SPINZophrenia DONT MISS THIS SHOW
2012 Orlando Fringe Festival
Show Dates and Times - SILVER VENUE
Saturday, May 19th, 2:15 pm
Sunday, May 20th, 11:00 am
Friday, May 25th, 7:00 pm
Saturday, May 26th, 11:00 am
Sunday, May 27th, 2:15 pm
February 28, 2012
February 27, 2012
February 26, 2012
February 25, 2012
Good Morning
I love an old fashioned morning with my wonderful husband.
Hot freshly ground coffee on the back porch, served in an oversized mug.
Eggs, cooked with butter, orange juice and toast.
He’s reading the news, and I my stories.
Just like old times.
Oh! That good old coffee, strong like grandma used to make, must be working.
Off we go to the His and Hers “outhouses”, reading material in hand.
Me with my iPad and him with his iPhone… I guess times have changed some.
Ahh well, at least it’s not a workday, when a trip to the loo includes the iPhone, Blackberry and Bluetooth..
I wonder if there’s an App with the Sunday Crossword puzzle?
Hot freshly ground coffee on the back porch, served in an oversized mug.
Eggs, cooked with butter, orange juice and toast.
He’s reading the news, and I my stories.
Just like old times.
Oh! That good old coffee, strong like grandma used to make, must be working.
Off we go to the His and Hers “outhouses”, reading material in hand.
Me with my iPad and him with his iPhone… I guess times have changed some.
Ahh well, at least it’s not a workday, when a trip to the loo includes the iPhone, Blackberry and Bluetooth..
I wonder if there’s an App with the Sunday Crossword puzzle?
February 22, 2012
Bonding With Co-Workers
Sometimes at your job you find a new friend right away, like
my boss, LOVE HER.
And sometimes you bond with a co-worker over the little things… like a mutual hate… of ten year olds.
I guess these parents think their children are entitled to everything because they worked so hard to bring them into the world. “I was in labor for three days!” they lament. “The fertility shots were worse than rabies shots.”
Well, I say big deal. Once after a weekend of tailgating, I had to have an episiotomy on my brown eye just so I could deliver the morning mail. PS avoid corn and beans in the same meal.
So me and my co-worker are not the cuddly kid types. Bonus: Now I have someone to share my inappropriate cat jokes with.
And sometimes you bond with a co-worker over the little things… like a mutual hate… of ten year olds.
Settle down, I don’t hate kids, most of them anyway, but I
don’t subscribe to the notion that they are all little gems just because
they’re kids. Especially sixty of them
in our theater at the same.
You can always tell the kids with older affluent parents. I
can think of nothing more annoying than smug ten year olds. It comes from
hearing their parents refer to them as “my son” or “my daughter” or “Little
Brandon/ Brianna is so smart, cute, talented…” whatever. Just call them “hey kid” so they will know
there place.I guess these parents think their children are entitled to everything because they worked so hard to bring them into the world. “I was in labor for three days!” they lament. “The fertility shots were worse than rabies shots.”
Well, I say big deal. Once after a weekend of tailgating, I had to have an episiotomy on my brown eye just so I could deliver the morning mail. PS avoid corn and beans in the same meal.
So me and my co-worker are not the cuddly kid types. Bonus: Now I have someone to share my inappropriate cat jokes with.
February 5, 2012
Mom Again
While watching the Wendy Williams show with my mom…
“Is that what a drag queen is?” Mom queried in her ever so gentle way.
“No,” I replied, “She’s just wearing a drag queen wig.”
Are drag queens boys who used to be girls, or girls who used to be boys?” Mom said as she stirred her lemon tee and counted Club crackers.
“Uh…either or neither, but I was just kidding about her hair.”
“Three crackers equal one bread exchange; are they transsexuals?”
I thought for a moment about whether or not Florida was home to any cracker transsexuals, then I thought about Larry the Cable guy secretly dressing in pink camo sweat pants with “juicy” on the ass. “I don’t really know, I suppose some are and some not.”
“Do they get their dicks from cadavers?”
“You’re just going to jump right out there with that? No polite lead in?” I said after I was able to close my mouth.
“You know, like organ transplants; do you have any honey for my tea?”
“There’s a joke in there somewhere, give me a minute,” I said.
“Do they have to do color matching?” She wondered.
“I think they build them out of sausage casing.”
“Really!” She sipped her tea. “How do they get them… you know…” She tapped on cracker on her plate.
“Hard?” I said, reluctantly.
“I don’t think I’ll ever be able to eat sausage again,” she groused as she munched her hard cracker.
“What about the cute old butcher at Publix?” I teased.
“For God’s sake, he’s not a transsexual is he?”
“You’re both like freakin eighty; what difference does it make?”
She thought… “It’s been so long I can’t remember, but I’m sure it might make some!”
“Is that what a drag queen is?” Mom queried in her ever so gentle way.
“No,” I replied, “She’s just wearing a drag queen wig.”
Are drag queens boys who used to be girls, or girls who used to be boys?” Mom said as she stirred her lemon tee and counted Club crackers.
“Uh…either or neither, but I was just kidding about her hair.”
“Three crackers equal one bread exchange; are they transsexuals?”
I thought for a moment about whether or not Florida was home to any cracker transsexuals, then I thought about Larry the Cable guy secretly dressing in pink camo sweat pants with “juicy” on the ass. “I don’t really know, I suppose some are and some not.”
“Do they get their dicks from cadavers?”
“You’re just going to jump right out there with that? No polite lead in?” I said after I was able to close my mouth.
“You know, like organ transplants; do you have any honey for my tea?”
“There’s a joke in there somewhere, give me a minute,” I said.
“Do they have to do color matching?” She wondered.
“I think they build them out of sausage casing.”
“Really!” She sipped her tea. “How do they get them… you know…” She tapped on cracker on her plate.
“Hard?” I said, reluctantly.
“I don’t think I’ll ever be able to eat sausage again,” she groused as she munched her hard cracker.
“What about the cute old butcher at Publix?” I teased.
“For God’s sake, he’s not a transsexual is he?”
“You’re both like freakin eighty; what difference does it make?”
She thought… “It’s been so long I can’t remember, but I’m sure it might make some!”
February 4, 2012
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