which I countered, I would write it into my will that I must be late to my funeral.

Now I'm going to have to add that we must also play a game, because this was the most fun viewing I've ever attended.

Yeah, I know it's borderline sacrilegious.   I agree there is a time for reverence.  That was why I insisted we use our inside voices. But I also think if we are going to "celebrate the life of the dearly departed," then we should do so with laughter.

And I ask you, who celebrates life better than a happily shrieking three-year old?

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