NotMatilda

cabboogies (noun) cab-boo-cheez plant producing tiny (or baby-like) cabbages aka brussels sprouts eg. The Sunday repast was complete with all manner of veggies, including caboogies.

(((Z babe))) Congratulations...now is always a good time not to smoke. Congratulations. Funny, that I am around smokers every single day...outside in the Tiki Bar...very pervasive, interesting. 1977 was when I quit, cold turkey. Went thru two packs daily...smoked one, for sure...the other mostly burned up in the ashtray before I got back to it...lol...called them "rehearsal fags." What prompted me to actually stop smoking came one day when 5 in the afternoon rolled around and I realized, for some reason (like I was so busy doing something), I hadn't had a smoke. Hmmmm. But the thought of quitting was scary. The thought of stopping, wasn't. I never told me I quit. Ssshhhhh. I just told me I could have one, but in 5 minutes. Usually after a few minutes the crazy craving subsided enuf to get thru the next span of time. I drank a lot of water. I chewed a lot of gum. I kept my hands busy with a piece of art that took 3 months to finish...it is lovely, framed, and still on my wall. I did not gain weight. I did dream that I smoked every night for a year...lol...I wonder if that was cancer-inducing, cuz in the morning I really had to wake up before I realized I really didn't smoke. Interestingly, Several times over the last (gasp) 30 years, I have smoked on stage, as dictated by a character. Loved it. Such drama. Cigarettes are the ultimate hand prop...and I was very BettyDaveesque in my sucking that hot poison into my soft tissues...lol. But I never craved finishing the cigarette after the scene or anything. It was a done deal, just a prop. I have heard me say outloud on occasion, that "you know, if I still smoked, I'd be having one now." Oh yes...money... that did factor into it. It made sense to quit just for the monetary savings...after all, a pack o'twenty cost almost a dollar in the city....lol. Congratulations, zees :) If I get time, I'll repost the Tobacco Road story...a little self-indulgence is good sometimes:)

momular (adjective) mom-u-lar any activity generally attributed to mothers eg. Signalled by the baby's burp, her momular activites were complete. not to be confused with mammification, the sated state of infants after nursing, not to be confused with mummification, a result of being doted on by British mothers, not to be confused with smother love, a condition endured by loved ones who aren't allowed to think or act for themselves

when did Sigmund F Freud excuse himself from this thread?

nubulating (verb) nub-u-la-ting the earliest beginnings of some organic growth eg. The dogwoods were nubulating and fresh with the promise of spring. nubulation eg. Anticipating nubulation, the Mom gave in to her insistent ten year old's badgering for a training bra.

puffle verb (to puffle, puffled) noun (the puffle, puffler) puf-fle the least offensive of anal gastric emissions, often undetected, mostly feminine in origin eg. The church puffler never billowed her skirts during a sermon.

Note: This is a clarifitory post for the marine oxen: eponyms (noun) also mneumonically known as Ipanymphs e-po-nyms any of a passing group of potentially promiscuous brazilian babeage eg. Tall and tan and young and lovely, the girls from Ipanema are often eponyms. This is also a fine example of malapropism.

speetch (noun) and freedom of speetch the practice of spanking children for skeetching eg. The Congresswoman, by law, cannot prohibit freedom of speetch for those dissenting the practice of spanking for skitching(sic).

obsidious (adjective) ob-sid-i-ous 1. obsessive to the point of becoming obscene eg. chronic masturbation in public places His thinly veiled habit turned obsidious on the morning train. obsidiary obsidiation

Natch...it was an acceptable, albeit stupid/hazardous, mode of transportation as a kidlet. Southside of Chicago, backside of a bumper...it was great for at least two months out of the winter. Dryspots and sewer covers were quite possibly the groundwork of communist infiltrators...or so we pronounced at the time. Once I "skitched" (pronounced skeetched) from St. Linus parking lot to the Arena Bowling Alley, dropping off the '65 Ford Galaxy bumper just before Cicero Ave (soze I wouldn't git kilt)...shot pool with dirty leggins and a wet butt...lol. I miss snow. Aunty Em...Aunty Em...where are those damn ruby slippers, anyway? X M

Hi Belle! Yes, more than a few stories of mine popped up in Waydale...I may have the crucifix one somewhere. It is a true story...and I think I warehoused it to some as yet unpacked box in my garage. I've been here on Planet Ft. Myers for four years now and still there are things that may never see the light of day again...lol. I had a disc of Matilda tales, but alas, it too has gone the way of the Nehru jacket... If I find the one you asked about, I will holler. X M

Come with me, my little spoonsters, and I will a tell youse my jewelly tale. I'm not a fashion plate or clothes horse. I think earrings, jewelry, and nail polish are swell, but I rarely wear any of them, barring a commercial shoot or show where wardrobe is provided me...the exception (safe to say after 28-34 yrs.) are my two rings: my faux ruby ring and my real ruby ring. Both of these I wear always. Why? Firstly, both are harder than heck to remove, for real...lol...but richer than that pragmatic truth is this: I love them both. They are simple, all-the-time, definitely-by-choice reminders of love and committment. Back when the earth was still cooling and the NotMatilda was still forming, my Mom O'Mom told me she would very much like to gift me with something I really wanted...seems I was difficult to shop for, she said, because there never was anything that I really, really wanted. So, rather than get this or that, and miss the mark, she asked. (My family fabric is rich and textured. I love them, am proud of them, and to be a part of them. My parents were two of my best friends, confidants, and advisors...even if they never heard it put that succinctly into words...but there it is. We did not, repeat...did not...agree on everything, but I would often consult with them, and always consider their words, individually and together, as the case might have been. The Way was a major source of severe agitation for my Dad O'Dad, The Commander. Yea verily, he would not tolerate any of his kids to entertain anything else but the best of the Papal Bull works in his presence. There was no real conversating when it came to the doctrine of God via McCarthy. Lively debate, totally not profitable. LOL...lotsa stories there. To cross him there, was ground that my practicing and non-practicing catholic siblings avoided like Brian Boru in the Highlands. The ruby dove ring represented an enemy camp, only becuz it could be obtained soul-ly thru the Way Bookstore.) The ruby dove ring, given to me by someone who knew its value to me, was what I wanted as that gift. What I loved about my Mom was that she could see past and beyond idiocies, often...lol...she knew the ring represented a very real, very deep, very renewed spiritual association with God and His designs...not the religion or allegiance to TWI. She knew that before me. On the morning of my 21st birthday, a lovely note with a 80 something dollar check tucked in it was on my bedside night stand. I wore the holy spirit ring on my left hand until I married and it was moved to the right. My gold filigree wedding band was custom-made by a hippie artisan named Stuck (not Alan, shuddup) who is still, btw, located in southern Illinois. When my fiance and I went to see the work, he showed us a couple of the prettiest gems he had just polished up, one ruby and one sapphire. The little ruby is bevelled onto my band, and the sapphire onto Gary's. They are lovely, still. Holly Marie McCarthy Wilson, our signature kid, asked if she could have them. I told her "yes...but not today." Stuff is just stuff. But sometimes stuff is precious. X M

A waiting game of sorts...how do we play as on we go...dunno. I found (much to my chagrin and with serious thought) that I am not as cool or as self-contained as I thought... With the loss of both parents, close uncles, family friends, and in-laws, I find myself rather tired, morose, and sad more than I ever thought me could be. I truly wonder what the joy or satifisfaction the Great Potter derives from this little potty...lol. I wonder outloud to Him about it often. I certainly prayed for the Kim dad, as did probably thousands or others...I'm ticked about Patrick, Jay, Rosanne, and others of my "believer" families who are no more... But I am not without joy...it comes over me unexpected, and due to things that were not part of the agenda I often submit to God...lol. Something about going around once, and grabbing for all the gusto you can get... Who is gusto, anyway?

front loading machines and anything Uncle Winkie sounds pretty racy...

What kind of cretin could ever forget Yul? He ruled Siam so well...