Wayne PA House And Letting Five Year Olds Go To The Park Alone. Turtles..

I had to go to a funeral last week and on the way we drove by the house I lived in until I was seven,. There it is above. It's in on the Mainline in Wayne, PA. It was about two minutes from the Devon Horse Show if you know where that is.

Then we drove by the park I used to go to that was right down the street. And it got me thinking how when I was five I was allowed to go to the park by myself. Can you imagine people today doing that?? Here are a few memories I have of that park:

- There was a little storage house where you go borrow balls, hula hoops, shuffle board sticks and the like. But I was terrified of going in because the older kids were known to turn off the lights and lock kids in. And by "older" they were probably nine year olds.

- I found a box turtle* near the woods and I brought it home. It had a red paint stripe on it. I kept it for a few months then my dad made me return it. I can't remember why he made me release a pet back into the wild. Maybe lettuce and hamburger prices (it's food) were skyrocketing in the early 70's? I'll need to Google that.

- There was a kid named John that lived across the street from the Park. He was in my first grade class. I used to go to his house once and a while. The last time I went is when I was at the park then crossed the street to see if he could come out. A stranger answered the door and the man said, "Oh that family moved a few days ago. We live here now." And then closed the door on me *cue sad trombone*

Huh?? Thanks for telling me John! Wherever you are. 

*FUN FACT:: Box turtles live their entire lives roaming no more than one square mile?

Lucy The Elephant Survives Hurricane Sandy. I'm In The Butt of And Elephant!

How did you guys survive Sandy? OK over here in Chester County, PA. Actually only a few limbs around and some creek flooding as far as I saw in my parts. But the Jersey shore got hammered. I just however saw something on the news saying that Lucy the Elephant survived. There's the picture above.

In case you don't know Lucy is a historic building shaped like an elephant and it resides in Margate, NJ. I just had to laugh when they mentioned Lucy because I just think of the time when I was on vacation at the shore and I took my son there. He was about three at the time. Well you go inside of Lucy and you sit crossed legged on the floor as this ancient tour guide gives a half hour presentation about the history of Lucy. And trust me when I tell you it was without doubt the most boring tour that I've ever been on.

In a monotone voice he was saying things like, "....and then when renovations began in 1922 several members of the preservation board such as Martin T McLeary, Samuel Meller and Morris Jones pushed to have an extra $1200 allocated to refurbish the legs that some thought were weakened in a storm the previous year. Council President Harry L. Morrison - also the owner of Morrison and Flint Feed Store - was in agreement but thought $900 would suffice. So the renovation was stalled for a period of 4 months...."

And it went on and on. I looked around and everyone was just looking around the room, rubbing their hands on the floor, looking up at the roof, at their watches. Ten minutes later when you thought it was done he says, "And they finally agreed on  $1000 for the renovation. But that wasn't the end of it. In 1927...."

Just then my son let out the biggest sigh of boredom that echoed in the tiny wooden room, "hhhh ahhhhhhhh!!!"

Everyone turned around and looked at him and started laughing. They were all fighting off the same sigh. Seriously, if you're going to have a tour about something like Lucy the Elephant at least mention his sphincter window:.....

"Look at meeeeeeee! I'm in the butt of a giant elephant!"

"Timmy sit down! They're about to discuss the bidding process that was involved when they redid the steps in 1976!"

It's A Cookbook! Scary Moments As A Kid. The Devil's Rain. To Serve Man.

Remember those moments as a child when you watch something on TV and it scares you so badly you look back and think, "I can't believe I didn't have a heart attack."

The other day I was thinking of when my son and I were on a run of watching horror movies. My son was about nine. And a friend of mine looked at me like a was crazy. But to tell you the truth he was never that scared. He thought the movies were fascinating. In fact, the more we watched the more I thought, "Is something wrong with him? Why don't these movies scare him?"

Then it all changed. We had been watching mostly modern day movies but I picked up some Twilight Zone episodes. Remember the episode, "To Serve Man?" With Lurch from The Addams Family as the alien? And the aliens seem friendly. They have a book called, "To Serve Man."

Well at the end of the episode as people  are getting on the space ship it's revealed that, "To Serve Man! (get ready...here it comes) It's a COOKBOOK!"

My son grabs by arm and starts yelling, "OH MY GOD! AHHHHHH!!!!"

And proceeds to freak out. He was spooked for the next few weeks. He said later it was so terrifying to him because of the shock that people were innocently getting on the ship they had no idea they were going to be eaten. Pretty spooky huh?

To read a post about a movie that scared me as a kid click here

And to read the Wiki page for To Serve Man click here
. 

Check Out My Poppy From Around 1908. Bad Ass Dog. Scranton.

Check out this picture. It's my Grandfather. Or Poppy* as he was known. He was born in 1902 so I'm guessing this is about 1908? Right? How old do you think he is?

And this picture was taken in Scranton, PA. On my Father's side my ancestors came over from Ireland and Germany in the mid 1800's and worked in the coal mines. Imagine that life. And you think you have it bad. I remember reading the family tree my cousin did a few years ago and one of my great uncles was killed in the mines after being kicked my a mule. Damn. That smarts.

And look at that bad ass dog. What kind of dog is that? It's got muscles and a head kind of like a pit bull but it's head is so small. Maybe it's a mutt. But it looks like it kicks some ass.I bet his name was something like Buddy.

And wouldn't it be cool if I had an ancestor of that dog as a pet? I wonder if some families do. I bet mostly hillbillies and backwoods folk.

*On a side note Poppy used to make soft boiled eggs and my sister would call them Poppy eggs. Then years late she was in a diner and they asked how she wanted her eggs and she said, "Poppy eggs." And they just looked at her like she was an alien. A Poppy egg eating alien.

I Was Terrible At Doing Models. 68 GTO. Planes from Ceiling.

Behold it's beauty. The 68 GTO. I love that car for some reason. But what I didn't like was doing models. My dad tried to get me into building model airplanes because he did them when he was younger but I didn't have the patience.

I guess I was about seven or eight which is way too young for putting together a complicated model. But he would sit me at the kitchen table and lay all the pieces out. I would pick up a piece and take a look at it and he would say, "Don't touch it Jimmy. You need to follow the instructions!"

And follow the instructions he would. He would read through the instructions then pull off all the pieces and put them in piles. I would help. Then he would attempt to put it together using that airplane glue. It always made a mess. He would let me try to put together the larger pieces. Glue dripping all over. I would usually lose patience and leave the room and let him finish. I would hear him yelling, "God Damn it!" because he would break a piece or glue it into the wrong spot. I'd come back in when he was putting the decals on over the bumpy dried glue areas.

A few years later I tried to do them myself. But I'd get frustrated and leave lots of the parts off. Like an engine of a car? No need for that when the hood is shut. Right?

Not sure what ever happened to my models? A few of the planes were hung from my ceiling till I was about eleven. I don't remember where they went but I bet I blew some up with firecrackers.

I'm Racist When It Comes To Dogs. Chester County Ugly Dog.

The other night I'm upstairs and I hear my son come in. Then I hear a tiny dog bark.

I perk up. Whu???

It sounded almost like a cute puppy bark. So I run downstairs all excited, turn the corner and..... *cue the loser music for the Price is Right* "Bum-Bum-Babuuuuuumm Waaaaaaaa"

It wasn't a cute puppy. It was a scraggly old cockapoo. With a bad haircut. And it was just walking away from me. It's saggy, discolored sphincter staring me in the face. Mocking me. Pure disappointment. It turns out my son saw it walking around outside. He eventually found the owner that night.

But as for petting it? No thanks. I think I'm just racist against some dog breeds. Not that I hate them but I just don't care about them. And I'm a dog lover too. Of the important breeds*.

I love dogs (some breeds) so much that if I go to somebody's house and I see a dog I'll practically push them aside to go play with the dog. But this saggy sphincter dog? No. I'm just as likely to walk into somebody's house, see a hamster and run over to the cage and be like, "Whoa! Who's this little guy? Hey buddy. What are you doing in there? Look! He's thinking about going on his wheel!! I can just tell! You guys go outside I'm just going to wait here and watch him run on his wheel for a while."

I know. It might be wrong but if you're judging me doesn't that make YOU a people racist? *holds up mirror to your face*

*Like the Newfoundland dogs you see above. I would love to get one of those someday.

This Is A Way I Torture My Daughter. Deodorant.

This is how I've been torturing my daughter. I'll get out of the shower and put pants on (one leg at a time like you guys) then realize I'm out of deodorant. So I'll stand in her doorway and sloooooowly reach my hand in toward her deodorant.

Daughter: Oh no Dad. Please?

Me: (acting surprises) Oh what? Sorry. I just need to borrow some of your precious deodorant.

*Slowly applies deodorant and makes a face as if it's super refreshing*

Me: Awww yeah that's doing it....Yup.. Wait. Why are you making that face? Like you just smelled eggs or saw something gross. Wait? Do you think I'm gross??

Daughter: No...uh...nothing. That's OK.

Me: OK. Let me just finish up here and I'll be on my way. (does one last swipe) Annnnnd DONE!

Sometimes I'll leave the room and come back....

Me: Sorry. I think I missed a spot...

Do Moms Still Do This? Get That Kettle Going. Ants.

When I was a kid, there always seemed to be groups of ants around. Usually from someone dropping a popsicle or some other food. I remember being fascinated with them. Sometimes I would flick a stick into the group and to see if they'd come back to the food.

Then, my Mom would come out and see the ants and freak out, "Oh no! Get away from the ants! They'll get in the house."

She always claimed that "once you have ants you never get rid of them." But I think she was also afraid people would see ants in our house and think that we're "dirty people."

Then she'd going inside, start the "kettle" - as she called it - until water was boiling. Once I heard the kettle whistling I knew the end was near. She'd then come out and pour the scalding water onto the ants and in a June Cleaverish voice say, "OK. That should do it."

Do people still do this?

Will The Best Children Please Come Up Here? Triplets.

Man. Time flies. My son is already in college. And happy to report that except for one B he has all A's. Phew!

But was thinking about a story his first grade teacher told me about him years ago. There was a set of triplets in the first grade. Their last name was Best. So on the first day two of the triplets were in her class when only one was supposed to be in her class. So she says, "Would the Best children please come up to my desk?"

So the two Best boys walked up to her desk. She told the one that he was to go to another class. Then she looked behind them and my son was standing there. And then...

Teacher: Oh and who are you?

Son: Jack Zibbs.

Teacher: And why did you come up here?

Son: Because I'm one of the best children.

Haha!! He thought she meant the best as in the best kids in the class.

Meh. Maybe you had to be there but it was pretty cute when she told it.

The Time Something Terrible (Funny) Happened To My Sister

I find nothing funnier than when things are going great for people then all of a sudden disaster strikes.

Well not like tornadoes or death or anything but things like the story I'll now tell you that my sister told me.

A little background. My sister at the time had three kids. Ages 5, 4 and zero. And she was kind of paranoid about going out at the time with all three because it was such a big ordeal. So the idea of bringing the three of them to the park AND the 4 year old's friend was a major thing for her. This is how she told the story to me:

So I can't believe how great things were going. The boys were being so good, and the baby wasn't crying and I'm thinking this is such a great day. I was really proud of myself. Then all of a sudden Billy Bob's* friend says "Mrs Renard** I have to go potty."

And Jimmy, I'm like, "Oh no. Not now!" And I look in the distance and at the far end of the park there's a porta potty. So I gather up all our stuff and we make our way over there. Billy Bob's friend is saying, "I really have to go Mrs Renard."

And I'm trying to stay calm. Well we get over there and believe it or not it's a brand new porta potty. It had never been used. Totally clean. So the kid goes in, he says, "I can do it myself."

And I just give a sigh of relief.

Well about 30 seconds later I hear a panic in the kid's voice saying, "Mrs Renard,I need help!"

Well Jimmy, I opened the door....and there's shit EVERYWHERE! All over the wall, on the toilet, on the floor, all over him and his clothes. It was like someone had filled up a bag of shit and hit it like a PINATA!!!

So I'm trying to stay calm but his clothes are covered with shit so I had to undress him and wrap him in the baby's blanket and we made our way back to the car.

HAHAHA! A Pinata! God. I love that story. So glad it didn't happend to me.

And if you're a fan of explosive diarreah stories you'd LOVE this one: Clicky here

*fake name
**Also a fake name

The Time I Practiced Asking A Girl Out. Busted!

Believe it or not, in my early years unless I was around my friends I was pretty shy. So the idea of asking a girl out was pretty terrifying until I was in about tenth grade or so. I’m not sure what happened but I slowly became un-shy.

Well in about ninth grade and I was going to ask a girl to a dance. Instead confidently approaching her in the hall at school I decided to do the cowardly thing and call her on the phone. This way, if I fainted halfway through she’d just think something was wrong with the phone. Which was possible and probably would hold up in court.

Instead of just picking up the phone and calling her, I decided the best thing to do was practice. So I went down to our basement sat at my Dad’s desk (he had an office down there), put my finger on the button thing… what’s that called? You know…the hanger up button….so you don’t get the dial tone? You know what I mean. I put my finger on that thing and started rehearsing:

“Hello Patty? This is Dr Zibbs here. And the reason I was calling was…”

No

(deeper voice) “Patty. What’s going on? It’s Dr Zibbs and the reason for my call is…”

No. I swear I tried it ten different ways. And I tried different poses too. Nothing felt right.

“Hello Patty, It’s Dr Zibbs. And I was just wondering if you wanted to go to the dance with me.”

What the hell was that? “Just wondering?” Like I was looking out the window at clouds and the thought popped into my head, “You know..I’m just curious as to whether or not Patty would like to go to the dance with me? Hmmm. I wonder. Maybe I’ll just give her a call and ask her. It’s the only way to find out. You know, to really get to the bottom of this random thought that just now popped into my head.”

“Hello Patty. It’s Dr Zibbs. From school. And I was just wondering if…”

Just then I hear, “WHAT. ARE. YOU. DOING?” And I look up and my oldest sister is standing there with her mouth opened in amazement. The expression on her face was the look you’d have if you opened a suitcase and it was loaded with cash.

I remember jumping out of my seat from being startled and was like, "What?..I thought that…” And just stood there frozen for a second. Then, “GET OUT OF HERE!”

For the next week all I heard from my sister was, “Yes I was just wondering if…I was just wondering if…”

How embarrassing. And in case you want to know. Patty said no. She claimed she had to work at the Tasty Freeze*. Yeah right.

*For the locals, the Tasty Freeze used to be located where the Wawa is on Route 100 and Greenhill Road.

Here Are Some Random Notes From A Chorus Concert Last Night. Middle School.

Here are various notes from the 8th grade chorus concert I had to attend last night. My daughter is in the chorus:

- I sat in the back so I was able to spend my time watching people. Like a bird. On it’s perch. Watching. I’ve discovered if I’m bored to tears but able to watch people I can make things bearable.

- When all the kids walked to the stage I saw my daughter’s friend. She’s pretty funny. I gave her the nonverbal look like a was surprised. Like, “What? What are you doing here? This is preposterous!” She tilted her head sideways, nodded and winked and gave me the “gun shoot” pointed finger. Cracked me up.

- The kid I saw last year with the magnificent jew-fro was singing again. He’s so big. He looks like he could play college football and then he tops off his huge frame with this big ass fro. And to make it better, there was a teensy tiny kid standing in front of him with what looked liked a glued on fake hairpiece. The juxtaposition was glorious. (Look at me using big words).

- The chorus director dude was totally overdoing it with his hand conducting moves. Couldn’t tell if he really thought what he was doing was helping the kids to sing or if he was showboating.

- Some Indian lady sat next to me and reeked of perfume. Is that really necessary? I swear I could taste it.

- I cracked myself up by imagining that right as they were finishing singing the Beatles song, “Here Comes The Sun” if I had a speaker rigged up then from off stage in a super baritone voice I sung, “HERE COMES THE SUN….YEAHHH!” And everyone would be looking around like, “What the hell?” Some parents would have shocked looks on their faces and shaking their heads and saying, “Who would DO that? They ruined it! The whole thing is ruined now! We even brought Nana here. And she's SICK!”

Then the rest of the concert I was thinking of things that I could at the end of every song to ruin it. Like I'd come swinging in from the side and sing the last line. Or pull off a fake rubber mask like I was one of the kids after a song ended. Then run away.

Janitors would be instructed to catch me. They'd fail.

Would be a big ole' scandal. Probably one of those stories that gets passed down to new kids every year. Oh and the cover up? Don't even start.

Man. I should have done it.

Jimi Hendrix. Exton Sam Goody. Putting On The Gorilla Suit

My Dad is the type of guy that doesn’t take shit from anyone. Like if you’re standing in a long line at a store and there’s only one register open, and everyone is looking at each other like, “this is ridiculous”… he’s the type that walks to the front of the line and says, “Excuse me. But I’ve standing in line for five minutes. I’m going to need you to stop what you’re doing, call your manager and get another person on a register.”

And everyone is all, "I wish I had the balls to do that." Or if someone butts in line? Yeah right buddy. My Dad is the one that will tell you to get to the back.

So flashback to when my brother was in 5th grade. My brother buys a Jimi Hendrix book. So my Dad is flipping through the book and sees a plaster cast of Jimi Hendrix’s junk in it. He’s like, “What the hell is this? You’re not going to have this book!” To my brother. “You’re going to bring it back.”

“But I don’t have a receipt.”

“Then I’LL bring it back!

“Dad, they won’t take it back without a receipt.”

“Oh they’ll take it back alright.”. My Dad takes the book and drives to the record store. Sam Goody I believe it was. Exton Mall.

Dad gets into the store and says to cashier, “I’d like to return this book but I don’t have a receipt.”

“Sorry sir, I can’t exchange it if you don’t have a receipt.” The lady says.

“Do you have kids?”

“Uh..yes?”

“Well let me ask you this: turn to page 112. Would you want your 5th grader looking at that?

The woman looks at the picture, turns beat red and opens the register.

Mission accomplished.

*Author's note: This is what my Dad called, "Putting on the gorilla suit ."

Growing Up, We Were A Tissue Family And An Ice Family.

It's true, when I was growing up we were a tissue family.

I guess my parents still are. Maybe it's normal with 5 kids and most of them have allergies but I'm not kidding when I say that if you go to my parents house you will find at least one box of tissues in every room.

A box in the small storage drawer by the pool, in both cars...everywhere really.

And if you sneeze?, "Do you want a tissue? Here have a tissue. Just blow your nose. You don't need to blow your nose? What? Then here, put it in your pocket for later. Go ahead. You might need it later."

Tissue people.

My parents are also ice people. There's a huge concern that "WHAT IF WE RUN OUT OF ICE???"

So ice is stockpiled. Just in case. Ice maker in fridge is always full. Then there are six ice trays always full in the upstairs fridge PLUS a bag of ice waiting. And in case someone robs my parents of their precious ice in the middle of the night?...No worries. Because (Shhhhh - don't tell anyone) there's a secret stash in the basement fridge with 6 more full ice trays and an extra bag waiting.

Ice people.

Bingo The Dog Is Finally Gone. Burying A Dog Sucks.

A few weeks ago I mentioned how we had to put my dog Bingo to sleep because we found out he had cancer of the spleen. And we were going to do it right away because the vet said he only had a few weeks to live.

After talking to the vet more she said that he wasn't really in pain, just some discomfort. So we decided to take it day by day. And although he was more tired than usual, and followed us around more than more, he didn't seem that bad.

He even ran out the door and followed me up the street just a few days ago. I looked back and he was running after me, his big old lab tail wagging. Running a bit slower than usual but still running.

Well yesterday things took a turn for the worse. He started to bleed a bit out of his ass.

So we called the vet, and instead of telling us to bring him to one of the vets that was open on a Sunday she said, "I live in Downingtown. I'll be there in half hour." Which was so great.

She came over and we decided to have him put to sleep right there. On our front porch. It was really, really sad but also very peaceful. I didn't think that I'd be able to sit through it but I did. We talked to him as he got the first injection and got more and more tired.

Over the 20 minutes it took for him to be sedated a few people were walking their dogs around the block. He would normally bark but instead he just looked up. Once he was fully sedated, she gave the second injection and it was over in five minutes.

I even asked if she could help wrap him up in the blanket because just moving him around while he was lifeless was too much. So she wrapped him up. Swaddled him really. We thanked her and she left.

We decided to bury him in the back yard so we put him into the wheelbarrow and wheeled him to the back of our yard next to the creek. It was right next to where we buried all of the other frogs, gerbils, Guinea pigs and hermit crabs over the years. But this hole was going to have to be a lot bigger.

I dug the hole while Bingo laid wrapped in his favorite blue blanket. The hole took about an hour to dig because there were so many rocks. I'd stop once in a while and just look at the blanket - not believing he was dead. And cry a bit.

Finally, after digging the hole, we put him in the hole and made sure he was curled up. We then put two of his stuffed animals in with him. Then filled in the dirt. There was a huge rock that I put in front of his grave. I may paint his name on it.

A sad day. But I'm glad we decided to bury him in the back yard instead of having him cremated. At least we'll know he'll always be there.

Goodbye Bingo. You were a great dog.

My Mommy Got Me A New Pillow For Christmas. Fluffy.

You read that post title correctly. My mommy got me a new pillow for Christmas. And as I wrote on Twitter: "..it works great! I'm gonna call it Lil' Fluff - the pillow who believed in love."

See. You need to follow me on twitter (@DrZibbs) or you'll miss all the pillow related news that I may tweet about. Imagine hearing this news an hour ago? Instead, you're just hearing it now. It's kind of sad if you think about it.

So anyways. The pillow works great. It's super fluffy. My old pillow was such a dick. It was all flat and used up. If I was ridiculous enough to name an OLD pillow I'd probably call it something like "Pete the pillow that dreamed of being a pancake..and did".

And it's true. It's like someone broke into my house every night then brought Pete outside and ran him over with a steam roller. Everyday it seemed to get flatter and flatter. There's really no other explaination I can think of. Can you?

I've been complaining about my pillow for a few years but when I wake up, I never seem to remember how crappy it is and then drive to a store and buy a new pillow. And that's pretty bad if you think about it because it means that I've forgotten the same thing, everyday for like 1200 days IN A ROW!

Oh my God. Once I see it in writing that's pretty bad. Let me read that over again.

(reads it over again)

Yup. That's pretty bad.

Ask Dr Zibbs. What Would YOU Like To Know? West Chester Blogger.

I've granted interviews in the past. I will now like to answer some more individual questions that YOU the reader would like to know.

What do you want to know about ME?

Do you need some advice?

Do you want my opinion on something in your life?

Of course you do. Here's what to do. Send me an email with "DR ZIBBS QUESTION" in the subject line. If you want a link to your blog, make sure to leave your blog name in the subject area of the email. My email address is Lebner1 at Yahoo Dot Com (see what I did there so the bots don't pick it up?)

Now I'm not saying I'm going to answer all of the questions so please don't phone your family just yet. Just hold your horses and see what happens.

I'll post the answers in a few days.

A Post About My Hair. Disco. Hair Pick and Freddy Washington.

Here are some various things about my hair that I will now ramble off:

- It has slowly evolved over time. It used to be wavy, then it got really curly.

- It used to be red, then it got auburn, then brownish and now - I would call it auburnish with SOME gray.

- Others tell me that I'm totally gray. They must be blind because it's fucking GRAYISH a-holes!

- From age 5 - 13 I had at least thirty old ladies - complete stranger old ladies - come up to me and say, "Oh my God. You've got the most beautiful hair! I wish I had your hair"
(Well you don't you old bat so keep walking. Do you think a BOY wants to hear that?)

- In 6th grade my mom started sending me to a "Hair Design for Men" place. The first time I was there, the dude asked, "So, are you into disco? Do you want a disco hair cut?" I said no but he proceeded to give me a disco haircut. Like a big crybaby, I told my mom I wasn't going to school the next day. She made me go. People laughed.

- In 9th grade, EVERYTIME I got my haircut, I asked the guy NOT TO TAKE ANY OFF THE BACK. I asked him this for two years. For some reason, my hair never got longer than a few inches in the back. I swear my mom was calling him and telling him it should be cut. She denies ever doing this.

- When I was in 9th grade, my mom bought a pick - like an afro pick - and tried to get me to "fluff up the top". She would sneak up behind me and try to fluff it up but I refused. This went on for months. "Who do I look like, God damn Freddy "Boom Boom" Washington? Jesus!
"
- Once, while completely wasted with a couple girls in college, the one girl said she just started to cut hair. I let her do it. Bad descision. When I got back to the dorms and was walking down the hall, one of my frieds saw me and started banging on all the doors, "OH MY GOD, YOU'VE GOT TO SEE THIS!" Everyone came out. And laughed. I didn't care though. I was just pissed that this chick gave me such a terrible cut. I should have been tipped off when she scalded me with the water when she was wetting my hair.

- For about a year in the 80's I had a "tail".

- I'm showing zero signs of baldness.

- I have some hair on my chest but none on my butt.

And that concludes the hair post.

Did Anyone Else Waste Their Time With Jigsaw Puzzles? Jiggy.

I don't the get the appeal with jigsaw puzzles*. When I was growing up, my family would go through phases of doing puzzles. There would be a card table set up with a puzzle on it. It would take days to finish it.

I just don't see what satisfaction you get from it.

Since I hated doing puzzles I would sometimes hide the last piece. Then, when it was almost completed and my sisters were looking under the couch for the missing piece I'd sneak in and put the last piece in, "...AND DONE!"

Now THAT'S satisfaction.

(And look at that guy in the picture. I bet he's a jigsaw puzzle show off. "I've been doing jigsaw puzzles for 63 years. When I was a kid, they were simply called Jigs. You would get your shoes fixed at the Cobbler and then go next door to the Jiggy - your local Jig supplier and pick up the latest Jig. Of course they were much harder back then and the edges were sharp so you needed skill. Not like today's jigs".)

*I do like Sudoku but that doesn't really count.

Think Before You Speak Dad. Ellen DeGeneris.

So after the funeral Saturday we're back at my cousin's house. About 15 of us are sitting on their deck. One of my cousins had two friends there. Both were very attractive. They were in their early thirties.

So we're all talking and laughing when out of the blue, my Dad says, (in the way one would say "I need the attention of everyone because what I'm about to say is very important")..he says:

My Dad: Do you know who you look like?

Girl: Me?

(I'm already starting to cringe)

My Dad: You look like Ellen DeGeneris.

Girl: What???

As she's saying, "What?" Everyone is screaming, "No! are you crazy? Ellen DeGeneris?"

My Dad: Has anyone ever seen that show? Look at her..she looks just like her.

He's clueless that telling a woman that she looks like Ellen DeGeneris is an insult. Then throughout the day he's say, "Ellen Degeneris. I'm sticking to it". He couldn't just drop it.

So at what point do you take your dad aside and tell him to keep his mouth shut? And to top it off, he gets everything wrong so he was probably talking about someone else anyway but I just picture the girl looking in the mirror for the next few weeks and examining her face.