It’s Mine! Give it BACK!

When we were little, my sister, who was older, never wanted to play with anything unless I picked it up and started playing with it. Then she would yell at me, “That’s MINE! Give it BACK!” . . . and I’d tell her I was playing with it. . . Two boys in the neighborhood just reminded me of those times . . . one was riding a hoverboard. He’d already passed the house once while riding on it. My 17 year old dog, Blackie, had ignored him then. I’m not sure she even saw him. Suddenly we heard a slightly older boy come slamming out of a house down the street and he was yelling, “That’s MINE! Give it BACK!” Blackie suddenly realized something was going on and as the boys yelled back and forth at each other . . . the one on the hoverboard out-running the one who said it was his and to give it back . . . they both passed by my house and Blackie got so excited that she barked really hard and every time she’d bark, her feet would leave the ground, she was so excited! Nice time for her for a few minutes outside. She doesn’t do much anymore, and the few times I see the old Blackie coming out in her, it does my heart good.

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Lowering Expectations

Many people, during my lifetime, have underestimated me. I really like when they do that. It gives me an upperhand. Whichever President used the term “Shock and Awe” . . . yeah, I get to do that. The looks on their faces is payment enough.

However, I also often deliberately lower people’s expectations. My friends think I can’t cook well. They actually believe that. Guess who never has to host a dinner party (do folks even do that these days?).

I’ve walked into intervews visually a bundle of nerves. I’ve sat down and declared before the interviewer even begins, “I don’t interview well.” I usually get the job.

Lowering expectations is also a way to get others to do things for you. Some are show and tell, as in getting out a light bulb when one of my sons is visiting, and then standing and staring at the ceiling light as if trying to figure out how to reach it. All my sons are at least six feet tall. One is 6 ft 5 inches tall. They can change a light bulb without even standing on anything. It takes thirty seconds tops to get one to ask if I want them to do that for me?

Another way is asking someone if they know how to do something .  .  . as if you don’t.

Try it sometime. Pretend like you can’t do something and then step back and watch someone do it for you.

Manipulative much? Who me? No, I wouldn’t know how.

Oh, and the Shock and Awe President? That was President George W. Bush in 2003.



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Is Anything Funny Any More?

Having a rough day and considering deleting this blog entirely. Is anything funny any more?

We have comedians who think (Kathy Griffin and Alec Baldwin, for two) who think that holding up the (fake) head of a current President of the United States and pretending he’s been decapitated is funny . . . ????

That’s not funny. That’s horrible. Anyone who laughs at that is horrible.

PC or Political Correctness, which has choked most Americans to DEATH, should rear its ugly head and address that disgraceful attempt at HUMOR.(?) Was it humor? Hell, no. It was mean, spiteful, hatred, which we have seen since Donald Trump was elected.

I suffered through eight years of Obama’s Presidency. I would wake up many mornings only to read about some evil law or decree Obama had passed while we all slept, although it was never a peaceful sleep under that President. But I would never, in my wildest dreams, have thought expressing what Kathy Griffin expressed was anywhere near funny or ok to do with Obama.

I am so weary of all the Trump bashers who have never sat down and listened to one of President’s Trump’s speeches. He gives 3 minute weekly updates. Can’t they at least sit still that long and LISTEN? When I try to discuss politics with them and they find out I didn’t vote for HILLARY, I am immediately labeled a “sexist”. They have no good reason to vote for Hillary, except she was a woman. Well, I wouldn’t have voted for her, if she’d been a man. I listened to her speeches, what few and far between she gave, and didn’t like anything I heard.

So what’s funny in America today? I can’t think of anything.

I’m tired, discouraged, disgusted and probably should just delete this whole blog and be done with it.

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When You Can’t Find A Kleenex

My old dog has seasonal allergies, according to her vet. Her nose has been runny all spring. The other day my son noticed me wiping the dog’s nose for her and I told him she couldn’t do it for herself, so I was helping her.

He reminded me that a couple days prior she had walked up to him and wiped her nose just fine on his pants leg.

I had forgotten her doing that, but remembering made me laugh. He was here for a visit. I don’t know what made her do it, but like I said, she can’t very well use a kleenex herself.

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Hunter’s Duet On The Keyboard

I spoke to a couple of friends about how my cat is drawn to my new musical keyboard. I have always wanted to know how to play one. I recently bought one for myself and was surprised to find that my cat likes it too. I made a video as requested of my cat, Hunter, and I playing on the keyboard. At one point . . . around 1:12, or shortly afterwards, you can see (or hear) her playing what sounds like chords as I play. It’s a silly video and I posted it on my serious readingbymscorbett channel on youtube. The link is below:



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When I was married, I had a little Yorkshire Terrier named Honey. One day a stray dog showed up in our yard and he looked hungry, so I fed him. By the time my husband noticed him hanging around and said not to feed that dog, well, I’d already been feeding him for over two weeks. I couldn’t stop now.

So the dog continued to hang around, but everytime I tried to bring him in the house, my husband fussed so much that I just let him stay in the front yard. I did try putting him in the backyard, but found out that he could climb the fence and would climb the fence if confined . . .

One winter night I opened the front door to see how much it had snowed, and there curled up on my doormat was the stray dog . . . I called my husband to come look . . . and he said to put him in the basement . . . so Tramp got to walk through the house that night and slept in our warm basement.

Fast forward a few months and the stray dog had been named Tramp, since he looked so much like the dog in “Lady and the Tramp” by Disney . . . the movie dog . . .But a few months after that snowy night, my Yorkie went into heat. Someone forgot and left a door open and Tramp got to Honey, and I was devastated. So I called the vet.

The vet said with Tramp’s testicles never descending like they should have, he expected that Tramp was sterile. Make an appointment and bring him in and he’d get a sample and check it for sperm.

So the next morning at breakfast, I told my husband that Tramp had a vet appointment and I needed him to take Tramp in. He looked confused and asked “why?” Why did he have to take Tramp in and not me?

So I explained that the vet would be trying to get a sperm sample and I was too embarrassed to be there.

My husband fussed and he complained, but he called into work and said he’d be a little late . . .

Off they went!

A couple hours later my husband stormed into the house and threw Tramp’s leash on the floor and said Tramp would not cooperate and the vet said to bring him back at 2:00 so he could try again. Tramp was tired of being manipulated.

So I said I guess he’d miss a whole day of work, and he said, “Hell no!” and stormed out the door muttering about not staying home all day jerking the dog off.

I called the vet and asked if I could bring Tramp in? He said sure, and bring Honey . . . it might help.

We found out that Tramp was indeed sterile, which came in handy when Tramp climbed over my neighbor’s fence to get to her dog who was out in her backyard and in heat. When my neighbor called me and finally quit calling my dog names and yelling, I assured her that her dog was not pregnant. Tramp was sterile. She asked how I knew that and didn’t seem to believe me. She insisted on getting the name and number of my vet. He assured her that Tramp was sterile and yes, he was sure.


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Freudian Slip?

If I notice an error when proofreading what I’ve typed, was it a Freudian slip?

Freud·i·an slip
ˌfroidēən ˈslip/
  1. an unintentional error regarded as revealing subconscious feelings.

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