Super Sabado: Good news

Today’s Super Sabado is an unusually happy one, because when I hit the message machine PLAY button this morning, I heard something that seemed to have been delivered by a choir of angels in a heavenly chorus:

“Your camera lens has been repaired and is ready for pickup, oooh wahhhh…”

I broke all speed records driving down there to pick it up. It didn’t cost me anything, either, thanks to Santa’s extended warranty, which includes all sorts of damage scenarios, like, “high impact due to owner forgetting she left it on top of the car” and “water damage even though his mom told him she’d skin him if he tried to document the water balloon fight.”

And since we will use any excuse for the prodigious consumption of margaritas, my repaired camera lens will set the theme for this evening’s party.

For those of you new to Super Sábado, it’s my way of sharing a little link love from my weekly blog reading, presented in a Happy Hour format with a little video chaser.

I don’t know how long I can keep it up, though, because my Super Sabados are getting longer and longer. What used to take me a couple of hours now takes all day, which is fine with me but Hubby’s getting kind of cranky about it.

I’m going to have to think about a new format. Or something.


“We live in a squat. We don’t know squat. We don’t have squat. We don’t do squat. We don’t give a squat. People say we’re not worth squat.”

Don’t panic, folks. Bonnie Calhoun and M.C. Pearson are just kicking off Fiction in Rather Short Takes First Day Blog Tour. And to prove they’re still up for a good time, they just persuaded the boys in the mariachi band to let them sing harmony. Go, Bonnie and Mimi!


She kept standing there looking kind of lost, and since she reminded me of my mom I told her that I was going to drive into town, and asked if she wanted to go with me. I could see the wheels turning in her mind as to whether or not I was an American serial murderer of old German ladies.

Suz, who despite appearances is NOT an American serial murderer. She’s not even a GERMAN serial murderer.


So as anal as I can be, I have already planned out the next 8 months of activities.

Undone Lady, the type of Den leader every parents wants: anal but organized.


FRA-GEE-LAY. Must be Italian!

Then, when we opened the box up, we saw that Paolo had wrapped those babies up like so many decapitated Boba Fetts!

Vaguely Urban, now the proud owner of Italian Boba Fett lamp shades.


Both hounds believe that there is nothing on this earth quite as exciting as a ride in the chariot, and the minute they hear keys jangling, they’re at the door, raring to go. This can be a problem if we’re not going somewhere dog-friendly. So, in order to keep them happy, it is not unusual for us to take them on a ride around the block.

Ms. Karen, Queen of the Realm and owner of an invisible dog.


He wouldn’t say, and then started crying, so his teacher walked over and let me know that he was hitting kid’s butts, which I knew about, and we’ve been working on, but Peyton’s just having a hard time grasping why other people don’t like this. The thing is, he’s not doing it to be mean, it’s more the affectionate, hey, we’re on a football team together, butt swat.

Erika of Mom of Two, who seems to have passed on a rather interesting genetic tendency.


Well, I was thinking of going as the Flatulence Fairy, a pixie of pooters, a minor goddess of gas. Why? Because I’m incredibly puerile and I had the coolest idea for a costume with hidden pockets for whoopee-cushions so that I could, at no notice, create appropriate sound-effects.

Ornery Chick, who wouldn’t need any of that stuff at all, if she just brought Mojo along with her.


“She looks very unhappy in those clothes. I hope she hates you for that. She’d better hate you for that. “

Mr. Zoot, upon discovering photographic evidence that Miss Zoot dressed his daughter in University of Tennessee’s orange and white.


My mother was divorced. Each time we moved, she got a shoebox, and when the bills came in, she put them in the box. When the box became full, we moved.

Southern Writer, and one of the bits about her that won’t fit into her profile.


When the doctor finally got to me and looked at my finger he told me that I’d likely lose the tip of my finger and that I was definitely going to lose my finger nail. I told him that the nail was not big deal and promptly pulled it off. He looked horrified then started laughing.

Wander of Wander’s World, who introduced her doctor to the concept of the acrylic nail.


Coco likes Mojo’s style, because not only does he outperform airport security in preventing dangerous intruders, but he’s become an expert at home remodeling.

Eric Scheie of Classical Values, owned by Coco, who has exceedingly good taste.


In the beginning I called Hubby’s ex the Evil Squirrel Huntress. I have decided to change this. Her new name is Rabid Squirrel. Here is a picture of her. Notice the fangs.

Secret Squirrel, who thinks that old Mafia saw about “keeping your friends close, but your enemies closer” is a big bunch of chipmunk pellets.


I limped over to a chair and began a little self-examination. It didn’t take long to realize that I could see my Achilles Tendon on my left ankle. Yep, I blew it smooth out…gone…no longer attached…no longer able to move my foot correctly.

Yowza! James Goodman blew out his Achilles! And so ends the week of odd accidents in the blogosphere… we hope.


(In the olden days of computers, you would type in a command, while it was processing that command, you could go and make a cup of tea and drink it, by then the computer was ready for the next command. As they got better and bigger, you no longer had time to drink the tea, then you no longer had time to even make the tea. Now if it doesn’t complete the task before you even give the instruction, we get cranky.

tl of Life Got Away, on a modern societal disease known as “Rush.”


Kinda like a Celebrity Bloggers’ Pet Death Match. Or something.

Lachlan of My So-Called Blog, at a loss for words after viewing “Mojo Vs. Chuck.” Yeah, it was good for us, too, Lachlan!


Well, it worked very well at first, except that one night He-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Named heard a scratching outside the back door, turned on the outside light and found a little female fox staring in the french door. She’d apparently come looking for the big foxy stud that lived there.

Dink of Ink Blog, and the unexpected consequences of using fox urine as a squirrel repellant.


On Thursday morning, we met up with the other Texas clubs at the Big Texan Restaurant, home of the 72 oz. steak, free if eaten, with all of the sides, within an hour.

The Adventures Desperate Writer and her pack of PT Cruisers. No word on whether or not the Phantom Pooch shared some of that 72 oz steak.


I cut it all off. My tresses are now in a garbage can somewhere on the lower east side of Manhattan.

The newly-shorn Susan of Church of Angst, who really isn’t 13-years-old, even if the boys in the cafeteria think so.


Eleven weeks, $253.16 and 19 burned dinners later…we have a fresh light bulb in our kitchen.

Elizabeth of Plein Air Sketches, on the hidden costs and dangers inherent in a 60-watt bulb.


As the reunion loomed closer, it was time to find that undergarment that was going to turn me into Angelina Jolie’s clone. I headed for the Lycra/Spandex section of the store, and quickly found exactly what I needed – a pair of MegaPowerNetPanties, complete with strategically places Uplift Panels and (this is what cinched the deal, so to speak) No-Roll Waist Nipper Band. Eureka!!

TC of Fish in My Hair, who may be the first woman in America who danced to “American Pie” despite an uplift wedgie.


Welcome to the Neighborhood!

Your mesquite trees need pruning.

M.G. Tarquini‘s HOA Association’s first contact letter. It could’ve been worse, M.G., something along the lines of “All your mesquite are belong us.”


… a short fiction piece of mine has been chosen by incredible editor M.E.Ellis (who has 3 books already under her belt and more coming) to be published by the literary e-zine Wild Child Publishing on Sept 15.

Congratulations, Bernita! By the way, if anybody wants to know about the origin of Victorian terms like “pudenda” or “rasp”, Bernita’s your woman.


My current obsession with a particular dude is getting me no where – don’t get me wrong, I have enjoyed the hell out of it, but now…. some of my friends are even saying I need to move on – what’s up w/ that!

We don’t know, Dennie, but maybe you need to shift your music tastes from country to… MARIACHI! There’s a most particularly winsome member of the mariachi band giving you the eye right now…


I’ve been attacked by a rabid footrest.

Kristen of A-Mused Chaos, the owner of some rather dangerous furniture.


“You’re going to LOVE your job today! Your class begins at 9:30am and you’re done at 11:30am. You go home at lunch and get paid for a full day!!!”

Martinis on the Rock, repeating the words every high school substitute teacher would love to hear.


Nearly fainting with relief, Honey reached out and grabbed onto The Great Peanut Butter of the Sky. Almost instantly, The Great Hiccup Monster disappeared into nothingness, leaving blue skies and perfect temperatures once again in Officeland.

Waiter? Um, could you bring us a little of what Honey is having?


..when I woke I was rambling inchoherently like a complete and utter drunkard. I was having great tribble spooking and was definitely slurping my worms. G*d know what I was wittering on about but I think women’s nostrils came into it somewhere!

Mark of Gullible’s Travels, after undergoing one of those medical cocktails which usually accompany surgery. Here, Mark, have some of what Honey’s drinking.


Today the lady opposite has returned from holiday and she has spent hours scrubbing and hosing her balconies, windows and shutters. Watching her has quite worn me out!

Welshcakes Limoncello, coming to us from the land of beautiful ice creams and Chocolate Heaven. Did you bring any Sicilian chocolates to pass around, WL?


I was telling Angie, if they didn’t invent this – [picture of a computer] I wouldn’t be a writer. I would be a dictator. Meaning I’d hire someone to listen to me yap all day long and type up my stories for me.

Dictator Dana, a title which explains why she’s hogging the Margarita pitcher. Let go, Dana!


I know her astrological sign, her Meyers-Briggs personality type and her shoe size. I know her greatest fear and her fondest wish. I know who she secretly longs to be and who she really is when no one else is around.

Jaye of Jaye’s Blahg, and it wouldn’t surprise us if one of her characters slapped a restraining order on her one of these days.


“Mom quit taking pictures, I make my cookies in private!”

Laurel Wreath‘s son, and dang, he better not expect to share those cookies in private, too.


And for those of you who’ve made it through to the very end, I leave you with Letterman’s “Top Ten Excuses For Going to the Bathroom on National Television”, read by the woman herself, Kyra Phillips.

10 Replies to “Super Sabado: Good news”

  1. Well, Just tell hubby you are growing a readership. I started looking for Super Sabado yesterday. Donde esta Super Sabado? Donde esta?

    Then, I remembered it was Friday. DOH!

    BTW– I got my wingdig problem fixed…. I think….can you drop by and see what’s there?

  2. Yeah! The camera is fixed.

    Thanks for the links. Great places to visit.

    Sorry the Sabado takes so long. You can always drop this chaos monger. 😉

    Happy and safe holiday weekend.

  3. ooh! A quote! Thank you!

    This was so cool, I even dragged a Minion in to see it. I’m pretty sure he was secretly impressed.

    He loves your dog, by the way.

  4. I love this roundup for the week. It always gives me interesting places to visit. Although some of them are my regulars!

    There are about 24 of us in the chorus…all singing the same song…at least we’re all in tune..LOL!

  5. Hey Bonnie,

    I’m still interviewing for a dictatee intern – know anyone? Preferably looks good in a towel and a tan?

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