Monthly Archives: August 2012



The road less traveled for me is both figurelitivly and literal.  I will first comment on the literal.

My normal route to and from my home out in the country has been changed because of a bridge teardown.  The quaint Cloquet River bridge is being torn down and a boring, cement structure is being put up in it’s place.  So we in Burnett (which is what my area was called when there was a general store and post office on the corner of my road) have to find alternate routes to town.  My two choices are both bad.  One is longer and totally dirt and the other is quicker and only part dirt but both are in desperate need of grooming.   But I have learned some important lessons taking this road less traveled.  I will share those that struck me this morning as I drove home from 12.5 hours of work and was sleep-drunk.

I seriously need either new shocks on my car or a new bra on my boobs. I was bouncing so bad my chin was bruised.  I never knew that the right one could go up while the left one was going down.  Thankfully they never went sideways or I might have been flung out of my car by the force.  And you know how “they” say you can tell if you are fat by “pinching an inch”, I can tell I am fat by how long it takes the fat on my body to stop bouncing after that road.  As of today, it is 3.5 minutes.  Freaky…

Another important lesson learned today on the ride home…I really need to use the bathroom before leaving my job.  All that bouncing on a full bladder gives new meaning to “having to pee so bad, my back teeth are floating”.  I mean, I have had acid reflux but I always thought urinary incontenience meant leakage from the “south end”  not the north!  Oy Vey..

This road is great for making weird noises while singing….gives you lots of vibrato.  My grandkids love to make sounds while bouncing over this road.

My wrists are also getting a great workout just trying to hang on to the steering wheel.  It’s like the olden days when cars didn’t have power steering.  (Anyone remember driving a car like that.  I was very preggers and had a car without power steering and I can tell you it wasn’t fun and parking was a full-body workout!)

The road has also help firm up my decision to get to the eye doctor as I no longer can see the pot holes and the deep washboard-like ruts in the road. Side note to self:  make appt. to get teeth fixed  and jaw realigned and call garage to get tires realigned.

And lastly, a comment on driving sleep-drunk.  Don’t do it if you can help it.  Today I slammed on the brakes for a rock I thought was a turtle  and for a mailbox I mistook for a deer.  (It wasn’t the first time I had braked for that &^%$ mailbox.  I think they made it look like a deer on purpose.)  I have been known to brake for black garbage bags on the side of road I was sure was a bear  and for reflective driveway lights I just knew were deer waiting to play their version of “russian roulette” and jump out at me.  I must admit, tho, that the scariest things I see when I am so tired are black blobs that run across the road at night.  They remind me of those “demon”” things in the movie, “Ghost”.   Thankfully I don’t drive home at night anymore after working 17 hours!!

Now about the road that is figuritive.  I had taken that road since I was a teen and I know every inch of it intimately.  It was never a conscience decision, but one out of survival.  (My husband would say it was out of rebellion but it really wasn’t.)  I have always been the one who chooses the odd way to do things.  My dad would always say I was, “dizzy”, but now I realize it was just my “creative side” coming out.  Only back then, creative was on par with odd and no parent wanted an “odd” child.  My dad tried to break me of this but I had a part of me that rose up and quietly fought my way out of being “normal”.  I think when you can’t please anyone no matter what you do, you have two choices.  I chose the road less traveled, tho it meant being an “outsider” much of the time.  At the time it was often painful (literally…my dad had “the fastest belt in the West”) and I could live the rest of my life on the tears I shed but I became a strong individual because of it.  I did my share of peer pressure stuff but I mostly did what I wanted, even if it meant doing it alone.  Sure it was scary but being “not me” was even scarier to me.  And believe it or not, there are some things that I want to do that even today, scare me.  But when you live with fear your whole life, being scared it just normal.  I try to see which is the “worse of two evils”:  being scared or not doing what I want.  And most of the time, I jump with both feet into that which scares me. that unknown path in the road less traveled.  I am anxiously awaiting death as it will really be my last jump and the only one I have no fear of doing!!!



When I grow up:  I want to have long legs and thighs that don’t touch and wear stiletto heels and short skirts.  I want to have long, straight hair that shines and a dazzling white smile.  I want to have a voice that sounds like I have lived in foreign countries and have a slight accent.  I want to have a glow like JLo and dance like Beyonce and sing like Adele.  I want to wear a signature cologne and red lipstick.  I want to wear designer clothing and Jimmy Choo shoes.

When I grow up:  I want to travel first class  and stay in five-star hotels and tip bell boys lavishly.  I want to see all the famous sights and spend a week on a yacht.  I want to paint outdoors in Italy and France.  I want to dance in the streets of Spain and take a gondola ride in Venice.  I want to stay with a royal family in a real castle and walk at daybreak in the moors of Scotland.

When I grow up:  I want to meet Hillary Clinton and take her to a beauty salon and dress shop.  I want to sit down and ask Oprah and Barbara Walters questions that have real meaning.  I want to hook politicians up to lie detectors and ask them what their real agendas are.  I want to meet real-life heroes and teachers who made a difference.  I want to talk to people who have had near-death experiences and parents who have lost children.  I want to have a radio show and ask Ryan Seacrest what its like to be him.  I want to ask actors and professional athletes what makes them deserve such vast amounts of money for what they do.  I want to talk children with serious illnesses and to be with anyone who is dying alone.

When I grow up:  I want to build medical centers where no one is turned away or denied care because of a lack of insurance, where doctors can do what they are best at and take as much time with each patient as needed.  I want to feed the patients good, wholesome, healing foods and medications are a last resort.  I want researchers to have whatever they need to find cures.  I want there to be no politics, no kickbacks from pharmaceutical companies, no corruption in these centers.  I want the medical personnel to work six hour shifts and only five days a week.  I want everyone who works there to be there because they truly want to help people.  I want nurses to have a voice in the care of the patients and doctors to confess when they make a mistake.  I want bad doctors and nurses to be “called on the carpet” and dismissed.  I want better medical care and less screw-ups.

When I grow up:  I want to sing at Carnegie Hall.  I want to be in a hit comedy on TV.  I want to dance in Riverdance.  I want to write books that will make people happy to be alive.  I want a shop of my own where I sell one-of-a-kind pieces of furniture and art.

When I grow up:  I want to live in a coastal village, in an art community.  I want to ride a three-wheel bike with a large wicker basket on the back and wear bohemian clothing and funky gold jewelry.  I want to live in a cottage on the beach and sit each day at dusk on the white sands in a cream-colored fishermen’s sweater and a plaid cotton skirt with an old quilt wrapped around me drinking a great cup of coffee and thinking what a great life I’ve had.  When I grow up.



I know, I know, enough with the farts but I can’t sleep and was thinking how certain stars might fart and I just had to put in on “paper” for posterity!

Brad Pitt-soft, laid-back, smells like weed

Angelina Jolie-small pops, each smelling like a different country

Madonna-sharp, machine gun like.  If something is behind her it will be injured.

Mitt Romney-can’t fart with stick up his butt

Obama-has someone fart for him so he can deny any knowledge of it.

Russell Crowe-full bodied, lager scented

Katy Perry-lyrical pops, fruity smell

Kim Kardashian-feminine fluffs, smells like money

Joan Rivers-squeaky sounds but comes out of ears since everything has been lifted repeatedly, moth ball smell

Usher-soulful sounds, expensive cologne scent

Justin Bieber-youthful rat-tat-tats, juicy fruit flavor

Martha Stewart-silent, smells of potpourri

Michael Phelps-wet ones, chlorinated

Queen Elizabeth-wizened tweets, reeks of centuries of history

David Copperfield-silent, scent disappears

Will Ferrell-loud, obnoxious, popcorn smell

Adam Sandler-see above

David Spade-see above

Rob Schneider-see above

Steven Tyler-old man sounds, patchouli

This was so much fun but I am exhausted so I will continue soon but please feel free to add your own to this list!



Flatuence, gas, tooting, ripping, cutting the cheese, breaking wind, fluffing, passing gas, butt burps and my personal favorite, blowing the butt bugle.  Do you know there is a Fart Thesaurus?  It is astounding how many other words there are for flatus.  You gotta take a few minutes and look it up!

Why am I writing about this tonight?  I’ve always heard you should write about what you know and I know I get gas.  As a matter of fact, I have it right now and since I am at work and the apartment is as still as death, I am at a terrible disadvantage.  My client is in her bedroom just a room away and for an elderly person she has great hearing and so if I try to release some of the pressure and it’s a “loud but scent-free”, she will hear it and I will be embarrassed.  A “silent, but deadly” would be ok but that’s the trouble with butt burps, you never know how they are going to come out.

So let’s talk about the different kinds of farts there are.  First you have the little “pffffts”, soft and delicate, not normally aromatic.  These are good for most social situations where there is some noise.  Let out some of these and no one will be the wiser. Then you have the “putt putts”, short bursts of semi-quiet, not smelly farts.  Children often have these.   And old people as they walk, which I think actually propels them forward.

Men have their own types of farts in which games are made of.  “Pull my finger/toe/foot” is an old game.  The farter asks the victim to pull a body part and when the person (almost always a child) does so, a loud fart is heard,  scaring the child and scarring them for life.   Men also seem to like to lift a leg while farting.  One wonders what would happen if they didn’t lift, would they rise above their chairs like hot air balloons?  Another tactic is to be walking  and start wiggling in their pants like they are trying to shake something down their leg.  Or when walking in public, to fart and then to turn around and look  (like they heard it but didn’t do it).  Married men like to torture their mates by farting in bed and then waving the sheets to evacuate the stench from under the covers.  Or while driving in the car and letting loose with a SBD and saying there must be something outside as the mate gasps for breath. Women seem to do more “fluff and flee”.  How many times have you been in a store and walked into a cloud of “eggsalad air”?  Or worse, been at a party talking to a group and one of the women lets loose and either casually walks away before the full odor materializes, or stays but is bold enough not to blush.  Everyone stands around wondering who did it and hoping no one thinks it was them.  And what about the times you were by yourself and let one rip and someone walks in.  “Did they hear it?”   And what about the smell?  If you are lucky there is a dog in the room.  Dogs are always letting loose with some of the foulest gas known to mankind.  Blame the dog.  Or the baby.  Kids won’t stand by and be blamed without ratting on you.  As a matter of fact, kids have been known to fart loudly and then turn to a parent and say in a loud voice, “MOM!”     We can’t forget the other types of farts either; the balloon~sounds like air being slowly let out of a balloon; the sharp “POP”~when someone I know does this in bed, it scares the crap out of me;  the long, long. long fart~this one usually follows a night at a friend’s home where the gas has been building up for hours and you have had no way to let it out until you get into your car and you are headed down the driveway.  It goes on and on and on and you think it will never end and you will turn yourself inside out before it is over.  Thank goodness those are never stinky cause you would kill everyone in the car; the “was it just gas or do I need to change?” fart~I’m sure everyone has had one of these. I must admit to having to change more than once, but thankfully never out in public, tho I have known folks who had to toss their undies and head for home after having one of these wet fakes; and last but not least, the bomber~this is the one that makes boys laugh and is in all SNL alumni movies……all of them.

So there you have it, a layman’s guide to flatuence.   Everything you never wanted to know and oh, so much more.  It’s almost 4am, I still have gas and so I am going to go and read the Fart Thesaurus and hope that something kicks on to make some noise so I can sneak some gas out before morning or I’ll be a walking pressure cooker!