Archive for June, 2012

Last night my husband and I went out for a buffet dinner. I find it interesting to watch the people in line to get an idea of what type of person they are. Much like the variety of dishes offered you’ll find a variety of people.

Most of the dishes were labeled, but some were not. The people who served themselves a big helping of the mystery meat are the risk takers. The lady in front of me who examined every tomato from the salad was the cautious type. She’d pick up a tomato with the tongs, turn it, hold it up to the light, view it under her magnifying glass and then toss it back. She’d pick a different tomato and start again. The person who cuts in line is like the distracted driver who cuts you off in traffic because they’re busy texting. They’re oblivious to the fact that they’re the cause for chaos.

However, the person who intrigues me most is the one who gets their dessert plate the same time as their dinner plate. They have a plate piled high with food that should take an hour to eat and a dessert plate filled with hot, delicious desserts that will turn cold before it’s eaten. Why not wait till you’re done with the main course to get dessert? It’ll still be there. These people are not big on sharing and run under the assumption of ‘I know what’s mine,’ and they’d knock down anybody who gets in their way. This type of person would have knocked down your grandmother on the titanic as they jumped in the lifeboat, while eating a cinnamon bun they got from the buffet. I may have been knocked down a few times by my husband, by golly, I still love him.


“My grandfather had a wonderful funeral….It was held in a big hall with accordion playres. On the buffet table there was a replica of the deceased in potato salad.”


Woody Allen

Summertime is here and that means toasted buns. I’m not talking about hotdog or hamburger buns; I’m talking about human buns. When I was little I used to get toasted buns by going down a metal slide (before plastic ones.)

Now that I’m an adult my buns are toasted when I get in my car and sit on the hot leather seats which have been left to sit in the boiling sun for hours. When I remember I take a towel to sit on. On the days I don’t have a towel my unprotected skin meets the burning leather causing the skin to sizzle. One time the heat of the seat dissolved my self tanner, unaware, I walked around all day with two toned legs. Not pretty.

I hated going to my grandmother’s in the summer because she had no air conditioning and plastic slipcovers on all her furniture. I would sit in the living-room, on the couch and sweat. Do you know what happens to bare skin on hot slipcovers? It sticks! You stick and then you start to sweat. Trying to get up off a sticky slipcover is not easy and the slipcover becomes noisy under the movement. The noise is akin to whoopee cushion noises and was frowned upon by the adults who were ignoring me. They would take the time from their conversation to advise me to, “Knock it off.” and then go back to ignoring me.  They ignored me as twist and turned to peel my legs off the slipcover. They ignored me as I rocked back and forth trying to get momentum to haul my body forward to escape the grasp of plastic sweat. They ignored me till finally I broke free and slithered to the floor, covered in sweat and exhausted from the battle. They’d notice me and tell me, “What the hell’s wrong with you? Get up off the floor and sit on the couch.”

So, even though there are hot summer days when I curse my car seat I’m grateful it doesn’t come with a plastic slipcover.

Growing up in theBronxI learned to sleep through sirens and horns. When we moved to the country I would lie awake at night listening to the quiet. It took awhile to get used to it. With the bedroom window open I would be lulled to sleep by the cricket right outside.

Then we moved to a city in NC where we live now and I had to readjust to noise and noisy neighbors. When I would turn in for the night our neighbors would turn on their bad, loud music. So, I bought a sound machine to block out all the outside noise to make inside noise. It had several noises to choose from. A waterfall – got on my nerves. Rain – now I have great bladder control. Thunderstorm – first night I used it there was a real thunderstorm happening outside, so I had thunderstorm in stereo. When I woke I thought it was still raining, forgetting about the noise machine. Summer night – which they should call night in a rain forest. I like this one, but the croaking frogs are a little unnerving; I guess because I always think of my mother’s frog story.

When my mother first moved toFloridashe thought her house was haunted because of the mysterious prints on her bathroom walls. When she went to bed at night her bathroom walls were clean. When she woke up in the morning there were indescribable marks on the bath walls. She’d clean them and the next day they’d be back. It continued like this till she was advised to keep the lid down on her toilet seat as during the night a frog was jumping from the toilet and onto her walls, causing the marks. She questioned the advice, but having nothing to lose she did it. The next morning she woke to clean walls. Problem solved

I wouldn’t mind the frogs so much if I didn’t envision them jumping from the toilet onto my face. I can’t fall asleep with that image in my head. It’s not as peaceful as sirens and horns.


“It is a truly wise man who does not play leap frog with a unicorn”

A USA Today article reported that a new dating site called Find Your FaceMate to be launched July 10 uses facial recognition software to suggest pairings. The article discussed why people tend to be drawn to look-alikes and how research has been done to explain why some unconsciously seek partners with similar features.

What I want to know is this before or after someone has had extensive plastic surgery? What’s it tell you if you’re dating a girl with a nose like yours and she gets plastic surgery to correct what she calls, “Her hideous nose?” After you get over the insult would you still be attracted to her? When the two of you break up (and you will) will she then look for someone who has her new nose or her old nose?

I think we can stretch this theory and apply it to pets and their owners. We all know how some people and their dogs look alike. We have two friends who are dog owners and not only do they look alike (although when one dog got a makeover he looked better than the owner) but they have the same personality. One friend is uptight and wired tight and her dog exhibits her personality by his skittish behavior. The other friend has a very mellow dog that has a ‘come what may’ attitude. He greets strangers and family by sniffing and walking away; no jumping, no barking. He lives with a family of mellow people.

Trouble can arise when a person selects someone with similar facial features, and that person’s a twin, an identical twin. The possibilities of sordid scenarios are best left to the imagination. Pause. Imagine. Done? Let’s move on. Now, erase those images from your mind and go out and find someone who looks like you, and if he doesn’t look like you, may he look good enough to be with you.


As a parent one of the first things we taught our children when leaving one or all of them home alone for the first time was to not answer the door for anybody. I’d practice fake going out and then run up to the door and ring the bell. After an hour of waiting, I was satisfied I had taught them well and would go out for real. While out, I would call and ask if anybody came to the door. When told, “Yes,” I asked who it was. In an exasperated tone I was told, “How should we know? You told us not to answer the door.” I had to admit they had a point.

When a stranger came to the door and I was home with them they learned the adult, safe way of reacting. First I’d yell at them to lower the TV (the stranger had to hear the TV or me yelling) so they won’t know we’re home. Next we would slowly and quietly approach the front door; although with three kids you can’t really do anything quietly. When we past the window, next to the door, I’d tell them to drop and crawl in case the stranger is looking in. (Hey, remember, I said this was the adult approach, not the smart approach.) At the door I’d drag over my stool (I’m vertically challenged) to look thru the peep hole. I’d hold my finger to my lips to silence my kids. They would yell at one another to be quiet. It amazed me they always made more noise when trying to be quiet. With the kids crouched and quiet I’d look thru the peep hole and… Gasp! The stranger on the other side was looking in. Oh, no, I was busted! Did the strange man see me thru the looking glass? We do the only logical, mature thing to do – we hyperventilate and wait him out. Finally, we hear footsteps and a truck pulling out of the driveway. We open the door to see the mail truck pulling away and a box on the porch step. Since the box was heavy we left it for my husband to bring in when he got home. He forgot his key. He rang the doorbell. Upon hearing the doorbell we lowered the TV, then slowly and quietly…


Cindy Argiento, is the 4th-Place winner in the most recent “America’s Funniest Humor!”(TM) Writing Contest held by, one of the Internet’s highest-ranking humor contest sites.  Her entry, “Living on a Budget,” is about her and her husband trying to live within a budget. Big Brother who watches and accounts for every penny spent makes the relationship an unhappy threesome. Click here to view “Living on a Budget”.

Yesterday in exercise class we sang happy birthday to the instructor. It was as pathetic a rendition I’ve ever heard. Some people were mumbling and some I suspect were lip synching. I hate when people sing happy birthday in public, especially to me. We go to this restaurant that serves the birthday person a special, free dessert along with a side of ‘happy birthday.’ I want to slither under the table or disappear with my own invisible cloak. Just give me my free dessert and leave. Don’t announce it over the PA system and encourage other diners to clap their hands and sing along with. This is not a fun Disney sing-a-long.

My local dinner theater is notorious for singling out birthday people. The MC will announce wedding anniversaries, engagements, birthdays and botched plastic surgeries. By the time he’s done the birthday boy or girl is another year older.

What’s next? Will grocery stores and movie theaters start announcing birthdays? If so this would come to an abrupt halt if the birthday boy or girl had to make enough cupcakes to share with the group, the way kids in school do. Yep, if bringing in a treat, bring for the whole class, even the kids you don’t like; happy birthday to you. Watching the kids at school hand out the goodies I considered myself lucky since my birthday fell during the summer. Yep, my birthday is July 17, but no need to make a fuss or a big announcement. July 17 will come and go just like any other day. Let’s keep it between us.


You know you are getting old when the candles cost more than the cake.
– Bob Hope

For Father’s Day I gave my husband a fire pit. He quickly assembled it and started a fire. Once the fire was going we made smores. As we stuck the marshmallows on the wooden sticks we collected from beneath a tree I prayed that a stray dog didn’t do his business on them. (I’m referring to previous blog. To read, go to the proof is in the poo.) Blanking out such unpleasant thoughts I got busy roasting marshmallows.

The key to a good smore is all about the perfect marshmallow. Roast it to low and it’ll catch on fire.  Don’t roast it enough and it’s undercooked, unable to melt the chocolate, and what’s the point. When roasting, your marshmallow must be secured on the stick so it doesn’t fall off, into the fire.

While the kids and I were busy striving for the perfect marshmallow my husband and son-in-law was busy playing caveman with the fire.  As they stood, gazing at the fire, dressed as Fred Flintstone, with club in hand, they pounded their chests with their fists and in a caveman tone said, “Fire. Me like fire.” The caveman mentality that possesses men when they’re around fire, unconsciously leads to competition. My husband had a pile of newspapers to feed the fire. My son-in-law had a bigger pile. My husband moved a log, pounded his chest and announced proudly, “That’s perfect.” My son-in-law moved two logs, pounded his chest, rubbed his loin cloth and proclaimed, “Now, that’s perfection.” For such a small fire, there was big rivalry. One would poke, the other would poke. One would prod, the other would prod. I was tempted to measure their sticks.  But, I didn’t care who had the bigger stick; my stick was the right size to roast the perfect marshmallow.

I don’t really hate you, it’s just that if you were on fire, I’d roast marshmallows.. –Anonymous

Back when we lived inNew Yorkwe moved into a house that had been vacant awhile. And since it had been vacant a neighborhood dog had claimed it as his own personal bathroom, even after we moved in. We never found out who the owner was. Today, thanks toDNAwe would be able to find the dog and its owner. PooPrints is a process in whichDNAsamples can be collected from dogs, so if dog poop is on your property it can be determined which dog is the culprit and the owner will be fined. Property managers across the nation are beginning to use this. I think it’s a great idea.

Where I live there’s doggie stations – a plastic bag to scoop up the poop and a trash bin to dispose of the poop. Since these are posted on the walking trails you would think every dog owner would use them, but they don’t. Since most pet owners think of their dogs as their children I don’t understand how one would let their child go on another person’s property and not clean it up.

Some pet owners dress up their dog. They pose with them in their wedding pictures (a little creepy.) And they have birthday parties for them and take them for ice cream. (I know this person.) Some whip out pictures, like they’re showing off the grandkids. They refer to them as their children.

Well, why then, if they’re just like your children and you treat them like children, do you let them go to the bathroom on your neighbor’s lawn? Would you let your child poop on the flowers around your neighbor’s mailbox and walk away? I don’t think so. Would you let your child pee on some stranger’s newly fertilized lawn and walk away? I don’t think so. Would you let your child pee on the snowman your neighbor’s children made to celebrate the first annual snowfall? I don’t think so. Poor Frosty. Would you let your child lift its leg to pee… let me stop here… if your child is lifting its leg to pee you have bigger problems than I thought. Get help!


Dogs are the leaders of the planet. If you see two life forms, one of them’s making a poop, the other one’s carrying it for him, who would you assume is in charge?

Jerry Seinfeld

My daughter’s friend ate dinner with us last night. This sweet, polite girl morphs into a barbarian when she eats. She holds her head so close to her plate the ketchup winds up darting her glasses. When you point it out to her she looks up and says “Oh, I wondered why it was getting dark in here.”

Last night, while eating, she was constantly sniffing. She would chew and sniff, chew and sniff. It was a symphony of really gross sounds. Finally, I asked if she needed a tissue. She replied, “No,” then grabbed her napkin and blew her nose. Gross! Gross! Gross!

After a minute my flesh stopped crawling and the screams inside my head subsided. It was the napkin she wiped her mouth with. She could have gotten a bread crumb stuck up there. (I hate when I’m at a restaurant and someone blows there nose loud enough for all the other diners to hear, grossing them out.)

Watching her reminded me of the time my son’s friend blew his nose with one of our linen napkins; the napkins used only with the china and for special holidays. That napkin wasn’t disposable like the paper one my daughter’s friend used. We had to wash, disinfect, wash, disinfect at least 100 times and now I give it to people I don’t really care for.

Since it seems the people who come to my house are lacking in table manners, may be I’ll do away with napkins all together and give them an old sleeve to use. If they’re just going to blow snot into it, what difference does it make?


“Good manners sometimes means simply putting up with other people’s bad manners.”

H. Jackson Brown, Jr.