Callithump Thunderblog

Enjoy a classic from way back in the early days of Callithump Thunderblog.


This piece was written some time ago, back in the days when our country was encountering difficult economic times.


Funny...It still holds up.




Dear Spleen,
The Management



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I hugged this guy. Well maybe not this guy, but it was a guy with a sign just like his. And a woman too. I hugged her. I was walking down the sidewalk in Times Square and when I saw the free hugs signs I jumped up and down with excitement and then ran and gave them both enthusiastic hugs. My family was all like, "Sondra Stinglash! What are you doing? Hugging a stranger?" But I was all like, "It's the FREE HUGS movement!! Don't you people watch youtube?" Then there was some eye rolling and someone said, "Whatever," and then I went ahead and enjoyed my free hug. And it was a great moment in the life of Sondra Stinglash. One of the best.





Or so I thought.

Come to find out that you get what you pay for.










Some great hug huh? Turns out my hug was just a second rate, hate filled, smelly hippy crap-hug. And I liked it! Now I feel violated and a little bit scarred for life. Free hug, my ass. My therapy bills are going to be through the roof. And I blame my family. After all, they should have protected me.




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This is an historical post, as it is the first ever written on a foreign computer on account of that I am currently in "The City," NYC, the Big Apple...that's New York City for you people from Manhattan, Kansas. I saved a few bucks by inconveniencing a friend in order to get a ride to my 1:00 in the morning bus which looked nice from the outside and was really clean so at first sight I was relieved that it wouldn't be a bus ride from hell, but it turns out that the seats seemed to be built for oompa-loompas or fifth graders or people with their legs amputated above the knees, which none of us were, so we were all crammed in fetal style. And the driver didn't seem to think we deserved heat so all night I was so freezing to death that I was thrilled when the total stranger next to me invaded my personal space in his sleep because body heat was the only way to stay warm. The sleeping people in front of me with their seats reclined so that the one seat was resting squarely on my un-amputated knees were so close to me that I had a perfect view of their sleeping heads resting against one another which looked so seriously sweet. This is what happens when you cram a bunch of strangers together in an unheated bus in the middle of the night- they reach for one another in their sleep.

Wow that was kinda sweet what I wrote.

Anyway, all this to save a few bucks.

Did I mention that I had to pee pretty much the whole night? And in the morning when we got there. And during the two hours when I was was walking around lost in Chinatown trying to find the #6 train. So when I finally got to where I was going I was really excited about peeing. Really excited. I figured that it was going to be the best pee of my life.

But it was only mediocre.

Anyhow- after taking a nap on a couch and enjoying horizontal sleep for a few hours, I went out exploring and that's when I touched the hand of Buddha. It was in the produce section. It is a fruit or maybe a vegetable. See the picture. Cool huh?

Only in New York.

Well actually I don't really know this to be true; it is likely that they have Buddha's Hands in other places but I have only seen them here and I don't have any truly weird only in New York stories to tell and I like that expression, so I am keeping it.

But if I do get any of those stories you will be the first to know.




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So I went out with a friend of mine and we got tea and they had a tea called "World Peace Tea" which we didn't get because we wanted another kind of tea but we were both wracked with guilt because what if it really works and we didn't order it? We got regular kinds of tea like peppermint and chai though, not sinister tea with a name such as "Immediate World Destruction, But Fuck It Because This Tea Tastes Wicked Good," so it isn't like we are 100% terrible people. Just kind of bad people, I guess. We could try harder, is all I am saying.

In these difficult economic times, Callithump Thunderblog recognizes that it is not enough to provide first rate humorous anecdotes and hilarious commentary. We realize that what the typical reader really needs are ouch-less money saving strategies.

Look no further. You have come to the right place. Here is one such tip, something that will not only save you tons of money, but it is fun to do as well.

Here is what you do. Assemble the recipes together to create a delicious dinner menu. Write each ingredient on a separate piece of paper. Then add two other items to each piece of paper, so each resembles a list. Are you with me?

Here is an example:


1) pencil

2) Two 16 ounce cans of imported Italian plum tomatoes

3) paper clip



Find a group of people. Then, give each paper to a different person and tell them that, "We are having a scavenger hunt," and that they have to go door to door to get their items as in,

"I'm on a scavenger hunt and I was wondering if I can have a paper towel, 4 ounces thinly sliced procuitto, and a twist tie."

Set a timer and tell them to hurry, hurry, hurry. First person to collect their items and bring them back to you wins the prize. The prize is a cooking lesson under your tutelege!

"HURRY! HURRY! GO! GO! GO! WOO-HOO!"

This is a very good idea. You get to eat a delicious dinner for free and you get to have someone else cook it. And scavenger hunts are fun, so it is a win-win for all involved, not just the first one back. People love going on scavenger hunts and they love helping other people who are on scavenger hunts.

"Two ramekins of crème brûlée, did you say, coconut infused? No problem! Here you go! Good luck with your scavenger hunt! Bye now!"


But just to play it safe, don't do this in your own neighborhood because your neighbors might be weirdos who are prejudiced against enormous amounts of fun.

I think it would work well with children. That is what I recommend, anyway because children love to play games. But if you do it with kids, put them in teams so that they have a buddy. It will be safer for them that way. But if you do that you will need twice as many kids. So, the team thing is totally optional.

If you do use kids you can let them keep the pencils, ballpoint pen caps, paper clips, coffee filters and twist ties. Kids love that stuff. And they will want to play again and again.

So pretty much this is a perfect plan. No more grocery shopping for you tonight! You can just sit back and let your ingredients come to you. It's better than FreshDirect even, because it is free.

And, in case you are wondering why I know what FreshDirect is, it is because I am totally going to move to NYC, so I have to know about NY stuff like that.

I realize that moving to NYC is not a money saving tip. It is more like a really great personal fantasy of mine, that is, in reality, a money draining tip. I just really want to move there. If not forever, then at least for a year. I feel that it would make me a stronger person.

I told a friend of mine that once. That exact thing. I told her that I wanted to live in New York City for a year and that I thought it would make me stronger.

She responded, "Why not just get cancer? It would be cheaper."

And here is another money saving tip. Take candy from babies. It's easy and you will save tons of money on candy.








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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!!!


















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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.







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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.

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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.






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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.

-------------------------

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.

-------------------------

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!

-------------------------

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.





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The last time I declared myself a winner publicly I must have angered the gods because immediately, and I mean within the hour, they had themselves a good laugh by sending both widespread famine and a swarm of locusts to me and mine. So, I am a bit scared to share this bit of news. So, I will just whisper it real quiet like.

I got an award!

I am a Superior Scribbler!

Did you hear that? Frank Lee Meidere over at I Probably Don't Like You, ironically liked my title for my last post, which I have to say, means that he probably he likes me too. Or maybe not. Probably not, actually, if you can believe the title of his blog, which is a little ironic for an award giver, don't cha think? Anyhow, I was pretty proud of that title- If Boiling Water Spilled On a Used Car Salesman In the Forest, With No One Else Around, Would You Even Care? But I never imagined it was award worthy, except for the fact that as soon as I wrote it I started shopping for a gown for the award ceremony and I started to write my acceptance speech.



As it turns out I don't really need an acceptance speech as this is a pretty low maintenance kind of award. To receive it I don't have to tell any obsessions or secrets or anything. Alls I gotta do is follow the rules which are as follows-






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I have been lame about posting due to extenuating circumstances, but it seems to work for me because my subscriber number and follower number have increased in my absence. So, at the risk of jeopardizing my numbers I am going to actually offer up something to read. It's not much, I realize. But it IS something.


Here is a real exchange that happened in my kitchen the other day.

Person 1- Did you know that steam is hotter than boiling water?

Person 2- Yes.

Person 1- Look at me putting my hand on the steam.

Person 2- You should put your hand in the water to see if it is hotter.

Person 1- But it isn't really boiling yet.

Person 3- And it never will...now that I am watching it.

Person 2- If it was in a forest with no one around, it would boil, but would it make a sound?

Person 3- What if it was poured on a mime?


It is a laugh riot at the Sondra Stinglash household. Seriously. You should wish that you got to hang around us. It is a nonstop joke fest.

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And here is something else- an open letter to the Hoselpiss Dealership people. They are people who sell cars. At least they sell them in theory. They don't sell cars to me.

Dear Hoselpiss Dealership People,

You suck.

Sincerely,

Sondra Stinglash


I know dear reader. I missed the opportunity to write a really clever letter just now. But I used up all my cleverness in the title of this post which I happen to be quite proud of. In fact, I am enjoying reading and re-reading it aloud with glee and then yelling, "NO!" in response.

I did warn you that I was lame. Seriously. L A M E. All this post is is a transcript of a conversation that I was a part of that happened in my kitchen (Whichever person, 1, 2 or 3, that you think was funniest was me, by the way), a lame open letter to the Hoselpiss Dealership people and a picture of the particular used car salesman that I dealt with being boiled in a pot. That image was really easy to find, surprisingly.

And to show how lame I am, I made a sentence with is is up there, and I am going to keep it. My inner editor, who I call Edna, is not even going to do her regular thing.

Edna- What the hell is that? Is is? You can't keep that.

Sondra Stinglash- Yes I can.

Edna- How about this- All that this post consists of is a transcript...?

Sondra Stinglash- You know something Edna? No one likes a no it all.

Edna- You mean- know it all.

Sondra Stinglash- I mean fuck off Edna, is what I mean.

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So, here is what happened at Hoselpiss.

I go there to drive a 2002 Toyota Corolla. They drive it up and it has a note on it that says HOOD LATCH. I also noticed that said hood was not latched.

I am re-naming used car salesman- Larry the Frog.

Edna- How about- I am re-naming THE used car salesman...?

Sondra Stinglash- Shut up, Edna. Let me tell the story.

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Larry the Frog- The hood latch needs to be fixed on this car.

Sondra Stinglash- So, it might pop open while I am test driving it?

Larry the Frog- Nah. We won't go far. And we'll go slow.

Sondra Stinglash- (inside head) We? I have to get in this car with Larry the Frog?

So, the car which I drove not far and not fast was a train wreck. The brakes were shot. Metal on metal they were. And then, when accelerating after breaking, the same metal on metal grinding sound.

Sondra Stinglash- This car needs a lot of work.

Larry the Frog- I guess they haven't gotten to it yet.

Sondra Stinglash- Well, I have to say, with the way that it is driving I cannot not even consider buying this car.

Larry the Frog- As soon as they fix it, it is going to go real fast. It is a real beauty.

Sondra Stinglash- As soon as they fix it? That is kind of like asking me to appreciate the beautiful roses that are going to appear on a rose bush that is not yet in bloom.

Larry the Frog- But you know the rose bush is going to bloom and you know it is going to be beautiful. Don't you?

Yes, I used a poetic analogy with Larry the Frog. Yes, I over estimated his intelligence.

Sondra Stinglash- So you are asking me to use my imagination. I am supposed to imagine how great this car drives. The reason that I do a test drive is to see how a car drives in reality, not in order to imagine how it drives. If I wanted to imagine how great a car drives, I could look at the picture of it on my computer and imagine driving it from the comfort of my own home.

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I went home, found a picture of a car I liked. I set up my dining room chairs in rows of two in my living room and invited my son, Emily

Edna- Wait a second! Emily? That's a girl's name.

Sondra Stinglash- I have run out of boys names that start with an E.

Edna- OK. I still think you should change it though.

----------------

I went home, found a picture of a car I liked. I set up my dining room chairs in two rows of two in my living room and invited my son, Edna, to join me for a test drive. We drove fast and far and the car performed flawlessly. So, I bought it.

Turns out that used car shopping is pretty easy. I don't know why I was making it so difficult.








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I went out car shopping with my friend Boris and we ended up in a display room with cubicles and desks but not a soul around. It was so very quiet and empty. It was as if it had been the site of an extraterrestrial visit where the aliens had scooped down and scored themselves some nice specimens of the used car salesman variety. While we stood there waiting for somebody (anybody? hello?) to help us, we noticed a display cabinet full of model cars.











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I got off track a bit trying to finish this post, and by off track I mean that I got a big case of the feel sorries for myself. I am better now, so here we go, the last four of the list of best things about being in a car accident that is not your fault.

Here is the rest of the list of best things about being in an automobile accident that isn't your fault.

5. The lady on the phone from Geico calls you Madame. Not Miss. Not Ma'am. But Madame. All French like. No one else has ever done this before and it leaves you wondering how you can get more people to refer to you in this manner.

4. You get to get a rental car which is way cooler than your car. Except, in my case, the rental car is a 1978 Ford Pinto, which leads me to this-

Getting in a car accident sucks. Those 10 best things? Just polyanna-ish new agey acceptance bullshit. My body hurts. I have had ringing in my ears ever since the accident. My car was totaled and now I have to buy a new one and my car wasn't worth that much so I don't have a lot of money to work with and this isn't very funny is it? Except what you don't know is that whiny is the new funny so start laughing because this is effing hilarious.



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10. You get to experience that slow motion thing where time is all drawn out and you can see the other car coming towards you and you know you can't do anything about it even though it feels like you have all kinds of time, but you somehow know that you don't because you are aware that time is not behaving like it is supposed to and you are thinking, "Is this really happening? Is this car really going to hit me? Yes. This car is going to hit me. It really is." And then it does and the impact is really hard and your car spins around and there is this big crash sound that accompanies it, but it all feels so slow and almost surreal. And you think to yourself that you know that you were just in an accident and that sucks but at the same time it was kinda trippy.

9. You are pleasantly surprised that no less than six drivers stop to ask if you are OK and if they can call the police and your faith in humanity which was destroyed about a month ago floods back and you think, "People are kind." And the lady who hit you because she didn't see you sitting at that light being all law abiding, which is your default way of being despite your desire to be seen as a bad ass, the one who drove straight into you because the sun was in her eyes, why even she is a nice lady. And you realize that most people are nice and care about one another and want to help and you feel all warm and fuzzy inside.

8. You get to see a bunch of handsome men in uniform, especially because the fire department shows up because the nice lady's car is spilling all sorts of brightly colored fluids onto the street. And there are police officers there as well as paramedics. All in all a feast for the eyes for the type of women who likes a man in uniform. And which I am one of these types of women, at least for some kinds of uniforms: firefighters and police officers, yes; marching band uniforms and boy scout uniforms, not so much. The only thing that would have made the uniformed man aspect of my accident better would have been if a few UPS drivers would have shown up. All those nice people wanting to help and no one thought of calling UPS.




7. You get to go into the rig, and by rig I mean ambulance. Rig is what the paramedic called it as in, "Come on back to the rig and I will take your vitals." The rig? I get to go into the rig! I felt like an excited three year old. I get to go into the rig! And in the rig I got my vitals taken. Twice. Turns out that my "vitals" are my blood pressure. That was it. I got my blood pressure taken. Twice. And it turns out that I am one calm person. Guess that all that meditation is paying off. Last time I got into an accident, which again wasn't my fault, and again I was waiting at a red light being all law abiding as usual and someone rear-ended me, I was all freaked out. But, this time I wasn't all shaky with that feeling that all the blood had dropped down to my feet and that my head was all swimmy and I was all feeling sorry for myself. This time I was all pulled together and I got to say things like, "I believe I have a contusion on the medial side of my right knee at the proximal end of the fibula here." And, "I am having some pain upon rotation at the levels of C5 and C6 which I believe is muscular in origin." This is because I graduated from massage school a few months ago and then studied my ass off for the New York State massage boards which I am waiting to hear back if I passed and if I don't pass I will be really upset because I studied and I know lots of shit. Lots of it. Which leads me to the following dream-

I dreamt that I took the massage boards and there was a lot of algebra in the exam. But the algebra was way easy, or so I thought, so I wasn't worried. I took my test up to be graded because in my dream the grading happened right away in front of your eyes, not taking eight weeks like in real life and happening in Albany, and the grader took a giant red pen and started marking everything wrong with big dramatic actions and a look of disgust on his face. "Wrong!" he cried. "Wrong again!" And then, shaking his head, he put the test down and said, "I cannot even finish grading this exam." And I thought, "That just isn't fair. Why did they have to put so much algebra in it?"

6. You get to refer to your car as "she," as in "Do you think she is drivable?" and "Where will she be towed, officer?" I like to use old fashioned words and expressions and I have always liked the notion of referring to machines as gendered. And cars are shes. This is because they they are like great big wombs. They carry people and then birth them at their destinations. My computer, while not a vessel for carrying, is a she as well, because she is cute and diminutive, but at the same time powerful. For a time I referred to her as my girlfriend. That was back in the infatuation phase. Now that she has been around for awhile and that stage has passed, not that we are in the conflict stage or anything, I refer to her as "my computer."


There are 5 more best things about being in an automobile accident which is not your fault and I will post them soon. So stay tuned. And drive carefully.








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A friend posted this picture on my FB wall. In case you don't fully understand the humor, I will provide the following tutorial-

The picture depicts a cat who is commenting on a blog post. My blog post. The cat, upset that I would suggest petting a cat the wrong way, is "leavin rude commentz" for me, Sondra Stinglash, the bad ass.

This is funny for many reasons which I will now explain to you, in detail. First of all, the idea of a cat using a computer and typing a comment on a blog is very, very silly because as everyone knows cats lack opposable thumbs and human language skills. They can't use a computer. The personification of animals is an absurd concept that we humans universally find delightful. Plus we get a great big kick out of it. And that is what makes it funny. And here is something else that is funny. The cat in this picture has its paw on a mouse. Cats like to chase mice, as in little furry rodents. The controller thing is also called a mouse. So, it is funny, a cat with its paw on a mouse. It's like a play on words.

But what makes this picture really funny is the caption. We already established that the whole idea of a caption writing cat is funny, but this particular caption includes unconventional spelling. In the field of education, we like to call this "invented spelling." It is a developmental step that human children who posess opposable thumbs and language skills pass through as they learn to write. Invented spelling in and of itself is funny. It's cute. It is innocent and lovable and that is how we think of our pets, so it is only appropriate that a cat would spell that way. I can just imagine this cat asking, "Ms. Stinglash. How do you spell comments?" to which I would reply, "Just spell the sounds that you hear, Boots." Then, to make it even funnier, Boots writes a rude comment. This is also very funny because of the shock value. When kids or animals say rude things we don't expect it is funny. For example, one day in class a kid said to me, "Ms. Stinglash! Your feets stink." That actually wasn't funny, and I cried a little bit, but had it been on TV with a laugh track behind it, it would have been hilarious.

Of course, modern day texting has the masses stuck developmentally in the stage of invented spelling. Funny? Sad? U B the judge of that one. We can all agree, however, that when a cat does it, it's funny.

So there you have it. A cat is mad at me because of some commentz I made about petting cats backwards. I guess that makes me a true bad ass. Ms. CatLadyLarew over there at How To Be A Cat Lady Without the Cats and I seem to be in a bit of a bad ass contest. Never mind that she got thrown in jail for not actually drinking and that she stole my coveted picture that was given to ME for her own gains. I laughed about doing something that would cause a cute cuddly cat discomfort. And not only that, I continue to find it amusing. So there.




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In honor of the one year anniversary of my entry into the blog-o-sphere, I did a google search for "Callithump Thunderblog." And here is a really puzzling, slightly scary post that I ran across. Its derivation is my Five Fascinating Facts post, but it reads as if it were translated into Russian and then translated back into English using a Bablefish translator. I think that the existence of this massacre of a piece of my writing means I have hit the big time. Get a load of this weird shit:

Callithump Thunderblog: Five Fascinating Facts

Now that I sire attracted such a kind following, on the intact (Double digits like my latest fun-sized monthly earnings!!!) my fans stalkers on the intact readers sire evolve into stiff-necked in their demands inasmuch as adverse information with notation to me. on the intact The questions not stopping-place. on the intact “Sondra Stinglash,” they wail, “You are such an complication! on the intact Tell us something, anything at all, that want aid us to see both your intricacy and adept!” on the intact It is a rare item to sire them all yelling in unison like that- affectionate of surreal, but I see that it comes with the bailiwick, so I put up with it. on the intact Here are 5 fascinating facts with notation to me that want aid uncover the secrets of Sondra Stinglash and as an added wonderful want also call as a advantageous adviser when you are disturbing upwards what to suborn inasmuch as me. And I want desire.

1. I had been so focused and had worked inasmuch as so have a yen for that I had not noticed that my source had gone to bed. on the intact I formerly fini 4 hours composition my handwriting, as an harry from the log Drawing on the Right Side of the Brain. There I was, in a steady abode, on the intact sitting in a covert live subservient to my lamp, all no more than. The log was proper. on the intact Gazing upon the composition, I couldn’t elevated how cooked through I had done, inasmuch as someone who had not been olden handwriting to unholster earliest.

Drawing was all with notation to seeing, not with notation to manner. And then I noticed it. I had captured every double upwards, every crease, every short-listed for. The picture had six fingers.

Pretty much every facility I sire gotten upwards the odds year, I excitedly ref prearrange is an i-phone. 2. on the intact It doesn’t chance what measure assess the combine is.

If it is a actually piddling combine, I deem that it is anyone of those on the intact inflatable expandable i-phones that no has heard of still because it is so entirely latest. on the intact If it is a oustandingly combine, I aspect a figure in my concentration of on the intact cranny anyone combine fittings that contains a smaller combine fittings which contains a smaller combine fittings until I regain to the combine fittings with the i-phone. on the intact I regain entirely flustered, dizzy all but, and affectionate of blown away that someone would discharge me such an overpriced facility. This keeps charming position. on the intact And I influence, “You shouldn’t sire!” on the intact Then I free it and it is not an i-phone.

3. on the intact One should influence a utterance in its wholeness to some extent than using its dirty shortening. I sire a course against abbreviations. on the intact That is why I influence on the intact “gasoline,” “gymnasium,” and “cellular the horn,” at most to cite a not uncountable examples. on the intact These are professional words and they should be inured to.

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The following is a transcript of a Facebook Chat.

Mom: I was chatting with a friend and she said that I was the least threatening person she knows.

Son: I am not threatening either.

Mom: I want to be more threatening.

Son: Me too.

Mom: She said that even when I swear I am not threatening, in fact she said that when I called Whats-his-name a F#$@Face, she laughed.

Son: That is funny.

Mom: No it isn't! I don't want to be funny. I want to be a bad ass.

Son: Me too.

Mom: We should take a martial arts class or get a gun or something.

Son: Good idea

Mom: I am going to think of the most shocking thing I can. We should kill a kitten. No. Forget I said that. I take that back. We shouldn't do that. That's terrible. I take it back. I take it back. I take it back. I...

Son: I know what we should do. We should PET a kitten.

Mom: YES! That is exactly what we should do. We should PET a kitten.

Son: The wrong way!

Mom: The wrong way! Yes! That really is bad. We should totally do that! We will pet a kitten from tail to head! That is just what we shall do.

Note- No kittens were harmed in the writing of this post. No kittens will be petted in the wrong direction either. You know me better than that.





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