The Bloghead Bone Hop… Err… That is…

Welcome to the third Bonehead Blog Hop!  This is the (very) original idea of Cherdo, who makes you laugh and then think, and once you click away, think  She sure is NOT a bonehead!
(Official disclaimer: we’re laughing at ourselves: why don’t you join us?)
Your hosts are Cherdo, of Cherdo on the Flipside.
And me (Diana Wilder)
Our motto: 
“Confession is good for the soul…it may not 
be your soul, but trust me – it’s good for someone’s soul.”
So…  What boneheaded thing should I confess to this time?
(The easier question is ‘what boneheaded thing should I not confess to?’ )
I BEG your pardon!

Telling the grandmother of a friend, who was proudly showing me the granny square afghan that she had made for my friend, in cathedral window colors, which, she said, ‘I want her to have something to remember me for!’ and responding with a gracious smile, “Oh, you won’t be hard to forget!”  and wondering why the smile had faded from the sweet lady’s face.

There was a time, a while back, when I did some part time work for Bloomingdale’s department store.  It was Christmas season, and I needed the money for gifts.  I was young(er), healthy, and a little oblivious.  To get into and leave Bloomies, we had to go in through a steel door on the side of the building (it involved climbing up a flight of outside metal steps) and flashing our badge as we went in.  We left the same way.

We were told, by the way, that we had to park at the very edge of the supermall parking lot.  I told them that I would do nothing of the kind, since I didn’t want to get mugged leaving at 11:30 PM on a holiday season night.

Eating what?

At any rate, I happened to notice bags of rolls and pastries when I was leaving each night, and I thought, “Oh, how generous!”  and helped myself to one every time as I left.  The security staff gave me ‘the hairy eyeball’, but no one said nothing until one day, a week and a half in, a coworker (in her case ‘cow orker’) said, “Why are you eating that?”

“They’re left-overs for the staff,” I said.  At her expression I said, “…aren’t they?”
“No, they’re not!  They’re to be taken to homeless shelters!  You could be arrested!”

Mouth-palm.  Worse than face-palm.

Well, we live and learn.  Dad might have laughed.  Or not.  He might, actually, have asked where his sweet roll was.


Go visit the hop!

August 5, 2015 – The Bonehead Blog Hop!


Welcome to the Bonehead Blog Hop!

This is the idea of Cherdo, who tells stories that make you laugh like a fool, the point of which are that she meanders through life being a bonehead, and it never crosses your mind (while you are laughing) that she’s about as boneheaded as a fox.

Your hosts are Cherdo, of Cherdo on the Flipside.
And me (Diana Wilder)

Our motto:
Confession is good for the soul…it may not
be your soul, but trust me – it’s good for someone’s soul.”

I have spent the past week plus battling a dying computer that has stumped the good folks at my local computer store, crossed swords with Windows 8, which I am convinced is a plot by Microsoft to destroy civilization and drive it mad in the process. I wish I could think of something I did during all this time to show what a dope I have been, with this whole episode, but I honestly can’t. Unless it is that I have been stupid enough to underestimate the tendency of computer-type folks to keep fiddling even after they have come out with a product that is splendid in its simplicity, easy to use, and magnificent in its capability.

…This from the person who has tweaked a book cover for the umpteenth time until my nearest and dearest have inquired, sweetly, whether I am thinking of putting my hero in a dress for the cover and spring a surprise ending on everyone a la Bruce/Caitlin Jenner.

But, truly, I have had my share of truly dopey moments.  Let me tell you of one.

Picture a lovely lake by moonlight (on the border between South Carolina and North Carolina. Lake Gaston:

…Imagine me, tanned and fit, wearing my Camp Counselor getup. Imagine the boy who filled my dreams, cute grin…

We were walking together in the moonlight, talking of things. Of what? Well… things. I don’t remember. He was so cute, and the moonlight was so lovely and I was walking with him. I mean, really, how rare is it that the object of your crush gives you even the time of day?

So, we walked along, the breeze rose and teased my hair (I had long hair back then), I could smell the pines somewhere around there, and Debussy’s Moonlight Sonata was playing in my mind along with ‘Kiss de Girl’ from The Little Mermaid.
Yeah, definitely kissable…

I knew – just knew! – that he would kiss me as we went into the shoreside curve, heading back toward the cabins. A little footbridge was before me, we moved onto it, walking slowly, I looked up at him –

The world went forty directions, the earth came up and smacked me in the stomach, something seized my leg, and my face hit the dirt. I couldn’t move my one leg, and the other, making the motions of running, seemed to be doing it in a vacuum.

I levered myself to a half-raised position, wondering why my right leg was being caught and held while my left leg scrabbled in the dust and scree that covered the bridge. A pair of sneakers in front of me indicated that my escort was still there, though I found myself wondering if he, like Lot’s wife, had been turned into a pillar of salt.

Behold, the Snapping Turtle
In those moments of wondering what had happened and why Doofus wasn’t trying to help me when he weighed, probably, fifty pounds more than me, most of it muscle (between his ears, I was beginning to think) I realized that I had somehow managed to put my leg straight into a hole in the paving and was flat on my stomach, essentially trying to push-up myself to a sitting position with my leg waving in the air over the water (which, I did know, contained the occasional snapping turtle).

The Hunk as he truly was
I managed to extricate myself and get to my feet. Handsome, before me, said, “Why did you do that?”

Have you seen Disney’s Beauty and the Beast, the scene where Belle watches the Beast morph into a handsome prince? Well that happened to me, but in my case the Handsome Hunk morphed into Mortimer Snerd.

I gave him The Look and walked back to my cabin alone.

The Look
I told this story to my sister and she said, “You weren’t a bonehead. He was.”

 “Yeah,” said I, “But I was a dope to have a crush on him.”

Go visit Cherdo’s site and grab the links (I am still trying to figure out my new computer, including how to make the images smaller now) and then look around. You’ll laugh, think, and generally have a great time!

The First Annual Bonehead Blog Hop!

Welcome to the first Bloghead Bone Hop!  This is the idea of Cherdo, who never ceases to make you laugh uproariously…and at the same time make you think.  The thinking usually continues after you have finished laughing.
…oh, wait.  It’s the Bonehead Blog Hop.  My first boneheaded endeavor here, wouldn’tcha know…
Your hosts are Cherdo, of Cherdo on the Flipside.
And me (Diana Wilder)
Our motto: 
“Confession is good for the soul…it may not 
be your soul, but trust me – it’s good for someone’s soul.”
The problem with confessing to being a bonehead is that it’s so much easier to remember the boneheadedness that you have witnessed than that which you have actually done. 
I’ll never forget the Presbyterian minister who told of the time he was supposed to be the guest pastor at the First Presbyterian church in some town in rural Virginia, USA.  He got a late start, flew down the highway, cringing whenever he saw a large Ford sedan (the police used them almost exclusively at that time), found the church (impressive old edifice), turned into the parking lot at 70 mph  with gravel spraying under his tires as he yanked the wheel toward the door.  Scrambling into his robes, he went tearing up the side of the building and into the door near the sacristy, knocking over an usher and what looked like one of the deacons.
The service hadn’t started yet.  He wiped his brow with his flowing sleeve, turned to the ushers and elders who were standing before him with their jaws sagging.  “We have five minutes till the service starts!   I have my sermon ready.  Who’s the chief usher?  Listen, I can signal when it’s time to start the collection.  Here’s my sermon-” he slapped it on the podium “-let’s get going!” 

Sideways glances.
”Er…  What church are you supposed to be at?”

Vestment for a Bonehead
He stared.  “The First Presbyterian Church of Littleville, Virginia, of course!” he snorted.  
“…if you go out the driveway, sir, and take a left, you’ll find it on the right a mile down the road.” 
Silence followed by a polite cough.  “We’re the First BAPTIST church?  If you hurry, you won’t miss the


**   **   **
I was in the drama club in college.  I worked on costumes, set, props.  Generally made myself useful.  …And I so wanted to have a speaking part.  Somehow, other people got them.  You know, the popular folk who looked like popular stars but had a quality of emoting that rivaled Charlie McCarthy (or Mortimer Snerd) in emotion and delivery.
But I got a part!  Yes, indeedy!  I got to go on stage during the ball scene of The Sound of Music, standing there in a long, pink gown with a glass of ginger ale (looks like Champagne, don’t’cha know?), watching the various people whirling around the dance floor.  I was supposed to turn to Captain Von Trapp and say, with a cultured smile, ‘Frau Schraeder is charming, Georg!’
I felt pretty, I had a speaking part!  Captain Von Trapp was watching me with rapt attention, as was the entire cast.    I made my exit from the ball with my head high, my hair piled atop my head, my swan-like neck poised…
I shed my costume and went back to manhandling props and scenery flats, hissing cues to the performers.  It was all good!  And everyone was applauding and cheering – a standing ovation!  (College productions in college towns tend to garner such tributes.)
I smiled, sighed, helped clean up.
“Hey, Diana!”  It was the chief of the lighting crew, a lanky fellow with a marvelous grin.
I turned with my best Beauty Queen smile.  From the way he was looking at me, he found me fascinating.  …dared I say intriguingSexy?

He came up to me, set an arm around my shoulders.  “You were great!  It went off pretty good, if I say so!”  He tightened his hold for a moment.  “But, say!  Can you tell me…”

Bicycle Panties for under Stage Lighting
He paused, and I looked up at him, thinking that he really was pretty cute, the way his mouth began to quirk…

His eyes crinkled, “But say, do you always wear bicycles on your panties?”

Lights cut through chiffon.  How could I have forgotten? I crumpled in mortification.  No wonder everyone was gazing at me, transfixed, as I flirted with Captain Von Trapp!  A walking, talking bicycle-butt! 

My friends still mention them.  Well… They were my friends once…
Go visit the hop!