Last time I enjoyed an Ice Cream Sandwich, I REALLY enjoyed an ice cream sandwich.

About the middle of June, MR. Mister and I hosted a neighborhood cookout at the house to thank our wonderful neighbors for the help, and many kindnesses, shown us during the Winter from Hell. Because the plowing of the driveways, and the use of the shower (from the only neighbor who didn’t lose electrical power for 8 days) we wanted the get-together to be easy on all, as well as timely. MR. Mister insisted on grilling burgers and hot dogs, and I made the sides, aiming for some wintry choices as well.

I gave some thought to dessert, and while I really wanted to make a couple of our families’ specialties, it was just a bit much, so I thought of ice cream sandwiches, which turned out to be a big hit, and not as messy as they could have been.

But, MR. Mister always has to do things up BIG, and instead of one box of 48 ice cream sandwiches — well more than enough mind, you — he brings home two boxes of 48 ice cream sandwiches. Are you following me? This is for a total of about 24 people, so you do the math: (2) boxes @ 48 = 96 divided by 24, and that’s 4 ice cream sandwiches per guest.

As the families are leaving, I am telling the children to be sure to come by the house, as often as their parents will let them, for an ice cream sandwich treat. It was just today when I finally ran out of the things, mercifully, or I would have been eating them myself, given my addiction to w-e-l-l, you know.

unknown author, but I am guessing Andy Rooney

I thought about the 30 years business I ran with 1800 employees, all without a Blackberry that played music, took videos, pictures and communicated with Facebook and Twitter.

I signed up under duress for Twitter and Facebook so that my seven kids, their spouses, 13 grandkids and 2 great grandkids could communicate with me in a modern way. I figured I could handle something as simple as Twitter with only 140 characters of space.

That was before one of my grandkids hooked me up for Tweeter, Tweetree, Twhirl, Twitterfon Tweetie and Tweeterific Tweetdeck, Tweetpix and something that sends every message to my cell phone and every other program within the texting world.

My phone was beeping every three minutes with the details of everything except the bowel movements of the next generation. I am not ready to live like this. I keep my cell phone in the garage in an old golf bag.

The kids bought me a GPS for my last birthday because they say I get lost every now and then going over to the grocery store or Library. I keep that in a box under my tool bench with the Bluetooth (which is red) phone that I am supposed to use when I drive.
I wore it once and was standing in line at Barnes and Noble talking to my wife as everyone in the nearest 50 yards glared at me. It seems I have to take out my hearing aid to use it and I got a little loud.

I mean the GPS looked pretty smart on my dashboard but the lady inside was the most annoying rudest person I had run into in a long time. Every 10 minutes she would sarcastically say “Re-calc-ul-ating”. You would think that she would be nicer. It was like she could barely tolerate me. She would let out a deep sigh and then tell me to make a U-turn at the next light instead….it was not good.

When I get really lost now I call my wife and tell her the name of the cross streets and while she is starting to develop the same tone as Gypsy the GPS lady, at least she loves me.

To be perfectly frank, I am still trying to learn how to use the cordless phones in our house. We have had them for four years now but I still haven’t figured out how I can lose three phones all at once and have to run around digging under chair cushions and checking bathrooms and the dirty laundry baskets when the phone rings just to find out it is a telemarketer calling.

The world is just getting too complex for me. They even mess me up every time I go to the grocery store. You would think they could settle on something themselves but this sudden “Paper or Plastic”? every time I check out just knocks me through a loop. I bought some of those reusable bags to avoid looking confused but I can never remember to take them with me.
Now I toss it back to them when they ask me “Paper or Plastic”?. I just say “Doesn’t matter to me I am bi-sackual” then it is their turn to stare at me with a blank stare.

I was recently asked if I tweet……I answered No but I do toot a lot.

Now laugh it was cute!

Lest, I tarry too long,

… and do not get to my largely mental To-Do List, I’ll put it here. So, for all posterity, my plans for the day are/were to, aside from showering, dressing, making-up the bed, and feeding the cats:

1. Run the vacuum cleaner upstairs.

Won’t happen now, as I have tarried too long. MR. Mister’s den is on the 2nd floor, and he won’t be able to “work” with the vacuum cleaner going, and Tommy’s subsequent raowling his head off, and wanting to swat the thing. Mr, Mister, not Tommy.

2. Dust the upstairs.

Having tarried this long, this won’t get done either. I mean, if I’m not going to be vacuuming, why bother with the dusting?

Walk laps, and exercise my arms, a la a modified water aerobics workout at the “neighborhood pool”, just behind my house.

Again, tarrying like I have, the m-o-t-i-v-a-t-i-o-n to walk the laps, etc., is no more. The sun is out full-force, temps are expected to climb into the upper-80s, so the pool, even still, sounds most attractive.

To-Do List, amended:

Change into swimsuit, slather-on some sunscreen, enlisting MR. Mister’s help with my back, grab pirate-themed beach towel from upstairs hand railing where it dried from yesterday’s modified water aerobics, fetch book from beside the sofa, and a bottle of water from the fridge, and trek out to the “neighborhood pool”.

There, you may find me, under the umbrella, in a chaise-lounge. I’ll have on a hat, a pair of sunglasses, and either be reading, or asleep. If you choose to tarry, I’d prefer you let me awaken of my own accord. You can entertain yourself in any number of ways: canoeing, (sailing or kayaing, even); backpacking through one of our town’s parks, and in lieu of a pie-eating contest, perhaps head over to the nearest grocer’s for a watermelon and stage a watermelon-seed-spitting contest (outside the pool area, please), or grab another chaise, and practice ‘time-out.’

If you disturb me, I would hate to make you be the one saying, “OUCH!” So, while I tarry, you may tarry, yourself, and we’ll have a tarrying fine old time.

CIAO dahlin’s! Off to tackle my To-Do List.

I don’t know who this Justin Bieber is …

but I’m going to find him, and make him pay for what he did to this little girl:

sayonara suckers!

Just wanted to say so long and farewell. I’m afraid that I no longer need you people anymore and have moved on to bigger and better things. I care about all of you, and I wish you all the best.

I want you all to know that it’s been real. We’ve had some good times, and I will remember each and every one of you. Especially you — um — Anonymous? Yes! That was it! Dear, sweet, Anonymous. You made my time here a joy. As well as margaret, beth, annie, jess and nash. Even though my brain may forget you, my heart never will.

I’m afraid that sometimes people grow apart — and that’s just what we’ve done. You’re down here like JayJay from Good Times — while I am movin’ on up like The Jefferson’s. And I’m afraid that most of you just aren’t penthouse material.

Thanks to a scratch off ticket I bought earlier, I am now rolling in the dough. “How much dough?” you ask? Well, out of respect for what we once had I’ll tell you — $15!

You heard right! I won $15 on a scratch off and it’s burning a hole in my pocket. I can’t be reminded of my “poor” days. (Which, sadly, is what you all are — destitute reminders.)

I think I’ll head to McDonalds and grab me a meal. Did I say VALUE meal? I think not! No way! Extra cheese for everyone and supersize that coke fry-boy!!!

After that I think I’ll head to Wal-Mart and pick up one of those $5.96 DVDs that they keep in the bins towards the front of the store. That’s right — I’ll be eating a quarter pounder with extra cheese and watching Cannonball Run while you all scurry about trying to catch falling fries from my supersized fry bag.

Bwahahahahahahahahahahahahahahaha!!

Well, I must go and spend my guilt-free mad money. Take care everyone — leslie, susan, bekk, mango, bren – all of you.

Perhaps we’ll meet again when the money runs out. Until then –

Ciao, Dahlings !!!

Can we please get down to brass tacks?

Not that I have any particular affinity for brass tacks, neither do I have any particular objection to them. Brass tacks are very useful when utilized in an appropriate situation, but otherwise serve little or no purpose. For example one would find brass tacks a definite bonus when laying a carpet, but could not be applied in any way shape or form when preparing a Mango and Apple smoothie.

I shall be glad to elaborate on the above if anyone is tactful enough to ask.

If I disappear, question the stove.

You know how if you have a gas stove, when you turn the burner on, you turn it all the way up to light it, and you can hear that click click click click of the flint (or whatever) sparking, and then the pooof! of the gas igniting into the pretty blue flame?

I had been using the stove earlier this afternoon, but in fact wasn’t anywhere near it – all the burners were turned off – when I heard the click click click click of the ignition.

And it didn’t stop.

click click click click click click click click click click click click click click click click click click click click click click click click click click click click click click click click click click click click click click click click click click click click click

It’s still going.

click click click click click click click click click click click click click click click click click click click click click click click click click click click click click click click click click click click click click click click click click click click click click

My stove is possessed.