Too Much Pressure!

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Thanks to Pseu for bringing me the news that I was named by WordPress as one of their ten most prolific bloggers.

Thanks for nothing, Pseu.

Now I have to:

1. Be funny, immediately, in anticipation of the tens of people who might come take a look.
2. Stop poking fun at WordPress prompts: I’m on their radar now.
3. Put up with cracks from the Hub that being noticed for talking too much is not really a compliment.

I can do Point 3 because I never listen to the Hub anyway; and here’s an old joke for Point 1 that you regular readers will just have to pretend not to remember because it’s all I can think of at the moment:

A man walks into a bar and says, ‘Ouch.’

But stop poking fun at WordPress prompts…?   I think I’d rather give up Maltesers.

Gasp.  Did I write that out loud?

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Blog And The World Laughs With You; If You’re Lucky, They’ll Help You Write It, Too

Image by the|G|™ via Flickr

What have you feared that turned out to be much easier than you expected?

When Tory Boy nagged me to start a blog, I feared it was not for me.  I feared it so much it took me about eighteen months to put – I was going to say ‘pen to paper’ but I suppose it’s ‘finger to keyboard’; doesn’t have the same poetic ring to it, does it? – finger to keyboard and now, here I am, two years later, celebrating my blogaversary.

Yes, on this day in 2009, I dared to write my first post.  Here’s an extract:

I’ve just had my teenage son sort me out with my own blog; now I have to hope
1. I can think of something interesting to write and
2. I can get some people to read it.

Mission Statement: to be amusing (mission: impossible)

I don’t remember intending to be funny and yet there it is in black & white (pale grey, actually: I hadn’t learned to use the colour button then).  I guess I should have known because the blog name (which I chose) is a bit of a giveaway.

In those days, Tory Boy and Spud Bud were ‘Hur’ and ‘Spur’; I changed their names after protests from the family.  An extract from my second post:

A word of explanation: like Princess Diana I, too, have two sons, an heir and spare.  I am a Scouser, however, and although it was in another life, I still have Cilla Black Disease and can’t pronounce the ‘air’ sound in English.  To avoid embarrassing my sons more than the usual, I am going to refer to them in this blog as ‘Hur’ (first fruit of my womb, 19) and ‘Spur’ (last product of my now dried out loin, 13).

You won’t be surprised to learn that the main topic of that post was food; Maltesers were soon to follow, I’m sure; a poem appeared on Day One.

I am surprised to see how far I have come in the way of presentation: the font was pale grey and unjustified; paragraphs were long; photographs were rare.  By July 1st, however – my second day – I was already posting twice in twenty-four hours.  A warning of what was to come.

I couldn’t know then, and didn’t expect (though I did dream), that I would have so many returning visitors, as eager to laugh at the world, me, and my family, as I am; that I would have a fledgling poetry blog because I get the best audience for funny and the poems were getting in the way; that I would be posting up to four times a day and not driving visitors off; and that I would just have so much fun.  I couldn’t know, either, that you are brilliant: I say, I can’t find jokes, and you send them; I can’t think of anything to write about, and you give me prompts, topics, subjects; I can’t find enough tasks for my 101 challenge, and you tell me what to do.

So, thank you, dear readers, for sticking with me through thin and thin; and for writing half my stuff.  I can honestly say I couldn’t have done it without you.

Happy Blogaversary!

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Joke 98

A woman who died found herself standing outside the Pearly Gates, being greeted by St. Peter.

She asked him, “Oh, is this place what I really think it is? It’s so beautiful.  Did I really make it to heaven?”

To which St. Peter replied, “Yes, my dear, these are the Gates to Heaven. But you must do one more thing before you can enter: spell a word.”

“What word?” she asked.

“Any word,” answered St. Peter. “It’s your choice.”  The woman promptly replied, “Then the word I will spell is love. L-o-v-e.”

St. Peter congratulated her and asked her if she would mind taking his place at the gates for a few minutes while he went to the bathroom.

“I’d be honoured,” she said, “but what should I do if someone comes while you are gone?”

St. Peter instructed the woman to simply have any newcomers to the Pearly Gates spell a word, as she had done.

As the woman watched the beautiful angels soaring around her, a man approached. She realized it was her loser husband.

“What happened?” she cried, “Why are you here?”

Her husband stared at her for a moment, then said, “I was so drunk when I left your funeral, I was in an accident. And now I am here?  Did I really make it to Heaven?”

To which the woman replied, “Not yet. You must spell a word first.”

“What word?” he asked.

“Czechoslovakia.”

Jobs I Would Like

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From the Arts Council website:

Volunteer Swishing Coordinator.

Apparently it’s a thing.  Clothes swapping.  Huh.

Stilt Walkers.  No previous experience needed. 

I swear I’m not making this up.

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Tory Boy forwarded this Lancaster Freecycle post:

OFFER: Basic course in manners 

From: ******** 

Date: Tue, 21 Jun 2011 20:10:44 -0000

Description: 

A basic course in manners and internet etiquette available to anyone
who has forgotten how to say please or thank you when asking for
items on freecycle

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Joke 97

This one is courtesy of Chauncy Gardiner

A driver is stuck in a traffic jam on the M8 in Scotland. Nothing is moving. Suddenly, a man knocks on the window. The driver rolls down his window and asks, “What’s going on?”

“Terrorists have kidnapped three England football fans. They’re asking for a £10 million ransom. Otherwise they’re going to douse them with petrol and set them on fire. We’re going from car to car, taking up a collection.”

“How much is everyone giving, on average?” the driver asks.

“About a gallon.”

Weekly Photo Challenge: Refreshing

Looks like Toby’s been doing a little too much ‘refreshing’, if you know what I mean:

And I know who to blame:

Evading The Question

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Do you believe in free-will?

I’m not sure.  Let me ask my husband; he’s always telling me what to do.

They say “everything happens for a reason” – do you think this is true?

What’s your reason for asking?

One health story making the rounds is how sitting too much all day will kill you. Since you are likely seated as you read this, don’t panic. We want to help.

Since we here at WordPress.com want you around, and blogging, forever, we’d like you to get up, right now, and do some push-ups.  How many do you think you can do? Write it down. Then go do ’em. And write a blog post about the results. Did it feel good? Did you do more or less than you guessed?

According to fitness scientists, a 40 year old woman should be able to do 16. A man, 27.  And Jack LaLanne was doing push-ups into his 90s.

See The Simple Push-Up for more background on this curiously useful exercise.

The Laughing Housewife Blog is temporarily suspended due to Tilly Bud falling into a paroxysm of laughter on reading this prompt; and then a coffee table.

Joke 96

How many cats can you put into an empty box?

Only one. After that, the box isn’t empty.

A Blog Is Worth A Thousand Posts

This is my one thousandth post!

To celebrate, I bring you not much at all.  Why mess with a winning formula?

The year 1000 started on a Monday; I hope that’s a good omen.

But numbers are fluid; it wasn’t the same date everywhere:

Gregorian calendar	1000 M
Ab urbe condita	1753
Armenian calendar	449 ԹՎ ՆԽԹ
Bahá’í calendar	-844 – -843
Bengali calendar	407
Berber calendar	1950
English Regnal year	N/A
Buddhist calendar	1544
Burmese calendar	362
Byzantine calendar	6508 – 6509
Chinese calendar	己亥年十一月廿二日 (3636/3696-11-22) — to — 庚子年十二月初三日 (3637/3697-12-3)
Coptic calendar	716 – 717
Ethiopian calendar	992 – 993
Hebrew calendar	4760 – 4761
Hindu calendars
– Bikram Samwat	1056 – 1057
– Shaka Samvat	922 – 923
– Kali Yuga	4101 – 4102
Holocene calendar	11000
Iranian calendar	378 – 379
Islamic calendar	390 – 391
Japanese calendar
Korean calendar	3333
Thai solar calendar	1543

But it is my 1000th post!

The origin of Cornish ice cream can be found in the year 1000, when the Kingdom of England annexed the Kingdom of Cornwall.  Lots of pillaging probably went on, despite an EU directive, and the people, when told to be quiet or the evil annexers would get into trouble, replied ‘I’m Cornish, I scream.’

I had intended to use that joke in another post that never happened.  You must know after 999 posts that I can’t let a good joke go to waste.  Or even a bad one.

According to the Guardian there are 1000 novels everyone must read.  I never read the Guardian so I don’t know what they are.  But you can click here to find out.

I’m not sure I should have told you that because you might spend time reading improving books instead of frivolous blogs, and where would I be without my fabulous readers?  Not at 1000 posts, that’s for sure.

Thank you, everyone, for helping me get here.

Pill-Advised

Cover of Speed (Widescreen Edition)

If given the choice, are you the kind of person who takes the red pill, or the blue pill? Why? When do you willfully do the opposite?

“You take the blue pill – the story ends, you wake up in your bed and believe whatever you want to believe. You take the red pill – you stay in Wonderland and I show you how deep the rabbit-hole goes.” – Morpheus (from the film The Matrix)

This question doesn’t apply to me; I don’t do drugs.  Or The Matrix.  I liked Keanu Reeves in Speed, though.  I’d take the red pill to be cuddled by him when the thing comes sliding out of the bus while the CCTV has been doctored. 

Only I wouldn’t.  I don’t do scared.  Anxious, yes.  Is there a pill for that?

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Joke 95

At a fabric store, a pretty girl spotted a nice material for a dress and asked the male clerk, “How much does it cost?

“Only one kiss per yard,” replied the male clerk with a smirk.

“That’s fine,” said the girl. “I’ll take ten yards.”

The clerk quickly measured out the cloth, wrapped it up, and then teasingly held it out.  The girl took the bag and pointed to the old woman standing beside her, and smiled, “Grandma will pay the bill.”

He’s Got A Nose For It

Sidey’s weekend theme is unusual angles.

When I was pregnant with Spud, we went for our first scan.  All I could see on the screen was a blob, but the Hub exclaimed, ‘It’s got my nose!’

And he has:

I Wouldn’t Give You Twenty Cents For A Grudge

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What’s the longest grudge you’ve ever held?

I have mentioned this before: the 20 cents it cost us to get into a museum of modern art, on our honeymoon in Cape Town, twenty-six years ago.

On that same honeymoon, I spent the happiest two Rand: we spotted some pretty side plates in an antique shop and it was the first time the Hub ever said, ‘My wife would like to look at those, please.’  I blushed and simpered, and it still makes me smile.

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Joke 94

A man lying on his deathbed called for his lawyer, his doctor, and his pastor. “I am going to die tonight, and I want to prove that when you go to heaven you can take it all with you. So to you, my three most trusted friends, I am giving you $50,000 in these envelopes. When I die you must come to my funeral and put the envelopes in my coffin with me.”

He handed the three men identical envelopes.

A day later they each received news that the old man had died.  Each knew they must go to his funeral and fulfil his death wish.

Standing over the coffin one week later, the pastor confessed, “I can’t hide what I’ve done. I took $10,000 from the envelope because the church needed to be painted.”

The doctor began to fidget, then finally confessed, “I took $30,000 from my envelope because the hospital needed a new wing.”

The lawyer was outraged.  “You pair of crooks!  I wrote him a cheque for the full amount!”

My Name Is Tilly And I Am A Mother

I have two sentences for Six Word Saturday

I’m always proud of my children.

I don’t understand parents who aren’t.

I am not indiscriminate in my pride; merely doting.  I don’t get those parents who don’t feel the need to share all the doings of their kids and how wonderful they are.  My kids are wonderful; let me tell you about them.

They are polite, decent, friendly young men.   They work hard; they are considerate and helpful.  They do their best.

This week’s inspiration came from Tory Boy’s aforementioned involvement in organising a big event (and it’s not his first); and the news that Spud has won a Headmaster’s Award for being an all-round good egg i.e. a nice human being (and it’s not his first).

So don’t mind me sharing this time (and it’s not my first) that I’m proud of my kids.  Because I am, and I don’t care who knows it.