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Posts Tagged ‘funny’

  1. The Gluteus Maximus Takes a Snooze

    June 15, 2014 by Diane

    old lady with cane

    Three months ago I had a cortisone shot in my right hip for bursitis, and the pain disappeared. For three glorious months I hiked, swam, and did one-legged squats as instructed by my physical therapist.

    And then the shot wore off.

    I emailed my doctor: The cortisone stopped working. The pain is worse now than it was before the shot. I can hardly walk two blocks. I have sharp pains shooting down my leg. What should I do?

    The doctor emailed back: Schedule another shot.

    I was in no hurry to get another needle jabbed into my bursa. Instead…I would use a cane.

    I would drive to the drug store and buy a black cane, the kind that creepy people use in old movies. I would use that cane to hobble from my car to my job, and then to thump up and down the stairs all day. If necessary, I would crawl on my hands and knees.

    And then…I would go to Costco.

    I would go to Costco and buy toilet paper.

    One-hundred and twenty rolls of super soft toilet tissue in a package that weighs three-quarters of my body weight. But to get to it, I would have to walk to the very back corner of the mammoth warehouse.

    And I would leave the cane in the car.

    And not use a cart.

    I would haul those one-hundred and twenty rolls, or what feels like one-hundred and twenty rolls, from the back corner of the warehouse all the way to the front registers, and I would resist stopping every five feet to sit and rest on the humongous package. I would heave it onto the belt, and hand over my card, and when the cashier tells me that the card is expired, I wouldn’t bat an eye. I would offer to haul those one-hundred and twenty super-soft rolls back to the very back corner of the gargantuan warehouse without a cart or a cane.

    Which I did.

    Except for the last part. I left the condominium-sized package on the belt and limped to my car, muttering.

    I scheduled an appointment with a physical therapist.  “You have no butt, woman,” she said. “And I don’t mean that in a good way.” The muscles had atrophied—a fancy word for shrank. But only on the right side. The left cheek was Mount Olympus. The right…Death Valley. The gluteus maximus and the gluteus medius had decided to take a siesta.

    Imagine a guy flipping burgers at McDonalds. The flipper takes a three month nap, and leaves all the flipping to other employees who already have their hands full washing lettuce and slicing tomatoes and unscrewing lids on pickle jars and whipping up McCafe Frappes. These other workers are forced to take up the slack, flipping millions of burgers every day, and they’re raging.

    That’s what was happening on the right side of my rump. The piriformis and the psoas and the IT band were doing the work that the glute-brothers should have been doing, and they were doing it poorly.

    The physical therapist sent me to an orthopedic specialist. The specialist put me through a series of muscle tests and announced that I had lazy glutes.

    “Those one-legged squats that you were told to do were just too hard! The muscles aren’t equipped to handle the job!”

    Imagine asking the burger flipper to snap to because he has thirty minutes to make Coq au Vin for the President and five hundred guests. Can’t be done!

    So the specialist gave me a series of easy exercises to do. I like easy. My lazy muscles like easy. This is like telling the burger flipper to 1: slide the spatula under the patty, and 2: flip it. Ten times.

    In addition, she told me to squeeze my right glute with every heel strike.

    And use the cane.

    Which I did.

    I drove to work. I got out of the car. I unearthed the cane from my trunk. I walked the three blocks as instructed, and I looked like an old lady squeezing a lemon between her thighs while holding back a fart.

    I’ve scheduled another cortisone shot for next Friday.


  2. Top Ten Tips for Burglars Who Bungle and Robbers Who Run

    May 26, 2014 by Diane

    Captured danger prisoner in cartoon style for justice design

    There have been a rash of burglaries in the town where I live. Last week, the police captured the man who was responsible. According to the newspaper, at five-thirty in the morning an alert senior citizen phoned the police about a suspicious-looking character prowling around the neighborhood. Turns out, this suspicious-looking character had just looted a house while the owner snoozed. The police had no trouble tracking down the thief; he was hiding, with the loot, in a port-a-potty.

    How unfortunate.

    Here are my top ten tips for those who thieve:

    1. Don’t hide in a port-a-potty. If arrested, you’ll be forever branded as The Port-a-Potty Prowler.

    2. When hitting multiple homes over several weeks, don’t cart all of the evidence around in your car. Especially if you have a busted taillight. If you get pulled over, you’ll be the one who’s busted.

    3. If your workday begins at five A.M., don’t hit a neighborhood that has a senior citizen. The old fart will be awake.

    4. If you’ve never set foot in the neighborhood where you’re prowling, you’ll look suspicious. Especially if you’re wearing one of those little black Halloween eye masks. Better to rob a house where you look familiar. Like your own.

    5. Don’t sell stolen loot on your front lawn and call it a garage sale.

    6. When robbing a bank, make sure you have a getaway car, not a bicycle.

    7. Ditto for sneakers. I don’t care how fast you run.

    8. After robbing a bank, don’t wait in the lobby for your mother to come pick you up.

    9. When robbing a store, make sure you know the difference between “drive” and “reverse.” Many a robber has backed through a plate glass window trying to escape.

    10. Quit the burglary racket and use your thieving skills to find gainful employment instead. Become a politician. Or a car salesperson. Or a lawyer.

    And here’s a bonus tip:

    11. Send a woman to do the burgling. I’ve never heard of a female burglar. Bank robber, yes. But not a burglar. Either women never get caught, or we just haven’t broken through that particular glass ceiling.


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  3. A Dating Affidavit

    April 21, 2014 by Diane


    My ex, half-jokingly, suggested that I write up a one-page affidavit for potential suitors to sign. This sounded like a brilliant idea. So I drew one up.


    I, _____________ (potential suitor) upon oath state:

    1. When I take you to dinner, I promise not to label you persnickety when you interrogate the waiter about dishes that are  gluten-free, dairy-free, meat-free, and caffeine-free.

    2. If I wear stinky cologne, you are allowed to gag.

    3. If my radio plays anything other than jazz, you have permission to reprogram it.

    4. If I do not appreciate your wry sense of humor, I promise not to laugh in a fake way.

    5. I have been advised that more than a quarter inch of wine will make you loopy. I will pour accordingly.

    6. I agree not to talk to you when you are reading, although cuddling is allowed.

    7. Ditto when you are meditating, except for the cuddling part.

    8. If I wear button-down shirts and never roll up the cuffs, you are allowed to raise one eyebrow.

    9. I will not label you a hypochondriac when you use hand-wipes after touching door knobs.

    10. Whenever we disagree, I promise to say: “You’re right, I’m wrong, I’ll never do it again.”

    11. When the temperature drops below forty degrees and your fingers turn blue and white, I will not be horrified by their wax-bean appearance. I will stand patiently by as you whirl your arms around like an airplane propeller to force the blood back into your digits.

    12. Ditto with your toes.

    Signature ___________________________________

    To be fair, I also drew up an affidavit that I would sign.


    I, _____________ (your ideal date) upon oath state:

    1. If you say something genuinely funny, I will laugh so hard that I might stream tears. Do not be alarmed. I am amused, not hysterical.

    2. If you engage me in intellectually stimulating conversation, and you are smarter than me but not too much smarter, and you don’t have a know-it-all complex, I will look upon you with utmost respect.

    3. If you think I am attractive and sexy and you tell me so often, or at least beam it from your eyes while leaning toward me, I will believe everything you say. I might even straighten out your sock drawer.

    4, I am content to stroll along the beach, share a picnic dinner and watch the sun set and call it a perfect date. If the date also includes time to read, I will look upon you as a God.

    5. I will always tell you the truth. At least the truth as I believe it to be.

    Signature ___________________________________