Category: weirdity

More Wacky Images

So in a bout of middle of the night insomnia, I started exploring the Wackystuff Flickr photo stream further (see Easter image from yesterday).

I went through every page, every image and found some great stuff.

Lo and behold, among the whack, I found this, a mid-century linen postcard:





Weirdly enough, the image to the left on that postcard? I know it’s supposed to be Taos pueblo, but for some reason it looks like the old Albuquerque Airport to me. Maybe the with the plane over head that is what it’s supposed to be?

Dunno. Just know that this card is not, as they would say, politically correct.

I love one commenter on the photo said: “All these things really say to me: ‘Stay the Hell Outta Here! We are frickin’ crazy.'”

That’s right. That’s absolutely right.

We are.

My Fair New Mexico, how misrepresented you are. And how I love you so.



Well I’ll Be Darned

Over the many years of our association, The Good Man and I have run into quite a few “well I’ll be darned” moments. New York boy and New Mexico girl are sometimes worlds apart in our life experiences.

The latest came around when we moved into our new apartment home. I’ve lived in huge apartment complexes, six unit buildings, and the last place I lived was a duplex.

And at each of those places, they way you got rid of your trash was to schlep it downstairs to the big metal trash bins in the parking lot.

But our new place has a curiosity….a trash chute! This blows my tiny little mind. I’ve never even seen one much less lived somewhere with one.

This is the coolest thing EVER.



So beautifully unobtrusive





Ok, that hole is a little scary, but rather effective


It’s a pretty, shiny bit of steel. Open the convenient door, drop in my trash, close the door, dust off my hands and whistle a happy tune.

It’s just down the hall and around a corner from my place. I can even slip out there in the morning in my nightgown and bare feet. Fabulous!

The other day, The Good Man put some boxes down the chute and said he was pretty sure they were stuck. I suggested he send a bowling ball down after it. He wasn’t amused.

See, he’s used to the Super getting really mad when the trash chute gets blocked. Me, I don’t know from a Super or a trash chute, so I have the luxury of just being a wise ass.

So The Good Man is all “yeah, whatever” and I’m all “whooooooo!” about this feature of our home.
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Next time, on Intercontinental relations, we’ll discuss “Why are the traffic lights in New Mexico horizontal, that’s just weird” (him) counterbalanced against “Why doesn’t California use mile markers? No wonder you people drive like crap.” (me)



It’s Hard Being a Nina (godmother)

My oldest godchild is now eleven years old and she’s a smart, beautiful, inquisitive child.

She and I have a pretty strong relationship. She trusts me enough to talk about some things she won’t talk to her parents about. I’ve worked very hard to be a safe place for her to talk to a grownup without worries of getting in trouble.

She also likes to challenge me. Since she was old enough to talk and form opinions, she has often hit me with the query….

“Nina Karen, what if….”

The question that follows is some scenario straight from the depths of her powerful child’s brain. Then she waits patiently to hear my thoughts.

Sometimes the questions are pretty easy, like:

“Nina Karen, what if I ate ALL the cookies and not just some?”

I explained that while it would be awesome for a little while, she would probably get a tummy ache. And then she would likely throw up. And then she probably wouldn’t like cookies any more.

The thought of not liking cookies any longer was enough to dissuade her from eating ALL the cookies. Whew, one point for the Nina.

Sometimes the questions are a lot more difficult and challenge my powers of Nina-dom.

“Nina Karen, what if I didn’t want to go to special math class anymore?”

At school, she was placed in an advanced math program and had to leave her classroom to go to math class every day. The other kids teased and bullied her about it.

That one was a bit tougher to work through.

But I did ok.

So now I know when that little voice says, “Nina Karen…what if…” I should brace myself.

I was unprepared, however, on Saturday evening.

A dear friend was getting married, and I sat in the venue with a goddaughter on each side of me.

The wedding was just about to begin. We could see the bride and her attendants coming down the hallway to line up for the service to start.

And my oldest godkid turned to me and said:

“Nina Karen? What if right when the minister says ‘you may kiss the bride,’ she farted?”

I’m quoting that word for word. No embellishments.

I looked at the cherubic child. I looked away. I looked back into her earnest blue eyes.

And started laughing.

Since I’m suffering under a powerful case of the flu, the laughing caused me to dissolve into a massive coughing fit that echoed off the walls and high ceilings and the other guests gave me dirty looks.

Thankfully, I was, quite literally, saved by the music. The cello quartet started and the wedding began and the beauty of the bride stole the attention of the room.

Which is good, because I have no idea how I was going to answer that question.






Image from Zazzle


Score One for Immaturity

My employer inhabits a lot of super large office buildings and I have to say, all in, it’s a pretty nice space.

I’m often impressed at the investment made in actual artwork. It’s not that usual drab office decor, but actual artwork. Paintings, sculptures, mixed media stuff. Really wonderful and thought provoking works.

I consider myself something of an artist, so I like to stop and take a look, really look, at these wonderful additions to my work life.

Not long after I started, I had occasion to be up on one of the high numbered floors of my building. There is a super duper large conference room up there, and it’s perfect for big negotiation meetings.

On that floor, in the open area where you wait for our notoriously slow elevators, there is a particularly large painting.

So one day, I was feeling the euphoria I get after pulling off a huge meeting. I hummed a happy tune while waiting and waiting for an elevator car.

My eyes naturally went to the painting. It’s not my favorite style, but I looked at it really close to understand what the painter was trying to say to me.

Here, I’ll let it speak to you too:



Well, so, I kept looking at the thing. My eyes were irresistibly drawn to the middle of the canvas.

You know…this part.



That inner voice of mine, the one that gets me in trouble, started giggling like a Jolt cola infused Beavis and Butthead.

“Dude,” the inner voice said, “That looks like a uniboob.”

For my male readers who may not understand….a uniboob is what we ladies call the effect that happens with some of the “shelf” tank tops and some bathing suit tops. It’s where the boobs are sort of smushed together and, well, it looks like you have one big boob.

Generally, we ladies like a little separation to the assets.

But c’mon now, am I wrong? That’s a uniboob, right?

So I snickered. And giggled. And guffawed.

Dude, there’s a nipple painting at my job! *snork, chortle*

I mean, look at this thing! That’s totally a nipple!



I let the giggling go on a while, but then that OTHER inner voice, the one that’s all responsible and mature and stuff admonished me. “Would they *really* hang a nipple painting at this large, important and serious company? I think not. Grow up!”

Inner Beavis and Butthead just kept hooting and hollering.

So then responsible voice said “let’s look at the tag and see if the title of the work tells us something more.”

I looked. It tells us a lot.

The painting is called “Mother”.

Yup.

There’s a big mommy uniboob painting prominently displayed on one of the executive floors of my place of employment. *giggle, snort*

That there’s your art appreciation break for the day.

You’re welcome.