Hour good luck to be razed hear. Eye am a lcuky dog.

 When I was younger, I had to learn, what in school, was classified , "foreign language".   In High School I took Spanish. In College I took French.

In life, I lived in Israel, and tried to learn Hebrew.

The picture on the left was around that time. And yes, that is what my hair looks like when it's not ironed. Now you no.

 

 

 

Somewhere in my brain are layers of languages, that although still used in the world of the living,  are close to dead in my brain.

 

 

I lived in Israel for 6 months when I was 26 years old. Long enough ago to not remember the other languages I had by then, mostly forgotten.

I came home by way of Brussels. One night in that beautiful city.

In the morning, my friend and I had to get back to the airport. For that, we need to find a train.

 

 

We stopped a gendarme and I gave that most difficult question some thought. How to say it in French?  First to come was (transliteration) "eyfo ha rakeffet l"..... No. I realized,  that's Hebrew. Way too fresh in my head.  I need the French.

Although that should have been in the next, layer of language,  the Spanish came to mind. Living in New York and working in the school system, I heard a lot of Spanish.

:Donde esta la"....... No I thought. Wrong again.

Ah. Blanking again on the word where. Again, a Hebrew word comes, "le an" which is also not what I needed then or now. 

I had to look it up. I feel so dumb. I suppose that's better than old. I know I'm not really dumb.

"Ou et la tran por airport?" I said in my very best French accent.

The gendarme replied, " you walk down two streets and make a left".

I was stricken. As they say in Hebrew, "I had broken my teeth to find the words" and all for naught. He knew English.  Bastard. Could I have been that naïve to not realize he probably spoke English?  Short answer, yes.

 

I know many people since that time who have learned English as a Second, Third or Fourth language.

 

Still, unless they are gifted, I really pity them.

 

The "American Language" is considered to be very difficult to learn. I can see why. The few languages I have encountered appeared to have a certain order or logic to them. I love Spanish. There are only just so many ways to say the vowels and that's it. You write it as you hear it. Isn't that lovely?

I don't think I should speak about French. Except that when I took it at 18 I had a huge crush on the teacher, Mr. (I'll have to look up how to spell that in French, I'm so far off the dictionary on here is of no use)  Monsieur Montrose.

I probably would have cut class which I did eventually start to do as the language got harder on the tongue and the teachers got harder on the eyes and ears.  Looking back, not going was probably not the best choice of improving.

 

Even Hebrew, writing right to left, and with different alphabet, has a wonderful logic to it. Almost all words stem from a root word, usually it consists of three letters.  You add letters in the front and or end of the root and you can conjugate the past present or future. I'm not saying it's easy. And of course there is a lot more to it. Just sayin.

 

What these other languages seem to have is some sense of predictability.

 

Just like English/American. Right??

 

Hell no. Between the homonyms, synonyms and idioms alone, you could send a person to the insane asylum. If we still had them. In the 1970's they were not considered cost effective, and with the new medications, they were all closed down i.e.  they let all those people out of the  safe, funny farm.  *(AD)  That was a great idea. Let the mentally ill be in charge of taking their own medication and themselves.  

That was probably the beginning of the largest resurgence of homelessness since the depression had ended.

 

Man. Can I get off track or what? I had planned to write, a bunch of sentences as you saw in the title, and I've yet to get there.

But I will. And soon.

 

 

 

And, sew, how do yew learn to reed English?  Or too speak it?  Isle have to think.  Does won tuff it out aloan, or does one take sum lessens with a teem?

Their are whey's two fined out.

Ware should you go?

If I only gnu, I mite tele yew.

 

Allrite, I'm tyred of this. Wen you urn you're degree, shoot me a facts and I'll ask witch cellar you got this diploma frum and what grayed you finished.

 

When I taught University, my students did not know the differences in weigh two many words. I did try to teach them. I even tried memory tricks.

To no avail. And now, with texting and emojis one may no longer need to no how to spell or wright.

 

Y this bothers me, I do no know. But it does. Which is funny, because I have so much trouble with spelling. You would think it would bring me relief, but to me, it's just a little bit of my history that's dying. And that's a big deal.

 

 

 

 

Hee got da hole whorl in his hans.

I jess hope he don't drop it.

 

OFF THE RAILS WITH HONEST ABE * IT IS GOOD HE'S NOT ALIVE TO SEE THIS MEN'S WEAR CATALOG +++

I received a new catalog last week. It pictured Abe Lincoln splitting logs on the cover.  Even though it wasn't something that would usually appeal to me, like jewelry,   I like to look at the pictures while eating at the table when I'm by myself. 

 

After perusing it, I started to read some of the copy, because I couldn't believe what I was reading.

 

 

 

 

Not my usual catalog

Sometimes I buy men's jeans, because  you don't have to hem them. The pants they make for women are for giants or dwarves, so it can be really hard to find the right length. Don't get me started on how they fit.  However,  the best thing I found  out about men's, pants is that they actually make pockets with  room in them.
 

Ladies, have you noticed how over the years,  our pockets shrank or downright disappeared?  Now you are lucky if you can find any pockets  in  jeans or pants. That is, with the exception of ugly old lady sweat pants. I think that was a run-on.  Anyway, women's pockets don't even have room for three or four fingers. They are not meant to put anything in larger than a tissue or a coin, Or, if designed by a man, maybe a condom.
 

Men's pockets, on the other hand, go deep. Really deep. For all that stuff they can't put in their purse. Wallets, change, keys, handkerchiefs, switchblades,  napkins with phone number oh wait. We have cell phones now. Scratch that one.   Or, so they can hide it when they slip a hand in to make sure their penis is still there. I'm not really sure.  (About what they put in their pockets, not about their penises.)

 



              There were five photos but I only chose this one because it was at the top of the list.






        I'm not sure what they mean about flying the coop. Maybe it's code for not falling out.

            I think Buck Naked is the name of a brand. None of these pictures showed anyone naked. Not even close. Except maybe a dog.



  Although as I'm writing, and staring at the    screen, I'm finding there isn't much left for my imagination except maybe if he were buck naked.

                            This is the PG- rated toy. I'm having trouble imagining the X-rated one.    Only because I don't know any man who would give a dog a chew toy with all his bits and bobs exposed.



I can hear the conversation between the two nice old folks sitting in their cabin. "Oh look Abe, Fido just chewed on his balls." "Martha, please be more clear" Was Fido chewing on his own balls or the chew toy balls?"  "The chew toy dear"
I see Abe jump up from his rocker and try to take the toy away from Fido. Martha asks why.  Abe says." Sorry dear, watching him lick, chew and bite those parts started to make me feel anxious.  I think I'll go inside and lie down with Fido, if he'll only let go of this damn toy".  Abe screams loudly, "Holy Hell. It broke off. Now he's running around the house with the whole package in his mouth. I can't watch this anymore. I'm going to be sick"  "Oh Abe, you never let that dog have any fun".

I used to have to pay extra for  gap insurance on my leased cars. Now they just include it in the price.


Back when leasing started, or at least when I  started leasing,  if someone stole your car, you were responsible for the whole note. Or something like that. The gap insurance  paid for the difference so you didn't get screwed (as much) by the insurance company. This is not the same gap they are talking about.

However, they are still calling it insurance. I wonder if you pay extra.





Let it be noted, all around the world, that when the plumber comes to call, you do not have to see his crack. Someone, somewhere was listening to all of us housewives and ladies complaining about the view we got when something needed to be repaired. This company makes shirts that are extra long in the back, so when you bend over, you don't have to expose yourself.  It is obvious that not all men are aware of this company. Hint. You do not need to be a worker to buy these shirts.  They fit everyone.  Sometimes I have seen men who are just walking and don't have enough coverage. You know who. You're the ones who can't get their pants up above their bellies. It would be politically correct for me to say something soothing here to the people that this applies to. I'm not going to. I'm not complaining about your weight. That's your business. I'm complaining that you don't care enough about other people to make sure they don't have to see what they were not intended to see. And trust me, we do not want to see this. Nor did God intend us to.

Explain that ticket to the wife.

 

Ah, that' good to know. It's fairly obvious that on most other pants there is no room for a diaper.

How many flasks can daddy fit into this vest?


Another favorite. This time they weren't listening. At least not to someone like me.  I think drinking and hunting is a dangerous sport and it ought to be outlawed. It probably would be, except that so many judges, lawyers and governors and former governors like that Sarah lady are out there right now playing at this game, that they aren't around to pass laws against it. Not that they would because they think it's fun.
Personally, if I'm going to get loaded, I'd rather do it at home. Even if I put a target on my back in the house, no one is going to shoot me or mistake me for a deer. Or a fish. Or a raccoon or beaver.

Please read. For those of us who do not want to look at your big toe anymore.



Men do
need to be educated on socks. Not just about their lives, but something even more important. Where socks live.
Socks live in the drawer in the dresser. When they've been good you take them out and take them for a spin around town. When you get home, you have forgotten everything you were ever taught. Dirty sox do not live with clean sox.  It is unnatural and unhealthy. Dirty sox live in a hamper.  That's right. It's called a hamper. For some reason, men think that sox like the great outdoors, just like they do. So where do sox live according to men?  Right next to the hamper. It's like they want them to camp out on the lawn.  WRONG    !!!!!!

Dirty socks live in the hamper. End of story. And if you want clean sox, the hamper is where the washer women will take them from. The ones on the floor will stay there and you'll have to go barefoot or buy more socks. 
I can see that this will not end well. I'd best move on to the last, and perhaps favorite piece of all.





LA PIECE DE RESISTANCE

 nothing is worse than tight jeans period. On anyone.

I can't help it. I love puns and double entandres, even if I can't spell them.

I love to dance. One of my most favorite things.  Now, if someone where to ask me a couple of questions regarding my favorite thing,  they would have a new meaning.

Examples:

"Would you like to go dancing in the ballroom?" Now, I'm thinking about the rides at places like Disney where if you're too short, you can't go on. This would be the opposite. If you're too tall, you can't fit in. I think my brain just hit warp speed.

A couple is getting married and are looking for a catering hall. The gentleman is showing them the facilities.  He asks politely, "Would you like to see my ballroom"?  Hopefully, none of them has read this.

"I'm leaving you because I need my space".  "Mark baby, is that all you need?  Let me sew a gusset into your pants and we can save our relationship."  "Um, Maggie, what the hell are you talking about"?




 One last tale from my real life

My husband and I were on a cruise in November. It was great. So was the entertainment.
The second or third night we decided to sit front row and center for the musical.

It turned out to be a little to close for comfort. I don't think I mentioned this to him at the time because, well, I didn't want to talk during the show, and afterwards,  I was probably drunk and on my way to dancing, not in a ballroom.

Anyway, one of the lead male singer, dancers was wearing a suit that was obviously a little too tight. I don't know if they changed actors or he gained weight or what. The first thing I saw was the gusset. I can't be sure, but in my head, the suit was light blue, the gusset was black. There I was, staring up at the stage, wondering if he felt uncomfortable about this. His pants were so tight that the waist button wasn't closed, which you could see when his vest rode up.  I noticed he did try to pull the vest down, so he had to be aware. At least of that. As we know, the show must go on.

That sight will stay with me for a long time. Obviously the seamstress knew about gussets, but couldn't she have found a piece of fabric that was blue? Oh well.

All's well that ends well.
the end.

Theoriously now folks, wasn't that a fun trip?