Category Archives: humor

Granny Tango

Voice Work

Your blog is about to be recorded into an audiobook. If you could choose anyone — from your grandma to Samuel L. Jackson — to narrate your posts, who would it be?

Granny Tango

Truly conflicted, Samuel L. Jackson and Grandma discuss who best can narrate “Seriouslyjustsaying.”

“So nice to meet you, Mr. Jackson.”

“Same here, Grandma or may I call you Gertrude?”

“Yes, Gertrude is fine, I’ve been told my granddaughter has a blog that will be recorded, will she be arrested, do I need a lawyer?”

“No Grandma, rather Gertrude, it’s nothing like that, a blog is a post, how can I explain this . . . your granddaughter is a writer and publishes her work online, she’s not in any trouble.”

“Oh petty, that is such a comfort, my brother Thomas was a writer, a lovely writer, so dear, why are we here?”

“Well Gert, they need someone to record, you know tape her stories, make an audiobook. It’s between you and me.”

“Oh petty, what’s an audiobook? I don’t want to do that.”

“F___, Granny I don’t want to do that either.”

“Well, Mr. Jackson, let’s get Mikey, he’ll do it!”

. . . Seriously just saying






The Mean Wife



The Good Wife

Well, I do not want to be the director. Really, I would rather be Alicia, “The Good Wife”. She always looks great and never, never once shopped. Let us not pretend, in real life she probably has, as well as screamed at her kids.

Pretend is so much better and that is why we love Alicia.

However if I had to replace her with a family member it would have to be a Mother-in-law, not my mother-in-law. She recently died and  I will not speak ill of the dead, but no one cried for her.

We need not be maudlin, but have some fun.

Episode One:

Alicia drives to her kid’s school crying hysterically at dismissal and tells them their father, Peter,  is having an affair and she is going home to kill herself.

Pretend is so much better and that is why we love Alicia.

Dig Deeper


Digging Up Your Digs

500 years from now, an archaeologist accidentally stumbles on the ruins of your home, long-buried underground. What will she learn about early 21st century humans by going through (what remains) of your stuff?

Dig Deeper

Terran 48 removed her head shell and spoke directly into the drone, “Contact the Archaeology Ministry, we unearthed a digital picture frame, manufactured by Kodak with humans of all ages laughing,smiling and dancing; evidence that Homo-sapiens were programmed for happiness as early as 1970. ”

. . . Seriously just saying

Not Happening!

Zoltar’s Revenge

In a reversal of Big, the Tom Hanks classic from the 80s, your adult self is suddenly locked in the body of a 12-year-old kid. How do you survive your first day back in school?

Not Happening!

I shake and shutter at the thought. The year would be 1960 and I’d be going into the seventh grade in WAJ Central.

You cannot make me do it, I am not going back.

I am, in fact, missing on the reunion list, although my name appears with the caption “Do you know where this graduate is?”

But I am not returning.

The school is named WAJ, after the sending towns; Windham, Ashland and Jewett. You can  locate it on a map, by looking for Green County above Kingston, New York. If you ski, perhaps you’ve been to the sloops of “Windham Mountain Resort.

WAJ is a small rural school with kindergarten through twelfth grade housed in one building. There were thirty-five students in my 1966 graduating class, one of which was my brother, because although older, he was left back twice.

Our move from Long Island to the Northern Catskills was a middle of the night move, motivated by our father’s belief it was better that constructing a bomb shelter.

Anyway, why go back as an adult, I was one of the few adults way back than.

Well I could go back and tell the science teacher, Mr. Christman, not to throw a frog reeking of formaldehyde out the window and comfort to Ms. Lazare, the French teacher, who after hearing a loud pop believed she’d been shot and fell to the ground clutching her chest. 

But I am not going back and you cannot make me!

. . . Seriously just saying




Dyslexia of The Mouth


 Uncanned Laughter
A misused word, a misremembered song lyric, a cream pie that just happened to be there: tell us about a time you (or someone else) said or did something unintentionally funny.

Dyslexia of the Mouth

Talk about hitting the hammer on the head or nailing the head of a hammer, well you hit the nail on the head. This is me and I blame my brother. In childhood, Victor hit me on the head with a baseball bat and on another happy occasion, a lead pipe. I hear him laughing now, and the laughter follows me.

Like a stroke victim, I think I am saying circumference, my mouth says circumcise and people laugh. “What? What’s so funny about a circumference?” I’m listening to my mind unaware my mouth is not cooperating.

This dyslexia of the mouth was brought to my attention by my boyfriend. We were twenty and playing the word game Geography. A graduate of private school, Iona Prep, he had a true advantage. I graduated from Windham Ashland Jewett Central and had traveled only once outside New York to Rhode Island.

We’d been through all the states and working on Countries. I was doing okay; until the letter, O.

Stumped to name a European City that began with O, Bob helped me saying, “It’s a city in Norway.”

I scream excitedly, “I know Openhagen!”

LOL, Openhagen? LOL,Openhagen?

Oslo is a city in Norway that begins with the letter O. Copenhagen, the capital of Denmark is close by. If the c is  scratched you have a European city that begins with O.

I wish I had a dollar for every time he has retold the story laughing very out loud.

We’ve been married for forty-three years.

. . . Seriously just saying

Blogging School Drop-Out


April 24, 2014
It’s 6:45AM and I’m sitting at my desk wearing a pink fuzzy robe and slippers that are too big. The music from “Beauty School Drop-out” is swirling through my head only, blogging has replaced beauty.

Seriously, I’m considering dropping out or taking a medical leave from Blogging University. I don’t know if today is day ten, eleven or twelve. I haven’t completed assignments from day six through whatever we’re up to and I’m having dreams about failing.

It’s the day of the final, every seat in the classroom is filled, except mine. I wonder the room looking for a different seat and a pencil with an eraser. The exam will include reading aloud from Oliver Twist, and I never bought the book. A pencil holder is on the front desk, I check its content and none of the pencils have points. There are several Papermate Sharp Writers, but they are broken.

The professor, wearing jeans and shoes without socks, sneaks up behind me. He’s never been  to class before, and I’m surprised by his looks; a spitting image of Tom Scary, my first high school crush., except his  nose is much pointer.

He frowns, cracks his neck, and says, “Looking for something?”

I mumble, “A pencil.” Then continue to confess, “I’m unprepared. I never read Oliver Twist or Catcher in the Rye and can’t understand Shakespeare.” Tears are forming in my eyes.

He reaches in his pocket for a pen he hands me, saying; “Use this!”

Then turns to the class, and says, “Who wants to read first?”

I woke up in a cold sweat.

It took ten minutes to write this, an hour and fifteen minutes to edit, and two days to select an image header.

I’m getting dressed. It’s hard for me to think when my boobs are touching my waist, and besides I have dryer lint on my mind.


. . . . Seriously, what’s on your writing mind?

7 Golden Rules of Blogging