Yes, yes, I know. I’ve been gone for a little while. Ok, a lot while. Maybe even a plethora of while. But my feet are back flat on the ground and I’ve got band-aids on my head, my heart, and my big toe. It’s gonna be alright. And I’m gonna start bliggety-blogging again. Do I hear an applause? A roar of approval? Hooting and a-hollerin’? Yes, yes. Yes, I do.

In my attempt to get the juicer out and fresh-squeeze some creativity (get it?! creative juices??), I figure I’ll go light n’ easy and simply post some of the things I really laughed at this week. Don’t worry, out of the kindness of my heart, I won’t list your name. 

• my mother, the conspiracy theorist. this week she warned me of stalkers plotting my every move at Barnes & Noble. folks, that’s only the tip of the iceberg. you gotta hear some of her other ones (e.g., Japanese communists poisoning my edamame). seriously. i’ve devoted a blog category specifically for them. it’s called “conspiracies.”
• Sarah Palin kicking tail in the veep debate. it was one of those relief-shock-awe laughs.
• the BBC’s article on the 7-year old Australian that bludgeon a zoo’s rare and expensive reptiles and fed them to the crocodiles. no one noticed his anti-Irwin rampage until 30 minutes later when the kid approached the ice cream stand asking for more chameleons and when denied, settled for a napkin to wipe the guts off his hands and the smirk off his face. i tell you, the BBC is often a great source of humor (e.g., Hari Puttar and this).
• my song about Nate’s chocolate pie. it was original, it was spontaneous, and it was a rap. what can beat that? sometimes i sit back and thank God for the rap talent He’s given me. Shout out!
• and lastly but not leastly, a 2nd grader telling me she knew why i wasn’t married. “you’re not old enough.” yes, my child, that is the reason.

Awhile back, I posted a blog about the humor behind the search engine terms people use to find our websites (my favorites still being “penut butter butt”). And even awhiler back I posted a blog about middle names and our shyness towards them. Today I join the two to tell a story worthy of Oprah’s special on siblings being reunited. In this case, we’re basketball rivals and the other half of the whole doesn’t know who the heck I am. But that’s ok. I know of her and I also know that Oprah would still chomp at the bit to cover this story…

In keeping with the joys of reviewing the search engine terms used to find my blog, I’ve noticed that a handful (not a heap, but definitely more than a pinch) of people have sought out a former Lamar basketball superstar, Diane Dittburner, on the internet and come across my “middle name” blog that acknowledges my admiration for someone talented whose name is pronounced AND spelled just like my middle name: “Diane,” for all the few, the proud, and the slow out there. Let’s just say Diane was ever so slightly (maybe a hair but not more than a tad)  better than me when it came to the sport.

I hadn’t seen or heard of her for almost ten years. In fact, I forgot her last name until Mark (also from Lamar) reminded me of it in the ‘middle name’ post. Not to say that I forgot the respect I had for her as an athlete. I only forgot the “Dittburner” part, that’s all. 

Funny thing is, over this past weekend, my thoughtful, considerate, determined, and ambitious friend, Judi, got a picture with D.Ditt in pü-town Lamar (the only 2 things I remember about Lamar are the famous, homegrown basketball players and the pü smell). She relayed the why’s and what’s and who’s and huh’s of the story to D.Ditt and convinced her of the necessary photo op for proof of our one-sided reunion.

D.Ditt was pleased to accommodate, or humor, me. She’s such a nice, selfless famous person. Much like Rod Smith, if I say so myself. All the more reason to admire her.

Just look how excited Judi is, being the very one responsible for reuniting siblings rivals. If I ever get on Oprah with this story, you Judi, will be the one that accompanies me and sits on the first row. D.Ditt will of course be the one that comes from backstage halfway through to surprise everybody (even me) with her attendance. Maybe (just for kicks but not for giggles) we can play a little 1-on-1, she can stuff the ball back in my face, give me a black eye, and strip my eyelashes from my lids. Just like old times. Just like when we were kids.

And maybe, just maybe, I can become just as famous as her as more and more people find MY site in their “Diane Dittburner” search engine curiosity.

It’s so good having you back, D.Ditt. It’s so good having you back.

p.s. I swear I’m not a stalker. Just easily humored.

3 short poems. 3 recent (and very real) personal accounts.

I laid by the pool

For a bask in the sun

A bird aimed for my leg

And fired his Pü gun

I parked my car

And from rafters above

A package of Pü,

From Pigeon, with love

I sought the hot tub

For an evening foot soak

But turned the jets on 

To a steaming Pü Coke

I recently talked with a man who was one of the engineers behind the McDonald’s potato cutting machine, a machine responsible for perfectly slicing those delicious, piping hot fat sticks we hypnotically call French Fries. Wipe the spit off of your bottom lips, United States of Americans. I learned from him that a potato must be the right size and shape in order to make the Happy Meal team. In other words Mr. Stubby Spud aint got a chance. Such discrimination on the part of Ronald McDonald and Company baffles me. Tilt head to the side, cock one eye, lift one eyebrow, put index finger on temple, scratch forehead, and say “Whaaat?” I guess it’s just ironic, that’s all. Tall, slender french fries produce short, fat people. What kind of sick joke is this? Either those McD corporate bigwigs are brilliant or just plain old freaking obscene. You decide… 

Before I get into this, I’d like to bless you with a poem, free of charge.

Lunchtime necessities

Ice cold Sprite

All-beef hotdog

“Hark!” the herald angels sing,

“Shelley J is ready to blog!”

YOU’RE WELCOME. Now let’s get started…

Who could be headier than the parking ticket personnel? Fancypants uniforms, a black and white Jeep with the steering wheel on the other side, a special wand that marks car tires with metallic paint. Just the fact that it is metallic gives them all the more reason to have a stronger sense of pride in what they do. They’re oozing with the demand for authority. I get nauseous just thinking about the damage they cause me. The heartbreak. The thievery. Those little poo-pants love to drive around in their special car, mark the tires, and return exactly one hour later in search of our autos that weren’t moved out of the “1 hour parking only” zones. Poo-pants. And what sympathy do they have on us? Nil. Zilch. Nada. Negatory. Zero. Nope. Nuh-uh. No way Jose. They’re determined to squeeze $25 out of you if it is the last thing their security personnel butts do. Now that I think of it, they’re like government-paid thieves. Durn tax and fine collectors. I shake my fist at you. Twice. Once for the time I was downtown and double parked my car and once for the time I overstayed my welcome at the “1 hour” sidestreet near DU. I refuse to let you get away with doing your job right. I refuse!!! 

Now excuse me while I go pay my parking ticket on-line…