I grew up hating my legs. It was bad enough they were skinny, but worse yet were those darned boney knock-knees.

As an adult I’ve come to accept what is and learned to get on with my life! I try not to let the inferior feelings of my adolescence creep into this eccentric mind of mine.

My solution: I just cover them up so as to not draw attention to my short-comings — or is that long-goings?! Now this works well for half the year, but in the warmer weather, it’s especially bad since:

It’s hotter ‘en hades here in Phoenix, AZ USA.

You ladies out there can probably sympathize with me on this one in the summertime; you gotta start shaving those legs again!

But what the heck for? I often wonder why. Is it entirely for vanity? I should say not! I think we shave our legs so they will be silky smooth for when we… oh never mind! I’ll just look forward to my reprieve in the winter again!

I have yet to find the perfect razor; one that will remove EVERY hair on the knees. Since my knees are so boney. I have to be eSpEcIaLlY careful when I shave my legs. I’ve tried the tic, tac, toe method. I’ve gone backwards, sideways and shaved them criss/cross and STILL cannot get all of that fuzz off of my knees!

Years ago I even bought one of those TORTURE shavers; I’m sure some of you got sucked into buying one too. You know, the one with the coil on it that literally rIPpEd the hairs out in groups of ten? I was too ashamed of my purchase to take it back to the store, so I just packed it away in my razor archives along with all of the other shavers and razors that missed the mark.

I keep hanging in there, every day, religiously! You’d think by shaving EVERY day I’d manage to eventually shave the one’s I missed the day before.

Yesterday, I was in a grocery store and happened to glance down at my knees and discovered to my horror that I had simply NEVER shaved my knees before! It seems as if the hairs from my youth actually survived all of these years! How can this be? How can someone miss so many hairs day after day when shaving each and every single day?

I’ve heard the women in Europe don’t shave at all. Now thar’s a thought.

And furthermore, don’t you just hate it when you’re shaving UP your shins and the razor slips and you shave OFF the skin too? And of course, those are the type of cuts that don’t bleed right away. The absolute WORSE kind! I hate it when that happens!

I was preparing chicken legs for dinner the other day. As I was cleaning the chicken I noticed that it had the same type of “fuzzy” problem as I have on my knees! My first thought after I put my razor away was that I oughta’ just buy skinless chicken!! Why go through all this frustration?

If I can’t shave my own legs right, what makes me think I can shave the microscopic leftover feathers off a chicken’s legs?

Technorati Tags: chicken, comedy, Frustration, funny, Funny Stories, Humor, legs, razor, shavers, stories

It seems that Sam is dying, so Moe comes to visit him. “Sam,” says Moe, “You know how we have both loved baseball all our lives. Sam, you gotta’ do me one favor. When you go, somehow you’ve got to tell me if there’s baseball in heaven.”

Sam looks up at Moe from his deathbed and says, “Moe, you’ve been my friend many years. This favor I’ll do for you.” And with that, Sam passes on.

It is midnight a couple nights later. Moe is sound asleep when a distant voice calls out to him, “Moe….Moe….”

“Who is it?” says Moe sitting up suddenly. “Who is it?”

“Moe, it’s Sam.”

“Come on. You’re not Sam. Sam died.”

“I’m telling you,” insists the voice. “It’s me, Sam!”

“Sam? Is that you? Where are you?”

“I’m in heaven,” says Sam, “and I’ve got to tell you, I’ve got some good news and some bad news.”

“Tell me the good news first,” says Moe.

“The good news,” says Sam “is that there is baseball in heaven.”

“Really?” says Moe, “That’s wonderful! What’s the bad news?”

“You’re pitching Tuesday!”

DUMMERSTON, Vt. – Over drinks the other night, a friend explained to me “The Grandmother Hypothesis,” which is based on the idea that the human race has progressed so far in its evolution — progressed over animals, I believe, not over its own best instincts — because, unlike animals, who die after their reproductive life is over, humans continue to live.

That gives the race, as a whole, a large number of women with free time and energy who can help nurture their grandchildren, protect the family, gather food, and in general devote themselves to the welfare of the species.

The hypothesis, developed by a team from the University of Utah led by Professor Kristen Hawkes, an anthropologist, appeared in an article in the journal, “Proceedings of the National Academy of Science.” It tied in nicely with something I have been thinking about since I saw “Titanic.”

I loved the movie, not because of its special effects, and certainly not because I thought Leonardo for introducing me to her. I took from the film a calmness that lasted for days.

As it turned out, the very next evening, on public television, I found myself in a similar state of ecstasy watching “Porgy and Bess: An American Voice.” The program, created by James A. Standifer, a music professor at the University of Michigan, examined with intelligence and truthfulness the artistic and racial issues raised by the Gershwin opera.

But the epiphany, for me, came at the end, when the stars of the first production, in 1935, sat in an album-lined room listening to their young selves sing gloriously on record.

The camera, in a quiet moment of Zen felicity, lingered for a long time on the faces of Anne Brown, now 86, and Todd Duncan, 95, as they listened with looks of wonder to the great beauty of their voices so many years ago. At intervals, we saw them young and on film, playing the parts of Porgy and Bess, Brown so beautiful that she took my breath away, Duncan, so strong and yet so crippled that I was stories from that bottomless well of secrets that is the female heart.

I find myself in the odd position of being old numerically but in the middle of my life emotionally and professionally. My grandmothers were old at the age I am today; I remember them as plump, white-haired women with no life at all except the ones they made inside their families. I’m their age now, and yet I’m not old at all. And I’m at a loss to make the number that represents the years I’ve lived compute with the person who has lived them.

It has long been a truism that our society discards women after menopause. Actually, women are discarded all the way through their lives: when they become, for some reason, crippled; when they put on 20 extra pounds; when they stop dedicating their lives to being attractive to men; when they are pregnant; when they are mothers; when they are old.

It is possible that the Baby Boomers will change this, because there are as many vital and productive women out there who are turning 50 as there are men, and they have enjoyed jobs, power and money throughout their lives. They have voices and, perhaps, will refuse to be discarded. It is possible that “Titanic” was — pardon me — the tip of the iceberg, and we will be fortunate to know the stories of many accomplished women, that Toni Morrison, Maya Angelou, and even Gloria Stuart will not be so alone with their great achievements and white hair.

That is why I like “The Grandmother Hypothesis.” It makes sense that older women are a treasure, a resource, a source of wisdom, a repository of history. Maybe they even are one reason for the evolutionary success of the human species.

But I must admit that after a cognac or two, my friend and I started wondering, “While the grandmothers were helping the species to evolve, exactly what were the grandfathers doing?”

Joyce Marcel lives in Dummerston, VT. She is a free-lance journalist, a travel writer, and a music critic. This piece was originally published in the on-line newspaper, American Reporter, where her pop culture column, called Momentum, appears every Friday.

Joyce would love to hear your comments!

Technorati Tags: grandmnothers, Titanic

“Don’t…”

“Don’t what?” Adam replied.

“Don’t eat the forbidden fruit.” God said.

“Forbidden fruit? We got forbidden fruit? Hey, Eve…we got Forbidden Fruit!”

“No way!”

“Yes WAY!”

“Don’t eat that fruit!” said God.

“Why?”

“Because I’m your Creator and I said so!” said God, wondering why he hadn’t stopped after making the elephants.

A few minutes later God saw the kids having an apple break and was angry…

“Didn’t I tell you not to eat that fruit?” God asked.

“Uh huh,” Adam replied.

“Then why did you?”

“I dunno,” Eve answered.

“She started it!” Adam said.

“Did Not!”

“DID so!”

“DID NOT!!”

Having had it with the two of them, God’s punishment was that Adam and Eve should have children of their own. Thus the pattern was set and it has never changed.

But there is a reassurance in this story. If you have persistently and lovingly tried to give them wisdom and they haven’t taken it, don’t be hard on yourself. If God had trouble handling children, what makes you think it would be a piece of cake for you?

Beelzebug (n.) Satan in the form of a mosquito that gets into your bedroom at 3 in the morning and cannot be cast out.

Bozone (n.) The substance surrounding stupid people that stops bright ideas penetrating. The bozone layer, unfortunately, shows little sign of breaking down in the near future.

Cashtration (n.) The act of buying a house, which renders the subject financially impotent for an indefinite period.

Caterpallor (n.) The color you turn after finding half a grub in the fruit you’re eating.

Decaflon (n.) The gruelling event of getting through the day consuming only things that are good for you.

Dopelar effect (n.) The tendency of stupid ideas to seem smarter when you come at them rapidly.

Extraterrestaurant (n.) An eating place where you feel you’ve been abducted and experimented on. Also known as ETry.

Faunacated (adj.) How wildlife ends up when its environment is destroyed. Hence faunacatering (n.), which has made a meal of many species.

Foreploy (n.) Any misrepresentation or outright lie about yourself that leads to sex.

Grantartica (n.) The cold, isolated place where arts companies without funding dwell.

Hemaglobe (n.) The bloody state of the world.

Intaxication (n.) Euphoria at getting a tax refund, which lasts until you realize it was your money to start with.

Kinstirpation (n.) A painful inability to move relatives who come to visit.

Thanks to the authors of New Words and More Words, who challenged this brain dead mind of mine to THINK again! Please check back often as the list of definitions below is likely to grow.

More definitions:

Pizzacide (peet’ suh side)v. The act of picking up the pizza dough to knead it and discovering that it wasn’t quite dough yet as it slithers through your fingers on it’s way to the floor.

Escapaholic (ess cape uh hall’ ik)n. A person who mistakenly thinks that if they press their escape key over and over and over again it will stop any action on their pc no matter what.

Omigoshimdeadmeat (Oh my gosh, I’m dead meat)v. That sinking feeling you get when you gossip about the person you just received an email from and discover too late that you used the reply icon instead of the forward icon and sent your repsonse back to the same person you’re gossiping about.

Forwardmailfunctionnormal (for wurd may il funk shun nor mul)n. A wise person who always uses the forward mail icon when gossiping about a person they just received email from.

Chorepalsy (chor pawl’ zee)n. A person who can no longer do housework due to paralysis of certain housework cleaning muscles.

Workthosekidsophobia (wurk thoz kidz oh foe be uh)n. Fear of making your kids do all the work around the house.

Bribethemtheywilldoitation (br eye b thehm thay wil du it ay shun)v. The act of paying mega bucks to lure your teens do work around the house.

Teledextrous (tel eh dex trus)v. The ability to clean house while talking on your cordless phone.

Pcdextrous (pee see dex trus)v. The amazing ability to clean house while working on your personal computer.

Wysiwyg (wuht yu see iz wuht yu git)n. 1. A person who is self confident and puts on no pretense. 2. A housework challenged homemaker who doesn’t try to hide the fact that they are challenged. 3. What the mother see’s of her house when she comes home from work and discovers the kids have already been home. 4. The teenager’s bedroom.

AQUADEXTROUS (ak wa deks’ trus)adj. Possessing the ability to turn the bathtub faucet on and off with your toes.

AQUALIBRIUM (ak wa lib’ re um)n. The point where the stream of drinking fountain water is at its perfect height, thus relieving the drinker from (a) having to suck the nozzle, or (b) squirting himself in the eye.

BURGACIDE (burg’ uh side)n. When a hamburger can’t take any more torture and hurls itself through the grill into the coals.

BUZZACKS (buz’ aks)n. People in phone marts who walk around picking up display phones and listening for dial tones even when they know the phones are not connected.

CARPERPETUATION (kar’ pur pet u a shun)n. The act, when vacuuming, of running over a string or a piece of lint at least a dozen times, reaching over and picking it up, examining it, then putting it back down to give the vacuum one more chance.

DIMP (dimp)n. A person who insults you in a cheap department store by asking, “Do you work here?”

DISCONFECT (dis kon fekt’)v. To sterilize the piece of candy you dropped on the floor by blowing on it, somehow assuming this will remove all the germs.

ECNALUBMA (ek na lub’ ma)n. A rescue vehicle which can only be seen in the rearview mirror.

EIFFELITES (eye’ ful eyetz)n. Gangly people sitting in front of you at the movies who, no matter what direction you lean in, follow suit.

ELBONICS (el bon’ iks)n. The actions of two people maneuvering for one armrest in a movie theater or airplane.

ELECELLERATION (el a cel er ay’ shun)n. The mistaken notion that the more you press an elevator button the faster it will arrive.

FRUST (frust)n. The small line of debris that refuses to be swept onto the dust pan and keeps backing a person across the room until he finally decides to give up and sweep it under the rug.

LACTOMANGULATION (lak’ to man gyu lay’ shun)n. Manhandling the “open here” spout on a milk container so badly that one has to resort to the ‘illegal’ side.

NEONPHANCY (ne on’ fan see)n. A fluorescent light bulb struggling to come to life.

PEPPIER (pehp ee ay’)n. The waiter at a fancy restaurant whose sole purpose seems to be walking around asking diners if they want ground pepper.

PETONIC (peh ton’ ik)adj. One who is embarrassed to undress in front of a household pet.

PHONESIA (fo nee’ zhuh)n. The affliction of dialing a phone number and forgetting whom you were calling just as they answer.

PUPKUS (pup’ kus)n. The moist residue left on a window after a dog presses its nose to it.

TELECRASTINATION (tel e kras tin ay’ shun)n. The act of always letting the phone ring at least twice before you pick it up, even when you’re only six inches away.

TELEPHONEY (tel ah fo nee)n. The act of being nice to someone during a telephone call, when in fact you hate their guts and can’t wait to hang up. Often used to describe job applicants and blind dates.

10. I think of you as a brother. (You remind me of that inbred banjo-playing geek in “Deliverance.”)

9. There’s a slight difference in our ages. (You are one jurassic geezer.)

8. I’m not attracted to you in ‘that’ way. (You are the ugliest dork I’ve ever laid eyes upon.)

7. My life is too complicated right now. (I don’t want you spending the whole night or else you may hear phone calls from all the other guys I’m seeing.)

6. I’ve got a boyfriend (who’s really my male cat and a half gallon of Ben and Jerry’s).

5. I don’t date men where I work. (Hey, bud, I wouldn’t even date you if you were in the same ’solar system’, much less the same building.)

4. It’s not you, it’s me. (It’s not me, it’s you.)

3. I’m concentrating on my career. (Even something as boring and unfulfilling as my job is better than dating you.)

2. I’m celibate. (I’ve sworn off only the men like you.)

…and the number 1 rejection line given by women (and what it actually means)

1. Let’s be friends. (I want you to stay around so I can tell you in excruciating detail about all the other men I meet. It’s that male perspective thing)

Top 10 Rejection Lines Given By Men
(and what they actually mean)

10. I think of you as a sister. (You’re ugly.)

9. There’s a slight difference in our ages. (You’re ugly.)

8. I’m not attracted to you in ‘that’ way. (You’re ugly.)

7. My life is too complicated right now. (You’re ugly.)

6. I’ve got a girlfriend. (You’re ugly.)

5. I don’t date women where I work. (You’re ugly.)

4. It’s not you, it’s me. (You’re ugly.)

3. I’m concentrating on my career. (You’re ugly.)

2. I’m celibate. (You’re ugly.)

…and the number 1 rejection line given by men (and what it actually means)

1. Let’s be friends. (You’re unbelievably ugly.)

1. Verbs HAS to agree with their subjects.

2. Prepositions are not words to end sentences with.

3. And don’t start a sentence with a conjunction.

4. It is wrong to ever split an infinitive.

5. Avoid clichés like the plague. (They’re old hat.)

6. Also, always avoid annoying alliteration.

7. Be more or less specific.

8. Parenthetical remarks (however relevant) are (usually) unnecessary.

9. Also too, never, ever use repetitive redundancies.

10. No sentence fragments.

11. Contractions aren’t necessary and shouldn’t be used.

12. Foreign words and phrases are not apropos.

13. Do not be redundant; do not use more words than necessary; it’s highly superfluous.

14. One should NEVER generalize.

15. Comparisons are as bad as cliches.

16. Don’t use no double negatives.

17. Eschew ampersands & abbreviations, etc.

18. One-word sentences? Eliminate.

19. Analogies in writing are like feathers on a snake.

20. The passive voice is to be ignored.

21. Eliminate commas, that are, not necessary. Parenthetical words however should be enclosed in commas.

22. Never use a big word when a diminutive one would suffice.

23. Kill all exclamation points!!!

24. Use words correctly, irregardless of how others use them.

25. Understatement is always the absolute best way to put forth earth-shaking ideas.

26. Use the apostrophe in it’s proper place and omit it when its not needed.

27. Eliminate quotations. As Ralph Waldo Emerson said, “I hate quotations. Tell me what you know.”

28. If you’ve heard it once, you’ve heard it a thousand times: Resist hyperbole. Not one writer in a million can use it correctly.

29. Puns are for children, not groan readers.

30. Go around the barn at high noon to avoid colloquialisms.

31. Even if a mixed metaphor sings, it should be derailed.

32. Who needs rhetorical questions?

33. Exaggeration is a billion times worse than understatement. And finally…

34. Proofread carefully to see if you any words out.

Technorati Tags: grammar, spellcheck, writers

It had been a rough day, so when I walked into the party I was very chalant, despite my efforts to appear gruntled and consolate.

I was furling my wieldy umbrella for the coat check when I saw her standing alone in a corner. She was a descript person, a woman in a state of total array. Her hair was kempt, her clothing shevelled, and she moved in a gainly way. I wanted desperately to meet her, but I knew I’d have to make bones about it since I was travelling cognito.

Beknownst to me, the hostess, whom I could see both hide and hair of, was very proper, so it would be skin off my nose if anything bad happened. And even though I had only swerving loyalty to her, my manners couldn’t be peccable.

Only toward and heard-of behaviour would do. Fortunately, the embarrassment that my maculate appearance might cause was evitable. There were two ways about it, but the chances that someone as flappable as I would be ept enough to become persona grata or a sung hero were slim.

I was, after all, something to sneeze at, someone you could easily hold a candle to, someone who usually aroused bridled passion. So I decided not to risk it.

But then, all at once, for some apparent reason, she looked in my direction and smiled in a way that I could make heads and tails of. I was plussed. It was concerting to see that she was communicado, and it nerved me that she was interested in a pareil like me, sight seen.

Normally, I had a domitable spirit, but, being corrigible, I felt capacitated as if this were something I was great shakes at, and forgot that I had succeeded in situations like this only a told number of times.

So, after a terminable delay, I acted with mitigated gall and made my way through the ruly crowd with strong givings. Nevertheless, since this was all new hat to me and I had no time to prepare a promptu speech, I was petuous.

Wanting to make only called-for remarks, I started talking about the hors d’oeuvres, trying to abuse her of the notion that I was sipid, and perhaps even bunk a few myths about myself. She responded well, and I was mayed that she considered me a savoury character who was up to some good. She told me who she was. “What a perfect nomer,” I said advertently.

The conversation became more and more choate, and we spoke at length to much avail. But I was defatigable, so I had to leave at a godly hour. I asked if she wanted to come with me. To my delight, she was committal.

We left the party together and have been together ever since. I have given her my love, and she has requited it.

“How I Met My Wife,” by Jack Winter Published July 25, 1994 in The New Yorker