C. Frazier Jones's Blog
June 5, 2015
Typos!
Dear delightful children from down the lane, It's confession time. Our book has typos; lots of em. But here's the deal: It's too costly to fix them. There was an issue when type setting the book, which was not fully evident until the first printing of said book came out and by that time it was too late. We were really hoping to fix these blights of humanity on the second round of printing, but as it turns out, uploading a new file is just too costly, so as all of our kindergarten teachers
April 20, 2015
Big Milo
Yesterday I stood on a box, turned around backwards, and had a look at my ass in the mirror.
“Milo,” I yelled, “get out of the way. I can’t see my butt!” Sometimes having a house donkey is not all it’s cracked up to be.
By the time I drug Milo out of the way, never an easy task, and got back up on the box, I was exhausted. But never the less, I had a look and it was just as I suspected. I have a fat ass. Not the donkey, my actual ass is fat. Milo is anorexic and we’re working on that through group therapy and positive reinforcement, but this is not about that donkey, so please pay attention to me.
Standing there on that box, I felt very philosophical and contemplative. When did this happen to me? Why did this happen to me? Who is the current president of Ben and Jerry’s and do they give out samples?
Probably the big butt happened to me about the same time that I got “Mom Arms.” Bernie is out of town, so I quizzed him on these developments over the phone.
“When did this happen to me? Why do I look like someone’s mother?”
“You are someone’s mother.”
“Right, sure, but, I mean, when did it start showing, that I was someone’s mother.”
“Probably about the same time you started nursing in public.”
Bernie is no help. I tried a different approach.
“Well, I don’t think I eat that much, (I eat like a horse, but please note, not an anorexic donkey, as we have established,) and I work out all the time, (in my mind.)
This is when Bernie decided to lovingly, shower me with the support that I so deeply needed at that critical moment.
“Sorry, wrong number.” Then, he hung up.
Bernie didn’t have to stay on the line in order for me to know what he was thinking. What he was thinking was probably something like: Woman, you’re forty two years old, you eat too much chocolate and drink too much wine. Your best friend is a baked potato. Whenever we pass a bakery, you insist on saluting. Wearing running shoes around the house is not the same as running, no matter what you understood out neighbor, who only speaks German, to say.
If Bernie had stayed on the line, I probably would have said something constructive back to him, such as, “Oh yea, well you are, but what am I?” Pee Wee’s revenge. It’s not pretty, but I grew up in the 80’s, so therefore I’m excused.
The truth is, I do work out, almost every day. But it goes without saying, that the exercises and the amount of time I spent doing them, even last year, is not working for me now. So, what’s a girl to do? I have no idea, that’s why I’m asking you! But before you break in with some truly helpful advice, you should know that the eating thing is truly a challenge for me. Please let me tell you why. I am or I am allergic to…
1. Vegetarian
2. Gluten intolerant. I have Celiac disease, or what is more commonly known as, “Pooping in your pants at Target or any other major chain discount store.”
3. Allergic to all tree nuts, even the “fun” ones such as Brazil nut and Frankie goes to Hollywood nut, which may or may not exist.
4. Allergic to Coconut, especially if one falls on my head.
5. Allergic to soy. This is a big one because soy is in everything, even toilet paper. Just kidding, it’s not. Just kidding, it is. Really, I have no idea, just wanted to scare you.
6. Mango- To this one I say, “Why, God why?” He’s getting back to me on that one. I’ll let you know.
7. Republicans. Ha, ha!!!!!!!
So, as you can see, mealtime at my house is a challenge, but restaurant eating even more so. I literally ate a potted plant minding its own business in the window of an Arby’s last week. But life isn’t all bad. There’s the chocolate, and the wine and the…. Oh wait, that’s about it. Except for grass. I can still eat grass. So, we’re all good here. (I’m practicing being grateful.)
So, long story short, in the next couple of weeks I’ll be switching up my exercise and eating routines to prepare for that time on earth that some refer to as, swimsuit season, but that I prefer to call, “The time when Satan rules the earth”.
So, until next time, eat right, stay strong, stay off the box.
“Milo,” I yelled, “get out of the way. I can’t see my butt!” Sometimes having a house donkey is not all it’s cracked up to be.
By the time I drug Milo out of the way, never an easy task, and got back up on the box, I was exhausted. But never the less, I had a look and it was just as I suspected. I have a fat ass. Not the donkey, my actual ass is fat. Milo is anorexic and we’re working on that through group therapy and positive reinforcement, but this is not about that donkey, so please pay attention to me.
Standing there on that box, I felt very philosophical and contemplative. When did this happen to me? Why did this happen to me? Who is the current president of Ben and Jerry’s and do they give out samples?
Probably the big butt happened to me about the same time that I got “Mom Arms.” Bernie is out of town, so I quizzed him on these developments over the phone.
“When did this happen to me? Why do I look like someone’s mother?”
“You are someone’s mother.”
“Right, sure, but, I mean, when did it start showing, that I was someone’s mother.”
“Probably about the same time you started nursing in public.”
Bernie is no help. I tried a different approach.
“Well, I don’t think I eat that much, (I eat like a horse, but please note, not an anorexic donkey, as we have established,) and I work out all the time, (in my mind.)
This is when Bernie decided to lovingly, shower me with the support that I so deeply needed at that critical moment.
“Sorry, wrong number.” Then, he hung up.
Bernie didn’t have to stay on the line in order for me to know what he was thinking. What he was thinking was probably something like: Woman, you’re forty two years old, you eat too much chocolate and drink too much wine. Your best friend is a baked potato. Whenever we pass a bakery, you insist on saluting. Wearing running shoes around the house is not the same as running, no matter what you understood out neighbor, who only speaks German, to say.
If Bernie had stayed on the line, I probably would have said something constructive back to him, such as, “Oh yea, well you are, but what am I?” Pee Wee’s revenge. It’s not pretty, but I grew up in the 80’s, so therefore I’m excused.
The truth is, I do work out, almost every day. But it goes without saying, that the exercises and the amount of time I spent doing them, even last year, is not working for me now. So, what’s a girl to do? I have no idea, that’s why I’m asking you! But before you break in with some truly helpful advice, you should know that the eating thing is truly a challenge for me. Please let me tell you why. I am or I am allergic to…
1. Vegetarian
2. Gluten intolerant. I have Celiac disease, or what is more commonly known as, “Pooping in your pants at Target or any other major chain discount store.”
3. Allergic to all tree nuts, even the “fun” ones such as Brazil nut and Frankie goes to Hollywood nut, which may or may not exist.
4. Allergic to Coconut, especially if one falls on my head.
5. Allergic to soy. This is a big one because soy is in everything, even toilet paper. Just kidding, it’s not. Just kidding, it is. Really, I have no idea, just wanted to scare you.
6. Mango- To this one I say, “Why, God why?” He’s getting back to me on that one. I’ll let you know.
7. Republicans. Ha, ha!!!!!!!
So, as you can see, mealtime at my house is a challenge, but restaurant eating even more so. I literally ate a potted plant minding its own business in the window of an Arby’s last week. But life isn’t all bad. There’s the chocolate, and the wine and the…. Oh wait, that’s about it. Except for grass. I can still eat grass. So, we’re all good here. (I’m practicing being grateful.)
So, long story short, in the next couple of weeks I’ll be switching up my exercise and eating routines to prepare for that time on earth that some refer to as, swimsuit season, but that I prefer to call, “The time when Satan rules the earth”.
So, until next time, eat right, stay strong, stay off the box.
Big Milo
Yesterday I stood on a box, turned around backwards, and had a look at my ass in the mirror. “Milo,” I yelled, “get out of the way. I can’t see my butt!” Sometimes having a house donkey is not all it’s cracked up to be. By the time I drug Milo out of the way, never an easy task, and got back up on the box, I was exhausted. But never the less, I had a look and it was just as I suspected. I have a fat ass. Not the donkey, my actual ass is fat. Milo is anorexic and we’re working on that
January 16, 2015
The Illumask and me!
Sometimes I really don't have anything writerly to pen down, but good news, I can always come up with something fairly mindless and entertaining to write on and today, that will be the Illumask, or as I like to call it, “The scariest thing in our bedroom,” and trust me, that's saying a lot. For those of you who don't know, or who do know but refuse to accept it for multiple reasons, but mainly perhaps because you are terrified, the Illumask is an anti-aging piece of scientific equipment worn on
September 3, 2014
Toughening Up
This is it. After many long years of toiling away at the keyboard, fretting over the proper marriage of subject, verb and tense, (it's a three-way!) and engaging in one melt down after another, I give you the result; Things We Thougth We Saw in the Water." Whew and Thank God. That last part I sincerely mean. Thank you, God-couldn't have done it without you. Being a writer is a lonely business. I've watched my friends grow closer without me. I've stood on the porch, waving my husband and children
