Recently in Humor Category

The Scent of a Goat There is a scent associated with the goats. It is a goaty smell but not a stinky smell. Goats are not dirty stinky animals. They are clean and fussy but do have a scent. Each time I go out to milk the does I bring with me in my pink bucket of supplies a warm soapy cloth and a bottle of warm water. (I cannot use the hose and wet them with cold water. That is just so not fair!) I wash and rinse their udders and dry them well. This ritual insures that my milk will be clean and the goats won't get any udder problems. The washing and drying also helps to stimulate the udders so that the ladies will let down their milk for me. Afterwards they are moisturized and sprayed with an antibacterial spray for dairy animals to help prevent mastitis and whatnot. As I sit on the milking stool next to the milking stand the does will lean into my shoulder, rub against my arms and so I am left smelling not only of goats but of sweat from the hot humid days of summer. I kid you not, milking those does always leaves me dripping in sweat. So I stink. After milking, cleaning up, bringing in the milk and properly handling it for cooling and storing in the refrigerator I take a shower. In the afternoon I put back on the goat milking clothes and when finished I hit the shower and the clothes go into the washer. The goats arrived Thursday afternoon. So each and every morning and each and every afternoon I have followed the exact same routine. The girls have learned quickly and it is also their routine. Monday morning I am standing at the sink washing up dishes when I smell something that immediately registers in my mind as the scent of goat. I kept sniffing and asking myself WTF?!? is that goat smell. I have bathed, there is nothing that should smell. The bucket is clean, the milk doesn't smell, my clothes, the wash cloths and towels are in the washer. Yet, for over thirty minutes I am smelling goat. And then I realize I am NOT actually smelling my goats. (I should hang my head in shame but will let you laugh at me!) My animal antibacterial wash for their udders is being delivered tomorrow. So in the mean time I have been using the only soap I have available to wash the girls udders with. This is what my mind immediately associates as the smell of goat. Go ahead and laugh.

How Cold Is It? The morning temperature for children to go out to the school bus this morning. It is so cold ...

• when I milked the cows, I got ice cream!
• when I milked the brown cows - I got chocolate ice cream!
• the snowman knocked on the door and asked to sleep on the couch!

Now it's your turn. Tell me how cold it is where you are. Then finish the joke "It's so cold" ...

You know those Geico commercials with the celebrity to help speak for/with the real life Geico customers? Peter Graves ROCKS! "I put on some tangerine lip gloss and answered the door." "I was one lucky woman." Deadpan Comedic Gold!! I LOVE this one. The others? Not so much. That is all. P.S. Did you know Peter Graves is James Arness' (Gunsmoke) baby brother? P.P.S. Did you know Peter Graves is the original Mission Impossible TV star? P.P.P.S. 80 years old and still smokin' hot. I am having trouble commenting on blogger. Is it because many of you have switched over to beta? Anyone else having troubles?

MommaK and Aka_Monty have declared it Blog Super Hero Weekend where we should invent a super hero for ourselves. Hoss has dubbed me Wonder Woman so here I am.
Wonder Woman Armed with her bulletproof bracelets, magic lasso and hair bigger than the state of Texas, Wonder Woman is the archetype of the busy mom, domestic engineer and all around doer of good. She is intelligent, strong and possessive of a softer side likened to a feather pillow. Despite being one of the more powerful members of the Justice Society (aka Parental Unit League) she is the group's social secretary.

This was in my inbox. I find it so completely funny I was PMP. My husband did not see any humor in it all and gave me the deer-caught-in-the-headlights look. Waxing Woes All methods have tricked me with their promises of easy, painless removal: the Epilady, the standard razor, the scissors, the Nair, the EpilStop, and now ... The Wax. My night began as any other normal weekday night. I came home, I fixed dinner for my family and got everyone settled for the night. I then had the thought that would ring painfully in my mind for the next couple hours: "Maybe I should use that wax in my medicine cabinet." I made sure no one would need me and I could head for the bathroom in peace. It was one of those cold wax kits. No melting a clump of hot wax, you just rub the clear strips in your hand, peel them apart, press it on your leg (or wherever). No muss, no fuss. "How hard can this be?" I mean, I'm not the girliest of girls but I'm mechanically inclined so maybe I can figure out how this works. You'd think. So I pull one of the thin strips out. It's two strips facing each other, stuck together. I'm supposed to rub it in my hand to warm and soften the wax. I go one better. I pull out the hair dryer and heat it to ten thousand degrees. Cold wax, noooo. I lay the strip across my thigh. I hold the skin around it and pull. OK, so it wasn't the best feeling in the world, but it wasn't bad. I can do this! So with my next wax strip, I'll move north. After checking on my beloved family again, I sneak into the bathroom for The Ultimate Hair Fighting Championship. I drop my panties and place one foot on the toilet. Using the same procedure, I then apply the wax strip across the right side on my bikini line, covering the right half of my vagina and stretching up into the inside of the right cheek. (Yeah, it was a long strip.) I inhale deeply. I brace myself. RRRIIIIPPP!!!! I'm blind from the pain! Vision returning. Oh crap. I've managed to pull off only a half an inch of the strip. Another deep breath. And RIIIP! Everything is swirly and tie-dyed. Do I hear crashing drums? OK, coming back to normal again. I want to see my trophy -- my wax covered pelt that caused me so much agony. I want to revel in the glory that is my triumph over body hair. I hold the wax strip like an Olympic gold medalist. But why is there no hair on it? And why is the wax mostly gone? Where could the wax go, if not on the strip? Slowly, I eased my head down, my foot still perched on the toilet. I see hair -- the hair that should be on the strip. I touch. I feel. I am touching wax. I look to the ceiling and silently shout "Nooooooo!!" I peel my fingers off the softest, most sensitive part of my body that is now covered in cold wax and matted hair, and make the next big mistake -- up until this point, you'll remember, I've had my foot on the toilet. I know I need to move, to do something. So I put my foot down on the floor. And then I hear the slamming of the cell door. Vagina? Sealed shut. Butt? Sealed shut. A little voice in my head says, "I hope you don't have to shit anytime soon. " I penguin walk around the bathroom trying desperately to figure out what I should do next. Hot water! Hot water melts wax! I'll run the hottest water I can stand and get in. The wax should melt and I can gently wipe it away, right? Wrong. I get in the tub -- the water is slightly hotter than is used to torture prisoners of war or sterilize surgical equipment -- and I sit. Now the only thing worse than having your goodies glued together is having them glued together and then glued to the bottom of a tub. In scalding hot water. Which, by the way, does not melt the cold wax. So now I'm stuck in the tub--literally! I call my friend, Liz, because she once dropped out of beauty school so surely she has some secret knowledge or trick to get wax off skin. It is however, never good to start a conversation with "So my butt and vagina are stuck to the tub." She wants to know exactly where the wax is on the butt. "Are we talking cheek, here?" she asks. She isn't even trying to hide the giggles now. I give her the run-down of the entire night. She tells me to call the number on the side of the box, but to have a good cover story for where the wax actually is. "You know that if we were working the help line at XX Wax Co. and somebody called with their entire crack sealed shut we'd just put them on hold and then record the conversation for everyone we know. You're going to end up on a radio show or the internet if you tell them the truth." While we go through various solutions, I have resorted to scraping the wax off with a razor. Boy, nothing feels better to the girlie goodies than covering them in wax, sticking them to a tub in super hot water and THEN dry shaving the sticky wax off! In the middle of the conversation (which has inexplicably turned to "other" subjects!) I find the lotion provided with the wax to remove the excess. I rub some in and start screaming "It's working! It's working!" I get hearty congratulations from Liz and we hang up. I successfully remove all the wax and notice, to my dismay, that the hair is still there. So I shaved the stuff off. I was numb by that point anyway. I put the box of wax back in my medicine cabinet. Never know when a moustache might start to come in....