18 Things To Do With A Third Arm:

1. Drink coffee or something stronger, while typing
2. Paper hanging
3. Dial a cell phone while driving
4. Hold all your paraphernalia while booting H
5. Light a cigarette while making an amazing wind screen
6. Opening jars
7. Talking on the phone while rolling meatballs
8. Punch my shaking head while covering my eyes
9. Applauding while still being able to eat popcorn at the ball game.
10. Keep the 3rd one hidden and "WHOA" whip it out with a surprise bitch-slap.
11. Become a guitar legend that no one could imitate
12. Dress up the third like a chestburster from "Alien" and scare people at a hospital.
13. Unlocking the front door while carrying a bass fiddle
14. Mixing a cocktail while drinking one
15. Cutting your meat while eating potatoes
16. Flipping the bird while keeping 2 hands on the wheel
17. Rolling down the window while searching for change at a toll booth
18. Opening the basement door while carrying a basket of laundry

I love movie billboards. I love them better than when the Indians in our building page each other... but that’s a topic for another day. I even love them better than when Lauren pages because she sounds like a 3 year old, I think she should have her adenoids removed… then she might sound like her age.

My last entry had to do with a concert… ok, The X-Men billboard. The Omen billboard recently caught my attention because it would have been my mother's 78th birthday. Luckily, she hasn’t lived to be that old. I don’t think she would’ve liked it much. She was lively and vibrant and had such peace about her. She had an incredible sense of humor – well she married my dad, after all, and had seven children.


In any case, my newest favorite movie billboard is for Superman Returns. Now tell me, does this not seem reminiscent of Christ crucified? I mean, really? Ok, the arms are extended downward, but the cape is certainly a cross. Does this mean that Superman is intended to be a savior. Well, Metropolis may think so, but I don’t. I’m completely dedicated to UnderDog. It’s my belief, that UnderDog, albeit a minor super-hero and often misunderstood and maligned super-hero, is really the guy we need to call on when we’re in a bad way. I’d give real pesos just to hear “There’s no need to fear, UnderDog is here.” Don’t you think that’s way more effective then jumping into a near-by phone booth.

No, I haven’t lost what little bit of my mind I have left. It’s just that I’ve been unjustly accused of having DID – dual identity disease or some such nonsense. Some people believe that “Violet” is the violent ‘other me’. Most of it has to do with the repeated degaussing that I suffer at the hands of the evil Seth. But that’s a topic for another day.

Ok… so maybe I need to have my eyes checked again. My last check up was in May and the doctor said that, with contacts, my eyesight was excellent “for someone your age.” Folks, be careful when an eye doctor says, “For someone your age…” What they’re really saying is “Jesus, how does that woman drive a car???”

Ok… so I drive to work and home every day and I read billboards as I fly by. I’ll admit, some of them peak my interest like 6 + 6 + 06. I figured it was for a movie about the devil, no big deal, right.

So I see this other billboard as I drive up and down Route 130. Now my nephew is car-pooling with me. So I say – “Check out that billboard… who else is gonna be at that concert?” “What concert?” he asks. “The one with Bonnie Raitt and EmmyLou Harris.”

I know I’m in trouble when he bursts out laughing. “That’s for the X-MEN movie.” “Oh. I see.”

Thanks to Dayv who photoshopped the above gif - it's my new desktop!

It could happen….

Ok this is a true story:
This morning at 4:55am the alarm goes off and my husband gets up to get his shower after hitting snooze twice. I try to fall back to sleep as is my custom. Suddenly, as the drool is beginning, I’m sure, the door to the bedroom bursts open and Shelden yells, “You gotta help me. You gotta help me.”
“Holy Shit, Holy Shit, Holy Shit”, I think. It could be anything when that skinny-assed, lame-fingered, diabetic is concerned. So I leap out of bed and say “What? What? What?’ (I think in 3s, especially at 5:20 am)
“I gotta tick. You have to remove it.” “A tick??? Where is it?” “It’s on my dick!!!! I have a tick on my dick!!!” “What the shit? How’d you get a tick on your dick??” “I don’t know. Just get it off. Make sure you get the head” I was pretty sure he was referring to the tick at that point.
So I go into the bathroom, get my makeup bag and grab the tweezers. Of course, the tick is on his groin, not his actual dick, so I go to work on it. “Why don’t you put on your glasses so you can actually see?” he says. He still hasn’t figured out the whole near-sighted/far-sighted thing. “Actually, I see up close better withOUT my glasses.” I say. He seems happier and lets me get down to work again. This time I get the tick – it really hasn’t latched on or anything – but it starts climbing up the tweezers. I run to the sink and turn on the water. “WHAT ARE YOU DOING?????” he screams. "Put it in the toilet – it’ll climb up the drain pipe. It’ll cling to the sides.” I go to the toilet and try to flick off the tick. Doesn’t the pair of tweezers fall in the toilet????