A Conversation Between Angels XXXXVI

“You know Chet, it’s a beautiful day-”

“It’s always a beautiful day, it’s Heaven.”

“Point taken. But back to mine. It’s a beautiful day so what do you say instead of talking about the things we miss what ‘ya say we talk about the things we don’t miss.”

“Ok, I don’t miss cat pictures in my email.”

“Amen to that.”

“I don’t miss guys that wore sunglasses on the back of their heads. They usually had no hair so they looked like bald Cousin It’s.”

‘Preaching to the choir.”

“But you know what I don’t miss the most?”

“Let me hear it ring out!”

“People talking about negative things.”


Amusingz 3

If those little tablets and pills really provided “pain relief,” couldn’t they just eliminate the people in our lives that cause such pain?

I’ve heard a number of people say it was actually harder to eat lobster when they had to pick it out of the tank. Would the same thing be true with shrimp?

Why do women like cats so much when they don’t like when a man ignores them?

If the chance of something happening weather-wise is always a percentage, how do the days still happen?

Did you know that when you close a laptop, but don’t turn it off, it snores? Just try to prove me wrong.

The saying goes “for every action there is an equal and opposite reaction.” I think the Big Bang’s was reality television.

It appears in this age of texting and always looking down, you must wear a bell, or flashing lights, so people notice you are waiting in line and don’t just step right in front of you.

Which came first, chicken salad or egg salad?

It appears computer screens belong in the same category as socks and keys. How the heck did those marks get on there, I don’t remember touching it?

If the pen is truly mightier than the sword, why does the ability to wield a sword get you laid so much easier?


Approximate Serving Size


Something caught my eye while preparing breakfast, something that has caught my eye a number of times before but I didn’t have a blog where I could question it or make fun of it. But now I do, lucky you.

If you look at the number of servings per container it says “About 6.”

Silly me, I grew up in a time before even calculators existed and we had to use our fingers and the “bundled-stick” method of counting, but I count 6, exactly. Now I confess that I’m overdo for the eye-doctor, that sometimes I have to stretch my arm a little bit when reading, but I can see individual veggie sausage patties the size of the bottom of a coffee cup. There was none hiding, none had even broken off in the process known as processing. Nope, they were not handmade, they were cut out by a machine and dumped onto another machine’s conveyor belt which then counted it with one of those new-fangled machines that look like hands and then dumped in the bag and stamped shut by one of those new-fangled stapling machines or whatever they’re called.

Hang on a minute! They don’t have handsy things? They go by weight. So it depends how much weight it is and that’s how they get about. Because somehow they could accidentally be under the 38g weight because the slicer came down at an angle that differed in .00001 degree and there you go.

Wow, so they’re just being one hundred percent accurate.

Hmmm, with all the homeless and jobless, maybe they should just go back to someone counting. And get rid of the About.

Weekly Water Cooler Talk 6-27-13

Weekly random thoughts. Since I’m self-employed it’s my version of water cooler talk: no one to talk to so it goes out to cyberspace.

When women “put their face on,” do they think it wasn’t there before?

If beans beans are such a musical fruit, why aren’t more served in schools to help with their music program.

They can make oatmeal that’s ready in an instant, they can make it in flavors, why can’t they make it not stick to the pot.

If you slipped on a banana peel and landed on a crack, would you still be liable if it broke your mother’s back?

“Revenge is a dish best served cold” does not seem very intimidating-seems like it should be frozen or really flaming. Otherwise it just seems like leftover pizza.

If you took all of the Chinese take-out cartons could you build a duplicate of The Great Wall?

I had a dream where all the crazy celebrities who are famous for being famous were photographed in curlers and they never wanted their picture taken anymore.

When the Ten Commandments were handed down I wonder if Moses thought, just for a second, “You’re serious?”


Waiting for TheEggs

No that’s not a typo in the title, I was trying to come up with some kind of play on “Waiting for Godot” and that’s the best I could do by trying to be avant garde and match the syllable count. Because, like that play, this blog is about the absurdity, to me, of Waiting for Breakfast. (That just didn’t seem quite the absurdist tile.)


Let me first say I’m not a foodie. I don’t think I’d go out of my way to get something to eat someone said “was to die for.” Never experienced that phenomenon in my life except with a woman. Boom!

Also let me say that the restaurant pictured, The Omelette Inn*, in downtown Long Beach, is very good. I’ve eaten there a number of times.

Here’s my thing: maybe because I can cook, maybe because I’ve never tasted anything that was so outstanding or maybe because I’m just too hyper, I don’t get standing in line for breakfast. There is a place called Ann Sathers in Chicago that has really really delicious and one of a kind cinnamon rolls and the line around the block on Sundays. Here’s me: “I’ll come back another time.”

Because the act and the wait really end up diminishing the experience in my mind. For everyone involved. First there’s you and your party, because I assume that no one would ever wait alone. If they are waiting alone, they are saying “she’ll be right back” whenever someone catches their eye because it’s just so sad. I’d rather eat a bowl of dry shredded-something cereal on a small TV tray then go through that. No one ever prepares by having a piece of fruit before going to brunch and so they’re really hungry. So there’s you and your party and the fidgeting and the whiny stomach and the olfactory perception that is going to cause time to move very slowly. You’ll begin with idle chit-chat but there has never, in the history of dining, been a host or hostess that got the time right. Not her fault, she’s just trained to guess and the factors that affect the amount of wait time rival those that affect the weather forecast.

Next there’s the diners. Having people watch you eat is like having a dog watch you eat. You know you’re not supposed to give him “people food” but please for the love of God would you stop looking at me and waving your tail! I tend to get really uncomfortable, like we should all speed up because there are people waiting.

Lastly there’s the waitstaff. And they’ve got to have it the worst. Because the balancing act of trying to be friendly to the people you’re waiting on while mentally doing the math to determine the number of tables cleared divided by the number of people waiting divided by the number of stations has got to be staggering!

Of course, I’ve waited in line, and will again. But I don’t know, breakfast? Man it’s just some version of eggs and potatoes and toast.

*Omelette Inn has not paid any promotional consideration. And if I show them I put them in the blog they probably still won’t.