Tuesday, May 23, 2017

Reasons for Celibacy and the Tiny Dog

Dear Sillies,
Happy Tuesday. I hope you're doing well.
Once again, I bring you more reasons for a woman (for example, me) to choose celibacy in these strangest of times. Taken directly from internet dating ads, in bold, and my responses, italicized, may these bring giggles and a sense of relief for your relationship status.
Take care, my friends.

REASON #403:
Psst, it’s not a secret once it’s posted on the world wide web.

REASON #404:
hello weird socially-lacking girls 
hello man too stupid to figure out why his life is lacking in female companionship. 

REASON #405:
Solid rep. Not your average jo. Realer than most. Not tryna impress nobody. yet highly intellectual, and well-versed in it.
Well versed in what, Einstein? Tryna be a real solid rep of a Joe with no “e”?

REASON #406:
I’m fairly certain I already dated this one before:
Will only do things that I can do with my dog; after I brush his teeth I let him lick my face. Tiny dog. Ok? Okay. Oh honey, if I’m gonna do a threesome doggie style, I prefer no dogs allowed. PS Tiny is not okay.

REASON #407:
kiss me im fun ??
no thanks im done ??

Monday, May 15, 2017

Chocolate Cheerios, More Chocolate, and Sailing Away

Dear Sillies,

Did you have a nice weekend? I hope so. And I hope the new week is off to a sweet start.

I'm not sure what's going on with the Youtube link on my blog header. I suspect Putin has something to do with it. But hopefully, it'll be fixed soon.

Now, onto a Chocolate review ~

General Mills' Chocolate Cheerios ~ Well, they aren't as big as advertised. (We know how that is. Right, ladies? It would be nice to NOT need a microscope, for a change.)

But it's gluten free, so that's supposed to be a good thing. And it tastes pretty good. Plus it's a relatively healthy cereal with whole grain oats as the first ingredient. And they're CHOCOLATE. I never liked regular Cheerios, but I do like these.

Also, General Mills is on the good team; they've given over $175 MILLION to US schools through Box Tops for Education. They support worthy causes such as the Celiac Disease Foundation. So you  might consider giving them business when seeking a good cereal.
All things considered, I give Chocolate Cheerios a 7 on a 1-10 scale. Size does matter. 
Have you tried these? What do you think?
MORE CHOCOLATE~I had a great, packed weekend. It started with this delectable breakfast at the Paradise Chocolate Fest. Note the chocolate syrup and chocolate chips on the pancakes. Naturally, I washed it down with hot chocolate.

Then, I sold a few books and had fun conversations at the Chocolate Fest's "Authors' Alley."
Mother's Day is typically painful (I'm sorry if it is/was for you too), so I planned a getaway. I went sailing on the San Francisco Bay. It was awesome. My friend, who literally showed me the ropes ("sheets" and "lines" and other terminology Sage can tell us about) only had to shout at me twice: "Robyn, go the other way! You're heading straight for the dock!" Phew, I didn't crash. And I didn't fall into the water. So that's doubly good. It was a beautiful day and well worth the full day's trip.

Be well, my dears.

Sunday, May 7, 2017

May Pole Erotica

With apologies, I'm posting a re-post from last year's re-post from the year before last.

Keep smiling, my friends, despite any unpleasant sights.

Love to you and yours for a nice and pretty May.

Tuesday, May 2, 2017

Interview with Dr. Phil, back for IWSG!

Hi, Friends,
I stopped doing the IWSG/Insecure Writer's Support Group long ago. But I missed the group and my alternatively factual interviews. Alex is so kind, I'm not sure he ever dropped me from the list. So all things considered, I brought back a biggie. He's 6'4". He's Dr. Phil. And he's here for an interview.
Robyn: Come on out here, Doc! 

Dr. Phil hands his rifle to wife Robin and walks to center stage. "How ya all doin'? I said 'How ya all doin'?"

Robyn: Why do you always repeat yourself, Philanderer? 

Dr. Phil: Look, I don't know what you're talkin about, little one. I said, 'I don't know what you're talkin about down there!'

Robyn: Excuse me, dude. You're not a real doctor. You gave up your license years ago. A questionable license it was, too. You'd hired a client to work as an employee. Hm. The station kept you on as "entertainment" while you pretend to do therapy. Unethical much? And you cheated on your first wife. And you steal quotes from others and pretend they're yours. Yet you don't have an insecure nerve in your body. How do you do it, Philayofish?

Dr. Phil: Look, it's time to get real about your life. I said 'It's time to get real about your life!' If you don't have confidence in yourself, nobody else will. I said --

Robyn: I heard you! I quoted you in my book too. I mean, you're not all bad, but you are an annoying egomaniac, Philosophical b.s.er.

Dr. Phil: Let me tell you, I've conducted an extensive study. It took years of research and the most highly trained professionals. We determined your needs. Our crew looked long and hard --

Robyn starts to salivate at the thought of her needs finally being met in a long, hard way.

Dr. Phil continues: We found the perfect intensive neuro so so psycho facility for middle aged sex starved women of abnormally short stature who are ravenously addicted to - shall we say? - treats.

Robyn's beaming. Oh yes, Phillycheesesteak. We shall say treats! Woohoo! Robyn partakes in fist pumping and frenetic dance moves.

Dr. Phil: Look, just go! I said 'Just go!' Dr. Phil signals two very big security guards to escort a hyperactive Robyn off the stage.

Robyn: Thank you, Philharmonic! Thank you! You're the best! I said 'You're the best!'
On a different and very sad note, in my eight years of blogging, I've spoken to half a dozen blog friends by phone. One of them is Melissa Bradley. Melissa and I shared men bashing stories and other nonsense, and she'd make me laugh hysterically. When I spoke to her approx. two weeks ago, and she was in hospice, Melly told me: "You know what they served me for dinner the other night? Bratwurst! YOU DON'T SERVE BRATWURST UNLESS YOU DO IT RIGHT. And that means NOT WITH KETCHUP PACKETS!" How could I not laugh heartily? Melissa called me her bloggy sister. She was a feisty, saucy, hilarious, creative, heartfelt and very loving woman who fought a grueling battle with unfaltering gusto and optimism. Ultimately, cancer put an end to that fight this past Sunday.  Among Melissa's final words to me were "I'll pray for you." That speaks to her selfless character. 

I love you, bloggy sis. Your memory is forever a blessing. Thank you for all your gifts to literature, your loved ones, and the world. Rest in Peace, dear heart.

Take gentle care, my friends.
I love you and life is precious. 
Keep a smile. Better yet, laugh heartily. And repeat. And then some more.

Tuesday, April 25, 2017

How I Landed in Chuck Norris' Hood

I could have met Chuck Norris this weekend, but I might not have lived to tell the tale.
   It was a long drive to the woodsy club, but I made the trek to support a few musician friends. And because I had no idea that I wouldn't make it home that night.

   Darkness dominated when I embarked on a solo drive home after 10pm. Despite the "Maintenance Required" light flashing on my dashboard, 1/4 tank of gas, and a poor sense of direction, I'd be fine. Garmin would get me home. Whenever she said "Keep going," I obeyed. [Garmin wasn't working properly due to a faulty signal in the mountains.]
   Over an hour later, I faced a sign directing me to Chester and Susanville. Not a good sign. Bad, bad sign. Chester is as it sounds. (Hint: It rhymes with "molester.") Susanville is known only for its prison. You get the idea.
   I stared at my phone's face. No signal. No lights, no sign of life, low on gas, car needs maintenance. Alone in the pitch dark ideal gruesomely terrifying horror movie crime scene. A homicidal ax wielding one legged, twelve armed vampire zombie would pop out at any moment. But I'd driven too far to back track. So I gripped the steering wheel with rigid palms, as I cautiously winded further into eternal blackness.
    By 11:20p, I thought about crying. That is, I thought: "I feel like crying." But the tears were too scared to leave their ducts. Can't blame 'em.
   Alas, a precious sight: a bright red VACANCY sign. In the midst of nowhere too! Lucky girl!
   I jumped out of my car, dashed to the door, and knocked. No answer. Tried the knob. Locked. I knocked harder. No response. I pounded on the damn door. Nothing. I ran around the perimeter of the building, knocking frenetically on lumber, glass, metal door frames, whatever. At this point, tears found the courage to run and play all over my face. Good on them.
   The front door cracked open. I rushed over, and I was met by a caring woman.

   I'd landed at a charming Bed and Breakfast just west of Chester in Plumas County (NRA land near Lake Almanor). A queen sized bed provided comfortable, relieving slumber.
   The next morning, I delighted in a generous serving of country potatoes, fresh fruit, and homemade pastry. The owner engaged me and a handful of guests in friendly discourse. Chuck Norris' getaway home is nearby, she said. He had a big party at this place years ago for one of his step-daughters. He's a lot smaller than he looks on screen, and he's "a very nice man."  
   I'm glad I didn't awaken Chuck in my hysterical state the night before. I can't imagine that things end well when you upset Mr. Norris - however small and nice he may be.

   It took me two hours to get home on Sunday. Thank goodness I made it -- safe and unsound as ever, and with not having met Mr. Norris in the woods of Plumas County.

I hope you're well and safe, my dears.

Monday, April 17, 2017

Comment Collage Starring YOU!

Dear Sillies,
  I hope you had a great Easter.
  You're so silly that I figured it's time for a comment collage. This one reads like a hilariously bizarre script, and it's comprised of your recent comments. If you're not quoted below, my apologies. {You're likely more sane than the rest of us.}
  Thank you for being a fun-filled, playful bunch. Please stay that way, because I love ya.

Joanne said Spring has sprung, figure out who's hung…
Janie Junebug said Now that's the way to cheer me up--not that I've ever had an unhappy moment. Elsie Amata said It's about freakin' time!  Lux G. said Matt Damon though. Pat Tillett said I'll bet he wouldn't like it if you called him "peanut dick!"
A Beer For The Shower said So is no one concerned about her wanting to tear up beef to the bone? No food is safe here! Alex J. Cavanaugh said I wonder how many Leprechauns were harmed? Birgit said I just think of the Jolly Green giant as having syphilis. Jono said The urges of spring are strong. Now to find a willing partner to perform the rites.Gorilla Bananas said Now if the foot fetish guy could write with perfect grammar and punctuation, I hope you'd be curious at least. I mean he can't stay down there forever, can he? Elephant's Child said There are far too many oxygen thieves about and I would like to cut off their supplies. sage said Trying to be cute he made an ass out of himself. Al Penwasser said Using Peeps for S'Mores while camping. Giddy up! Anthony J. Langford said Shakin that ass Robyn! JoJo said That's hilarious!!!!!! Pickleope Von Pickleope said As the one with a sentient pickle avatar, THANK YOU STEPHEN for looking out for the rights of cucumbers. Pat Hatt said Guess short people just get the short end of the stick. Mitchell is Moving said You could always wear a sign that says, "If you want to have a snowball's chance in Hell of getting to first base, don't call me Shorty." fishducky said My nephew has been married to a 4'8" woman for about 40 years. I love her dearly!! Stephen Hayes said As a short person I take comfort in that. Debra She Who Seeks said Do I hear a mic drop at the end of that! Yes!

Sunday, April 9, 2017

Peep Show!

Dear Sillies,

Since I'm not doing the A-Z Challenge this year, I thought I'd attract new followers through a suggestive post title. And could there be a more sacred week for a Peep Show? Passover starts on Monday night, 4/10. This celebration of freedom, with a focus on compassion for the oppressed, lasts for eight days. So Passover overlaps this year with Good Friday and Easter. Woohoo!

Now, the real reason for this post: chocolate samplings.
There's a chocolate covered Peep on the left, and a chocolate dipped macaroon* on the right. (*coconut cookie that's a traditional Passover dessert)

Adults tend to either hate or really hate Peeps. Aside from the outrageously loud, carcinogenic-like coloring and the annoyingly sweet, sticky innards, what's there to hate? I loved my Peep.
I devoured my Peep. The milk chocolate covering was yummy, as was the bright yellow marshmallow chick. And then it was gone. 

Next, the macaroon. The coconut, which I typically dislike, was fresh and rich and nicely textured and light and semi-sweet. I only wished it had been dipped in more chocolate. A LOT more chocolate. I barely tasted the chocolate, and this made me sad. 

I give the chocolate dipped Peep an 8, and the chocolate dipped macaroon a 7. With a total of 15 on a 1-10 scale, you're bound to have an extra sweet and sacred holiday week.

The minions on my placemats insisted on joining the Peep Show. (Not to worry, photo was taken before eating was completed.)
WARNING: The following Peep Show cannot be unseen. Please do not see it if you do not have a strong constitution. And for all of us in the United States, the constitution is weakening by the minute, so I suggest you close your eyes and move on. I'm posting this more for the Boycott American Women guy who's been trolling blogland for at least 6+ years and has 2 followers. Two!

I'm also posting this for all the people who drop by and say "Visit me" numerous times in various languages. Yet they never follow my blog or buy my books, which I'm kind enough to inform them of numerous times. However, they tend to praise me for my informative posts. Granted, I take credit for my achievements, but an educational blog is not one of them.

Have a great week, dears. Okay, you've been warned...

This one's for you, creepster peeps.

Sunday, April 2, 2017

Springtime Erotica!

Dear Sillies,
I'm resurrecting this baby in honor of Springtime.
Here's hoping Spring brings brighter, more glorious days for you and the earth.
Take good care, friends.

Sunday, March 26, 2017

On Being Short in a World of Rude People

Dear Sillies,
   I met someone this weekend. I know, I know. But that's not the shocking part. It's what he said to me that's shocking. (Hint: It wasn't nice.).
   In a mood to dance, I took myself to a nearby club. Several local bands played that night. One,  among the area's most popular. I'm unclear why. Their music was so annoyingly loud, I had to go outside in the nippy, night air until they finished.
   Upon re-entry, I stashed my jacket and purse on a stool. That's when our eyes locked. I recognized him - a musician in the obnoxiously loud, reputable band. I was about to lie and say that I liked the music, when he mouthed something to me. I couldn't hear him.
   "What did you say?" I asked.
   "I said 'What's up, Shorty?'"
I abruptly walked away.
   Later, I went to retrieve my jacket and purse. Still there, Rude Man said, "I didn't mean to be rude."
   Dude, if you didn't mean to be rude, perhaps you should have, for example, not been rude. "You WERE rude, and I was about to tell you I appreciated your music too."
   "I'm sorry," he sounded genuine. Rude Man extended a hand for a start-anew handshake. It felt warm and sincere, not unlike the one I got from Bernie. Unlike with Bernie, though, I didn't fall in love.
   Later, I approached a friend sitting with a small group in the back of the club. Guess who was there! No, dangit, not my Bernie. Rude Man. Lynne, a mutual friend, asked if we know each other. In painstakingly regretful synchronicity, we said "We met!" Rude Man explained the scenario to her, though I didn't listen.
   "Robyn," Lynne turned to me after hearing him out, "He meant it in an endearing way."
   What part of "Shorty?" is endearing? Sh? Ho? Hor?
Was he flirting? Sure, it worked with one guy who mocked my height several times on our first date. I ended up marrying him, and we know how that went. (Hint: Not well.)
   "It wasn't endearing," I countered.
   As I left the club, Rude Man approached to impart yet another seemingly sincere apology.
   I don't understand. He isn't bad or mean. Nor are the countless others. I endured hearty helpings of mockery throughout my school years. And now I get told "You're short" on a regular basis. As if I don't know this. I step into an elevator, and someone along for the ride inevitably asks me how tall I am. Why do people freely ask? Why do I freely respond?
   Society doesn't ask the fat guy: "How much do you weigh?" We don't call tall people "Tall-ies". We don't inquire of the stupid, "What's your IQ?" So why is it acceptable to insult the littles? (I admit, watching the Little Women of LA get into a fist fights makes me split a gut. But I wouldn't mess with any of them.)   Short people are the toughest of all. We would do well to start taking revenge on everyone who mocks us. Perhaps that's the only way they'd learn to shut their big, fat rude mouths.
Annie Bidwell (1839-1918) was my height, 4'8". Photo from 1875.

   She and her husband, John, founded my hometown of Chico, California. Annie was a staunch women's rights advocate and a powerful ally of the  Mechoopda Native American Indian tribe on whose land we reside. Annie's friends included Susan B. Anthony, President Hayes, and John Muir. Among many other acts of generosity, Annie donated over 2,200 acres of land, including a Children's Park, to our fine city.
   So yeah, don't mess with a short person. We might build a city or kick you where it hurts most.

Thank you for letting me air this, dears. 
Have a safe, nice, and hopeful new week in the biggest of ways.  

Tuesday, March 21, 2017

Resistance Rap, One Peachy Wish

One Wish –Disclaimer: I don’t promote violence. I do hate haters and wish they weren’t among us. I also appreciate my First Amendment rights to free speech, and I intend to use them to the fullest. I’ve been too quiet for too long. It’s time for a new rap song!

I have one wish.
It goes like this: Trump gets impeached. The world knows bliss.
He goes down hard, and he goes down fast.
‘Cuz hate expires and love’s what lasts.

I’d say that I don’t wish him ill. But that may be an alternative fact.
So I plead the fifth – It’s still intact.

He’s hateful and a liar too. His every tweet:
“Your (FAKE) and biased. I’m gonna sue!”
My wish gets better in every way:   
Steve Bannon says “I’ll save the day.”
Then POOF! Gone with the Nazis & the KKK.
Don’t be hippo cranium!” Ben Carson shouts.
Ima shock the hippopotamus, hippocampus college ‘n build Lego house!  POOF! He’s gone, just like his brain. 
Who knew the doc was that insane?
Kellyanne somersaults into the scene. Since Gumby, 
her legs more limber than we’ve ever seen.
She flips and lands in the splits;
the Russian Judge holds up a “10.”
Then Conway walks into any book, never to be seen again.
Pence is jolted with honesty that sends him on a gay rights spree.
“I’m gay and proud, as I should be,” says he.
He dumps his post to promote marriage equality.
Indulge me while I take this wish into a coulda-shoulda-woulda twist
Were this a true democracy, we all know who our President would be
And as VP, Bernie would choose, well, me.

Resist, Persist, Impeach, Resist. 

This is my one and only wish.
He goes down hard, and he goes down fast.
‘Cuz hate expires, and love’s what lasts.
Start with kindness. Find a star.
That priceless pair brought us this far.
Resist, Persist, Impeach, Resist.
This, my one and only wish.
My only wish! 


Persist and keep a peachy wish, my friends.
Love you.