Saturday, February 6, 2010
One Smart Pig
A travelling salesman came upon an old farmer sitting on his porch, next to the farmer was a pig with only one leg. The salesman was about to give his sales pitch when his curiosity got the best of him. “Excuse me sir, but why does your pig only have one leg?” asked the salesman. “Well sonny, I’ll tell ya. One day I was out plowing the back 40 when my tractor overturned, pinning me underneath. I was losing blood and thought I would die when that pig came running. He dug and rooted around with his nose till he got me out and he dragged me back to the house. Saved my life that pig did.” “Wow, that’s really amazing,” said the salesman, “but I still don’t know why the pig only has one leg.” “Well I’ll tell ya,” said the farmer. “One night me and the wife were asleep at about 3am when a fire broke out in the kitchen. Well that pig broke down the door, came into our bedroom waking us up and getting us out before the fire could get us, saved our lives that pig did!” “Well that’s really great but why does the pig only have one leg?” “Well sonny, when you get a pig that smart, you don’t want to eat him all at once.
Old Folks Are Worth a Fortune
Old Folks Are Worth A Fortune.... With silver hair, gold in their teeth, stones in their kidneys, lead in their feet, and gas in their stomaches. I have become a lot more social with the passing of the years, some might call me a frivolus old gal. I'm seeing five gentleman every day. As soon as I wake, Will Power helps me get out of bed. Then I go see John. Then Charley Horse comes along, and when he is here he takes a lot of my time and attention. When he leaves, Auther Ritis shows up and stays the rest of the day. (He doesn't like to stay in one place for very long, so he takes me from joint to joint.) After such a busy day, I'm really tired and glad to go to bed- with Ben Gay. What a life!
Thursday, February 4, 2010
The Beaujolais Bistro
A group of 40-year-old buddies discuss where they should meet for dinner. Finally it is agreed upon that they should meet at the Beaujolais Bistro because the waitresses there have low-cut blouses and really short skirts.
10 years later, at 50 years of age, the group meets again and once again they discuss where they should meet. Finally it is agreed that they should meet at the Beaujolais Bistro because the food there is very good and the wine selection is excellent.
10 years later at 60 years of age, the group meets again and once again they discuss where they should meet. Finally it is agreed that they should meet at the Beaujolais Bistro because they can eat there in peace and quiet and the restaurant is smoke-free.
10 years later, at 70 years of age, the group meets again and once again they discuss where they should meet. Finally it is agreed that they should meet at the Beaujolais Bistro because the restaurant is wheelchair accessible and they even have an elevator.
10 years later, at 80 years of age, the group meets again and once again they discuss where they should meet. Finally it is agreed that they should meet at the Beaujolais Bistro because everyone's heard it's good and they've never been there before.
10 years later, at 50 years of age, the group meets again and once again they discuss where they should meet. Finally it is agreed that they should meet at the Beaujolais Bistro because the food there is very good and the wine selection is excellent.
10 years later at 60 years of age, the group meets again and once again they discuss where they should meet. Finally it is agreed that they should meet at the Beaujolais Bistro because they can eat there in peace and quiet and the restaurant is smoke-free.
10 years later, at 70 years of age, the group meets again and once again they discuss where they should meet. Finally it is agreed that they should meet at the Beaujolais Bistro because the restaurant is wheelchair accessible and they even have an elevator.
10 years later, at 80 years of age, the group meets again and once again they discuss where they should meet. Finally it is agreed that they should meet at the Beaujolais Bistro because everyone's heard it's good and they've never been there before.
Wednesday, February 3, 2010
Monday, February 1, 2010
Wednesday, January 27, 2010
The Class Reunion
For all you ladies over 50 I KNOW you understand... AND for those of you under 50 you WILL understand in a few years. I had prepared for it like any intelligent woman would. I went on a starvation diet the day before, knowing that all the extra weight would just melt off in 24-hours, leaving me with my sleek, trim, high-school-girl body. The last many years of careful cellulite collection would just be gone with a snap of a finger. I knew if I didn't eat a morsel on Friday, that I could probably fit into my senior formal on Saturday.
Trotting up to the attic, I pulled the gown out of the garment bag, carried it lovingly downstairs, ran my hand over the fabric, and hung it on the door. I stripped naked, looked in the mirror, sighed, and thought, "Well, okay, maybe if I shift it all to the back..." -- bodies never have pockets where you need them.
Bravely, I took the gown off the hanger, unzipped the shimmering dress and stepped gingerly into it. I struggled, twisted, turned, and pulled and I got the formal all the way up to my knees... before the zipper gave out. I was disappointed. I wanted to wear that dress with those silver platform sandals again and dance the night away. Okay, one setback was not going to spoil my mood for this affair. No way! Rolling the dress into a ball and tossing it into the corner, I turned to Plan B. The black velvet caftan. I gathered up all the goodies that I had purchased at the drug store -- the scented shower gel; the bodybuilding, and high- lighting shampoo & conditioner, and the split-end killer and shine enhancer. Soon my hair would look like that girl's in the Pantene ads.
Then the makeup -- the under eye "ain't no lines here" firming cream, the all-day face-lifting gravity -fighting moisturizer with wrinkle filler spackle; the all day "kiss me till my lips bleed, and see if this gloss will come off" lipstick, the bronzing face powder for that special glow... But first, the roll-on facial hair remover. I could feel the wrinkles shuddering in fear.
OK - time to get ready...I jumped into the steaming shower, soaped, lathered, rinsed, shaved, tweezed, buffed, scrubbed, and scoured my body to a tingling pink. I plastered my freshly scrubbed face with the anti-wrinkle, gravity fighting, "your face will look like a baby's butt" face cream. I set my hair on the hot rollers. I felt wonderful. Ready to take on the world. Or in this instance, my underwear.
With the towel firmly wrapped around my glistening body, I pulled out the black lace, tummy-tucking, cellulite-pushing, ham hock-rounding girdle, and the matching "lifting those bosoms like they're filled with helium" bra. I greased my body with the scented body lotion and began the plunge. I pulled, stretched, tugged, hiked, folded, tucked, twisted, shimmied, hopped, pushed, wiggled, snapped, shook, caterpillar crawled, and kicked.
Sweat poured off my forehead but I was done. And it didn't look bad. So I rested. A well deserved rest, too. The girdle was on my body. Bounce a quarter off my behind? It was tighter than a trampoline. Can you say, "Rubber baby buggy bumper butt?"
Okay, so I had to take baby steps, and walk sideways, and I couldn't move from my butt cheeks to my knees. But I was firm! Oh no. I had to go to the bathroom. And there wasn't a snap crotch. From now on, undies gotta have a snap crotch. I was ready to rip it open and re-stitch the crotch with Velcro, but the pain factor from past experiments was still fresh in my mind.
I quickly side stepped to the bathroom. An hour later, I had answered nature's call and repeated the struggle into the girdle. I was ready for the bra. I remembered what the saleslady said to do. I could see her glossed lips mouthing, "Do not fasten the bra in the front, and twist it around. Put the bra on the way it should be worn --- straps over the shoulders. Then bend over and gently place both breasts inside the cups." Easy if you have four hands.
But, with confidence, I put my arms into the holsters, bent over and pulled the bra down...but the boobs weren't cooperating. I'd no sooner tuck one in a cup, and while placing the other, the first would slip out. I needed a strategy.
I bounced up, and down a few times, tried to dribble them in with short bunny hops, but that didn't work. So, while bent over, I began rocking gently back and forth on my heel and toes and I set 'em to swinging. Finally, on the fourth swing, pause, and lift, I captured the gliding glands. Quickly fastening the back of the bra, I stood up for examination.
Back straight, slightly arched, I turned and faced the mirror, turning front, and then sideways. I smiled. Yes, Houston, we have lift up! My breasts were high, firm and there was cleavage! I was happy until I tried to look down. I had a chin rest. And I couldn't see my feet. I still had to put on my pantyhose, and shoes. Oh... why did I buy heels with buckles?
Then I had to pee again. I put on my sweats, fixed myself a drink, ordered pizza, and skipped the reunion.
Trotting up to the attic, I pulled the gown out of the garment bag, carried it lovingly downstairs, ran my hand over the fabric, and hung it on the door. I stripped naked, looked in the mirror, sighed, and thought, "Well, okay, maybe if I shift it all to the back..." -- bodies never have pockets where you need them.
Bravely, I took the gown off the hanger, unzipped the shimmering dress and stepped gingerly into it. I struggled, twisted, turned, and pulled and I got the formal all the way up to my knees... before the zipper gave out. I was disappointed. I wanted to wear that dress with those silver platform sandals again and dance the night away. Okay, one setback was not going to spoil my mood for this affair. No way! Rolling the dress into a ball and tossing it into the corner, I turned to Plan B. The black velvet caftan. I gathered up all the goodies that I had purchased at the drug store -- the scented shower gel; the bodybuilding, and high- lighting shampoo & conditioner, and the split-end killer and shine enhancer. Soon my hair would look like that girl's in the Pantene ads.
Then the makeup -- the under eye "ain't no lines here" firming cream, the all-day face-lifting gravity -fighting moisturizer with wrinkle filler spackle; the all day "kiss me till my lips bleed, and see if this gloss will come off" lipstick, the bronzing face powder for that special glow... But first, the roll-on facial hair remover. I could feel the wrinkles shuddering in fear.
OK - time to get ready...I jumped into the steaming shower, soaped, lathered, rinsed, shaved, tweezed, buffed, scrubbed, and scoured my body to a tingling pink. I plastered my freshly scrubbed face with the anti-wrinkle, gravity fighting, "your face will look like a baby's butt" face cream. I set my hair on the hot rollers. I felt wonderful. Ready to take on the world. Or in this instance, my underwear.
With the towel firmly wrapped around my glistening body, I pulled out the black lace, tummy-tucking, cellulite-pushing, ham hock-rounding girdle, and the matching "lifting those bosoms like they're filled with helium" bra. I greased my body with the scented body lotion and began the plunge. I pulled, stretched, tugged, hiked, folded, tucked, twisted, shimmied, hopped, pushed, wiggled, snapped, shook, caterpillar crawled, and kicked.
Sweat poured off my forehead but I was done. And it didn't look bad. So I rested. A well deserved rest, too. The girdle was on my body. Bounce a quarter off my behind? It was tighter than a trampoline. Can you say, "Rubber baby buggy bumper butt?"
Okay, so I had to take baby steps, and walk sideways, and I couldn't move from my butt cheeks to my knees. But I was firm! Oh no. I had to go to the bathroom. And there wasn't a snap crotch. From now on, undies gotta have a snap crotch. I was ready to rip it open and re-stitch the crotch with Velcro, but the pain factor from past experiments was still fresh in my mind.
I quickly side stepped to the bathroom. An hour later, I had answered nature's call and repeated the struggle into the girdle. I was ready for the bra. I remembered what the saleslady said to do. I could see her glossed lips mouthing, "Do not fasten the bra in the front, and twist it around. Put the bra on the way it should be worn --- straps over the shoulders. Then bend over and gently place both breasts inside the cups." Easy if you have four hands.
But, with confidence, I put my arms into the holsters, bent over and pulled the bra down...but the boobs weren't cooperating. I'd no sooner tuck one in a cup, and while placing the other, the first would slip out. I needed a strategy.
I bounced up, and down a few times, tried to dribble them in with short bunny hops, but that didn't work. So, while bent over, I began rocking gently back and forth on my heel and toes and I set 'em to swinging. Finally, on the fourth swing, pause, and lift, I captured the gliding glands. Quickly fastening the back of the bra, I stood up for examination.
Back straight, slightly arched, I turned and faced the mirror, turning front, and then sideways. I smiled. Yes, Houston, we have lift up! My breasts were high, firm and there was cleavage! I was happy until I tried to look down. I had a chin rest. And I couldn't see my feet. I still had to put on my pantyhose, and shoes. Oh... why did I buy heels with buckles?
Then I had to pee again. I put on my sweats, fixed myself a drink, ordered pizza, and skipped the reunion.
Tuesday, January 26, 2010
Senior Chat by Arthur Ritis
Be sure to check out "SENIOR CHAT" by columnist Arthur Ritis on my website. http://www.pmcaregivers.com/Arthur Ritis.htm.
Saturday, January 23, 2010
Chocolate prevents heart attacks
I have this theory that chocolate slows down the aging process... It may not be true, but do I dare take the chance? Actually dark chocolate bars contain antioxidants as well as the compound called epicatechin, which is a member of the plant flavoniods group. These flavoniods keep cholesterol from gathering in blood vessels, reduce the risk of blood clots, and slow down the immune responses that lead to clogged arteries. So, by eating a small amount of dark chocolate daily, you may actually be reducing your risk of a heart attack.
Friday, January 22, 2010
Can cold water clean dishes?
John went to visit his 90 year old grandfather in a very secluded, rural area of Saskatchewan. After spending a great evening chatting the night away,the next morning John’s grandfather prepared breakfast of bacon, eggs and toast. However, John noticed a film like substance on his plate, and questioned his grandfather asking, ‘Are these plates clean?’ His grandfather replied, ‘They’re as clean as cold water can get em.J ust you go ahead and finish your meal, Sonny!’ For lunch the old man made hamburgers. Again, John was concerned about the plates,as his appeared to have tiny specks around the edge that looked like dried egg and asked, ‘Are you sure these plates are clean?’ Without looking up the old man said, ‘I told you before, Sonny, those dishes are asclean as cold water can get them. Now don’t you fret, I don’t want to hear another word about it!’ Later that afternoon, John was on his way to a nearby town and as he was leaving, his grandfather’s dog started to growl, and wouldn’t let him pass. John yelled and said,‘Grandfather, your dog won’t let me get to my car’. Without diverting his attention from the football game he was watching on TV, the old man shouted! ‘Coldwater, go lay down now, yah hear me!’
Wednesday, January 20, 2010
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
