The Swat Dance, Pink Poodles and Commenting on My Own Blog

This has been an interesting year for weather. Our monsoon season was late getting here and instead of having April showers we had them in May which threw the whole spring season off and it jumped from nipply jacket weather to dig out your Daisy Duke’s and halter tops quicker than you can say Jack Robinson. Does anybody know who Jack Robinson is and why we say that?

Then as some of ya’ll know we had a firestorm that raged through terribly close to my humble abode skeering us plum to death. In case you don’t know, skeered is worse than scared.

So why am I giving you an Oklahoma weather report, you might ask? Because I’m trying to figure out what happened to the flies? No, I don’t miss the little varmints but last night I was cooking weenies down at the church for vacation Bible school cause nobody knows weenies like I do (wink, wink), when somebody opened the back door and a couple of flies flew in. It occurred to me that I have hardly had any at my house and suddenly I’m trying to figure out why. Please don’t send me any of yours. I figure God owes us that much for all the other bad stuff we’ve had to endure.

Normally we have to do the swat dance at every family gathering or potluck dinner because the flies are trying to carry off the food as fast as we cook it. Ya’ll all know the steps to that one if you haven’t danced it yourself you’ve surely seen your Great Aunt Tildy at family reunions with a paper plate in each hand swaying in the breeze keeping the flies out of the food. You don’t need a partner or music; paper plates are optional. I’m pretty proficient at it myself.

You remember my wife swapping neighbors I told ya’ll about? Well the other day I looked over as I was pulling out of my garage to go to Wal-Mart because I ran out of Tide and low and behold she’s dyed her poodle pink. No I’m not making it up and if it wasn’t ten in the morning I would have thought I’d had one too many Coronas but sure as sunshine the poor dog is now pink. She has a beauty parlor in her garage and maybe business is slow and she didn’t have anything else better to do one day or perhaps she’d had one too many, who knows. It was barking at me all pissed off and I can’t say as I blame the poor thing. I’d be pissed off too if somebody dyed me pink. Of all the nerve. Poor baby.

Is anyone else having trouble commenting on their own MySpace blog? I have to refresh the page and sometimes that doesn’t even work. If I haven’t commented to your comment it just might be because I can’t.

My local radio station was talking about people leaving MySpace and asked jokingly if anybody was even on there anymore. Yeah, I’m still here. I’m like death and taxes you can count on me always being here. Okay that wasn’t a very good analogy, but ya’ll know what I mean.

Nelly Furtado - I'm Like A Bird
by UniversalMusicGroup