Callithump Thunderblog

I have been sick for four weeks now. In truth, I had a one week reprieve and then got sick again, so it is more like I have been sick for three weeks over a four week time period with two different illnesses, or maybe one illness with a relapse since it seems similar but with a lot more sleeping. Although, to be honest, I don't remember much about the first illness except I was on it, as in having a great attitude about "beating this thing" and totally doing the hot lemon and honey drinks, lots of soup and my favorite cold remedies. This time, I am so tired of being sick that I am pretty much not doing anything for it at all except sleeping. And coughing. In that department, I have been quite productive indeed.

Feel sorry for me.

It isn't H1N1. It isn't even regular seasonal flu. At first I thought it was a reaction to the seasonal flu shot that I got. I had never gotten one before and when I started feeling badly that very night, I right away assigned blame. And I had corroboration too, others claiming that they had had reactions to the flu shot as well. My brother, Hank Torgit, assured me that the reaction would only last a few days but the resentment towards the shot could be expected to last the entire winter. But then my son, Edgerton, who did not get a flu shot, got sick also and slept for a record 18 hours straight and I had to revise my initial assessment. When I consult Dr. Internet, it seems pretty clear that I have the common cold- but bad. A bad, bad, bad, bad cold is what I have. But no matter how many bads I put in front of it, a cold doesn't really sound so bad. It certainly doesn't sound like I should be in bed all the time, sleeping for 13 hour stretches, letting my surroundings crumble around me.

Although, it might be turning into a sinus infection. Probably it is, because my face hurts more than it is killing you even.

Sinus infection. Just doesn't have that poetic ring to it, as far as maladies go, like consumption, the plague or swine flu. Tell someone that you have come down with a case of consumption, and you are immediately recognized as tragically ill and you get the sympathy you deserve. Poorly named, those sinus infections. They sound so run of the mill, so pedestrian. They should be re-named. Like after the doctor who discovered them or the patient who had the first one.


Finklestien's Disease.



Now that sounds much more deserving of sympathy, not to mention offers of soup, hot tea and brand new iphones.



Remember. Whiny is the new funny. And this post is

*all together now*


FREAKIN' HILARIOUS!!!


















Go ahead and click on the teeny envelope icon and send this post to a friend. Don't be jerky and claim that you wrote it because I wrote it, damn it.

As you might recall, my last post was full of advice for my son, Ellis, who is starting up his own humor blog. Or at least he said he was going to start one, but this could be like the time he said he was going to take over the world and insist that people eat more hot dogs. Or something like that. I am not sure about the details because the fact is HE DIDN'T DO IT. Poor follow through, if you ask me.

As might be expected, he has not read the post, the one I wrote especially for him, nor does he seem to have any interest in reading it. In fact, to get him to read my posts, I pretty much have to read them to him. Or hold his dinner hostage. And then read them to him while prying his fingers out from his ears.

As you, avid reader, might recall, one of my wise words o' advice for the boy, in that post that I wrote especially for him, was "Keep posting. Keep posting." This post falls under that category. The "keep posting" category. Do I have a theme? No? An idea? No. The desire to write? Not really. But I am doing it anyway. That is known as wasting everyone's time being brave. In fact, I am sick in bed. Only the second land-me-in-bed illness of this craptastic fall, the most craptastic fall in my history of falls. And autumns too, come to think of it.

Keep posting. Keep posting.

I used to only post when I was seized by an idea. I would know for several days that a post was incubating. When it was born, it was almost like I had nothing much to do with it. It just poured. I edited and revised in a frenzy and then, once it sang sweetly, I hit publish. Then I would realize that I missed a bunch of edits and I would edit some more. And then I would hit publish again and feel satisfied. Job well done. Another piece blogged. But lately, I have decided to challenge myself by writing more often, and seeing what happens. I figure that the only way I can become a better writer is to practice more. This is the idea anyway.

This isn't pouring. And no sweet singing is happening. This kind of writing is hard.

Perhaps if I had a topic. A funny story. A witty observation. Friends often try to help me out. "Blog about that!" they say. "That would make a great blog!" they cry in unison. I love that about my friends, how they are always crying things out in unison. I wish that they would break out into unison song and dance too. That would be really cool. I would invite them over more, if they did. Do you hear that friends? The reason that I don't invite you over more is because you don't break out into spontaneous song and dance. Not even that Tell Them Soldier Boy hip hop dance or the that Chicken wedding dance or anything. How hard would that be? Seriously.

So, anyway, friends make suggestions and I always laugh and say that I should use their ideas, but I never do. I don't really like being told what to do, I guess.

Hmmm...this just occurred to me. Maybe Ellis has inherited this trait from me.

WOAH!!!

Dear reader, you have just been a witness to one of those infamous, "AHA, DUH!" moments in Sondra Stinglash's life, where in an instant, I realize something that feels profound, yet in reality is simple and should be completely obvious.

Hey! Babies have big heads relative to the size of their bodies! I just noticed that!

AHA!

DUH!

Hey! You mean there is a shoe specifically for the left and another shoe specifically for the right?!

AHA!

DUH!

I just thought that shoes were meant to be uncomfortable, like half the time.


Yeah AHA! DUH!

Having a teenage son is full of challenging moments in parenting. But recently, my son, Edric, said something to me that made me beam with pride! Straight A's, you wonder? An after school job? Did he tell me that he thought that it would be good if he started taking responsibility and giving back to the community by volunteering at the children's hospital on weekends?

I am going to dash off a very quick post. Like I have 10 minutes before I leave the house kind of post; many would not attempt such a thing, but I am going to dazzle you with an act of brilliance of such caliber that my commenting audience will accuse me of cheating. "This post reeks of hours upon hours of earnest effort and hard work too, coupled with a liberal dash of Edna consulting; so fine craftedly honed it is," they will cry.

Or maybe not.

Probably not. Stop getting your hopes up.

It's just a stupid blog post anyway. If you want fine writing go to the library or something.

Here we go. An on-the-go, off-the-cuff, drive-by post. Problem is, I am a slow writer. It wasn't always that way, however.

I used to be a slow choreographer.

I don't make dances anymore on account of in the post college real world you have to pay for rehearsal space by the hour and the usual rule of thumb which is going to sound super slow to all you uninitiated folks who have taken choreographers for granted your entire lives, is that it takes one hour to come up with one minute of material. For real. That is a long time. So, next time you watch the ending of The 40 Year Old Virgin, where they burst out into song and dance, the "Age of Aquarius" number, just think about that. For me it took longer. No. Not the 40 year thing. THAT didn't take quite that long. I was talking about choreography, remember? The rule of thumb?

I liked making dances. I could be all arty and weird and tell people to do things like FLAIL FASTER and EMBODY THE TREE and the pieces that I came up with were great to watch and fun to make. But if I did it now, if I had to hire dancers and hire a space to rehearse and a space to perform, I would pretty much be spending all my time and money on making dances. So I make writing instead. It is cheap. But it isn't fast for me either.

So, that just took me 2 hours. Sigh.

But what I really wanted to tell you is that the other night I was sleeping and it was great because it took me awhile to get to sleep so I was really happy and felt like I was doing a good job of it but then it was great no longer because I got awakened by my son, Everet, who woke me up by yelling

MOM!

And I pretended I didn't hear him.

And then he yelled another word

BAT!

And then my heart sank and I wished I could shrink down really small in my bed or make myself invisible by squinting my eyes up real tight. But no, I can't do any of that as I am the grown up. Being the grown up means that when my son, Everet, yells that there is a bat in the house, it is my job to get up and do something about it.

So, I pull myself out of bed. I go downstairs.

Everet has the situation well in hand.

He is wearing a pair of white evening gloves. ??? (Should I be worried?) He has goggles on. There is a shirt wrapped around his head, a scarf protecting his face and he is brandishing a PVC pipe. He looks crazed, in an insane cross-dressing bat-killing kind of way.

"What do you plan to do with that pipe?" I ask.

"Beat it to death."

"Put that down," I say.

We sneak around the downstairs real quiet-like, spying for the bat.

We find it hanging from a window sill trying to be all nonchalant, like, "I'm a bat and I am all wrapped up in my wings, hanging here upside down in my special bat way which makes me invisible so you can just move along because there is nothing to see here." And it was actually kinda cool in an Addam's Family kind of way and for a minute I wished I were right then and there having a Halloween party instead of doing what I usually do on Halloween which is turn out all the lights and hide in my bed, willing the trick-or-treat-ers to go away with my mind. My Halloween party guests would like the bat. "Very realistic," they would tell me.

We devise a plan. I hit the bat with a broom and the bat falls to the floor and then flies up and nose dives behind a pile of laundry while we shriek alot. After all the shrieking, we manage to trap the bat under a overturned basket.

Job well done. We congratulate ourselves.

Then the bat began to echo-locate which means it made creepy bat sounds and then it tried to escape by sticking its wing under the edge of the basket. More shrieking. Much more shrieking.

Did I tell you that bats freak me out? Apparently it is hereditary.

Anyhow, after we stopped shrieking, we managed to scoot the basket and bat all the way to the back door. Then we opened the door and kicked the bat and basket out, which made us feel all successful again until we realized that the basket had landed overturned on the bat, meaning that we were going to have to open the door and free the bat and then close the door real fast so that the bat didn't fly back in the house.

Yes, fly. They fly, people. That is what makes bats so freaky. The fly all erratically and swoop and I am pretty sure that they build nests in people's hair especially if their hair is naturally curly and beautify and shiny like mine is and if that happens you pretty much die of fright.

In the end, we watched the bat fly into the night sky and felt pretty good about the whole thing. No one died of fright. The bat wasn't harmed. And the whole ordeal took ten minutes or less.

It took me 2 hours to fall back to sleep.


And it took me 2 1/2 days to write this.


Happy Halloween.







Go ahead and click on the teeny envelope icon and send this post to a friend. Don't be jerky and claim that you wrote it because I wrote it, damn it.

The Halloween season is upon us again. And with this holiday comes another annual event- the reprinting of the Message From the Sunshine Day School. Since writing this piece I have done an internet search for 'Sunshine Day School' and have discovered that there are more than a few schools with this name. The Sunshine Day School in this post, however, is fictional, which means that as much as you would like to, you will not be able to enroll your child. And believe me, you are going to want to. Enjoy.
Here at The Sunshine Day School, our holistic approach to education includes a deep concern for the social, emotional, and intellectual well being of your child. We have observed that what the children eat for snacks and lunch has a profound effect on their learning and behavior here at school. Halloween is a time of year when it might be tempting to bring unhealthy snacks to school. With that in mind we would like to remind you of The Sunshine Day School policy for snacks and lunch.
Go ahead and click on the teeny envelope icon and send this post to a friend. Don't be jerky and claim that you wrote it because I wrote it, damn it.

Another transcript of a real conversation that took place this morning in the Sondra Stinglash household.

Person 1: That's my coffee mug.

Person 2: It's mine. I have squatter's rights. Besides, you never drink out of this mug.

Person 1: That's because MY MUG is never available.

Person 2: You drink your coffee out of a drinking glass.

Person 1: I am forced to. You have my tall mug. I like drinking my coffee from tall drinking vessels, so I use a glass.

Person 2: That's stupid.

Person 1: No it's not. It is very European.

Person 1: No it's not. It's stupid. You're stupid.

Person 2: No. You're stupid.

Person 1: No, you are.

Person 2: No, you are.

Person 1: You're so stupid that every day you have a date to go on a picnic with the Stupid Fairy.

Person 2: You're so stupid that you are the lead singer for the Idiot Island's Polka Band.

Person 1: Oh yeah. You're so stupid that you got a bad score on your SAT exam and had to go to a community college.


OK. So I took some liberties in the recording of this exchange. The word vessel was not really used. That would be a little pretentious.






Go ahead and click on the teeny envelope icon and send this post to a friend. Don't be jerky and claim that you wrote it because I wrote it, damn it.

Way back when I started my blog, I became obsessed with was looking for ways to boost my numbers, as in hits, as in people reading my blog or at least clicking on it before saying, "This isn't what I am looking for," and immediately exiting in order to find their goat thing of the day, or whatever it is that people really want because, take it from me, this blog isn't it. So, I joined this group called Blog Explosion. The explosion part refers to the theory that the number of visitors to your blog will explode, or increase, rather than any blog actually exploding. I know that you are disappointed, for what could be cooler than an exploding blog? Blog Explosion works by forcing you giving you the opportunity to look at other members' blogs by giving you a new one to view every 30 seconds or so. You get points for each blog you view and those points allow your blog to be surfed by other members. So, that's how it works.

The problem with Blog Explosion is that some of the blogs on the site are crappy ass are blogs that I would never look at unless forced are not my cup of tea. We are talking about things like: how I am going to lose that weight sites, how those liberal socialists are killing this country sites, how much I love shoes sites, look how cute my cats are sites, let me tell you what I think about movies because I am pretty much a professional movie reviewer because I set up this here blog and review movies sites, and a collection of sort-of amusing stories about waiting in line and other stuff that no one cares about sites.

OMG, I just realized that I am a sarcastic bitch very discerning! Don't get me wrong, I have suspected it, off and on throughout the years. But now that I see it in black and white, it is really hitting home. Now I feel kind of bad.

But not that bad because...

Despite it being a great concept, I got very, very few followers from Blog Explosion. And although, it was fun to see my hit number increase on the days that I forced other people to surf my blog participated, I have a suspicion that I just wasn't their cup of tea either and maybe even they were just pretending to read my blog to get points. *gasp*

I kinda hate that expression. Not my cup of tea. It sounds so polite, but it is so dismissive.

Sondra Stinglash: Would you like to meet my baby? He is only 5 days old. Isn't he cute when he is sleeping?

Person #2: He's not really my cup of tea.

See what I mean?

And now, to make up for being such a bitch so discerning, I offer up this that I found today when I was surfing Blog Explosion due to a recent head injury failure to take my meds attack of self doubt due to low blog numbers of late ok, there is nothing I could write here to make me look good, so onward...

As a teacher, I just love those amusing kids say the darnedest things that float around on the internet. So, I am going to violate my all original material rule to re-post something I found on my blatant attempt to get more hits internet travels. I hope you enjoy reading through these children's science exam answers...

Q: Name the four seasons.
A: Salt, pepper, mustard and vinegar.

Q: Explain one of the processes by which water can be made safe to drink.
A: Flirtation makes water safe to drink because it removes large pollutants like grit, sand, dead sheep and canoeists.

Q: How is dew formed?
A: The sun shines down on the leaves and makes them perspire.

Q: How can you delay milk turning sour?
A: Keep it in the cow.

Q: What causes the tides in the oceans?
A: The tides are a fight between the Earth and the Moon. All water tends to flow towards the moon, because there is no water on the moon, and nature hates a vacuum. I forget where the sun joins in this fight.

Q: What are steroids?
A: Things for keeping carpets still on the stairs.

Q: What happens to your body as you age?
A: When you get old, so do your bowels and you get intercontinental

Q: What happens to a boy when he reaches puberty?
A: He says good-bye to his boyhood and looks forward to his adultery.

Q: Name a major disease associated with cigarettes.
A: Premature death.

Q: How are the main parts of the body categorized? ( e.g., abdomen)
A: The body is consisted into three parts -- the brainium, the borax and the abdominal cavity. The brainium contains the brain; the borax contains the heart and lungs, and the abdominal cavity contains the five bowels A, E, I, O, and U.

Q: What is the fibula?
A: A small lie.

Q: What does 'varicose' mean?
A: Nearby.

Q: Give the meaning of the term 'Caesarian Section.'
A: The Caesarian Section is a district in Rome.

Q: What does the word 'benign' mean?'
A: Benign is what you will be after you be eight.

Sondra Stinglash- When I reach adultery, I hope to live varicose to the Caersarian Section. I hear that it is lovely and the water is safe to drink there because the canoists are flirtated out.

Edna- I need a new gig. Maybe there is an opening at the Very Top Five. He seems really smart. *sigh*




Go ahead and click on the teeny envelope icon and send this post to a friend. Don't be jerky and claim that you wrote it because I wrote it, damn it. Except for the things written by little kids. Although I don't really think that little kids wrote that stuff. But it is still funny.

Check out the pic. (That's the way cool people say "picture.") It's Sondra Stinglash, being interrupted by Kanye West. Funny isn't it? I thought so...and topical too. Especially if you pretend like the three weeks that have passed since the VH-1 music awards never really happened.

Here is what he is saying, btw...

Yo Stinglash! I'm happy for you and Imma let you finish and I'm not saying your moves are bad, but Kurt has the best signature move of all time.

Sting! I'm happy for you and Imma let you finish. Those pants are pretty reckless, but the OptimistPessimist has bought the most reckless outfit of all time.

Hey Sondra! I'm happy for you and Imma let you finish and your goats are finely dressed and all, but Nanny Goats in Panties has the most fabulously dressed up goats of all time.

I could go on. Maybe you have some of them. We could have a little contest. What would Kanye West say to Sondra Stinglash? You write a quote and leave it as a comment and I will pick my favorite and announce the winner on Callithump Thunderblog and make a blog award and everything. Except I won't make a blog award. I am lazy like that.

I really don't write about topical stuff much here on Callithump. I would like to but my very loose grasp on anything that is going on in the world makes it impossible. Basically, I get my news from my Facebook friends' status messages. And from tweets. If it's important enough, it will be tweeted. Of course, if it isn't important, it will also be tweeted.

So there's that.

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I have a cold. And as typical for me, it rarely stops there. My colds tend to be compounded by other things. In my usual fashion, this cold is accompanied by a fantasy of a cheerful manservant who brings me tea and soup and fluffs my pillow and tells me jokes on demand.

Sondra Stinglash: Tell me a joke.

Manservant: What’s the difference between a gynecologist and a plumber?

Sondra Stinglash: I dunno. Tell me.

Manservant: A gynecologist is a physician specializing in the treatment of women, whereas a plumber is a skilled tradesman who specializes in pipes and drains and such.

Sondra Stinglash: That's not really a joke is it?

(I stole that unjoke from here. Unjokes are funny in that they aren't really funny. They sound like jokes, but they aren't jokes, but then again they are. See how that works?)

My cheerful manservant with the odd sense of humor is dressed up in a tuxedo. A tuxedo you say? Sure. Why not? It's my fantasy and when I fantasize I go all out, sparing no expense. I do things right. Not like your grade B fantasies.

Yo 'Lash. I'm happy for you and Imma let you finish, but the Cat Lady has the best fantasies of all time.

OK, so the Cat Lady didn't write a post about fantasies. Still, no matter what Edna, my annoying inner editor, says, I am keeping the link. The Cat Lady is worth visiting anyhow. She has all kinds of fun stuff over there.

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And I won another award! I am terrible at claiming awards, but I am gonna try real hard and post an acceptance post on this one sometime real soon. That will require my digging deep into my psyche to reveal my obsessions. That shouldn't be too hard, actually. These are things I have. Obsessions. And a psyche.

Thank you Skye at Weekly Injection Of Chuckles for the awarding me the "Your Blog Is Fabulous" award!

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I got a new car and I love it and it is red. And it's mine. This means that the car shopping is over which means that the car shopping stories are over. But it doesn't mean that I didn't score my very own souvenir Larry the Frog wind up action figure. It doesn't mean that at all, because I did. Looky here at what it does.





Isn't it great? Just like Larry the Frog...

It does nothing!


Hey Larry the Frog! I'm happy for you and Imma gonna let you finish. But Kermit the Frog totally doesn't suck like you do.



Cue Video.








Kermy is awesome. Don't listen to those cantankerous old men.





Go ahead and click on the teeny envelope icon and send this post to a friend. Don't be jerky and claim that you wrote it because I wrote it, damn it.