The Wild Turkey: He Gets No R-E-S-P-E-C-T

ben franklin and turkey

While driving home, I am required to stop three times to allow hordes of Wild Turkeys to cross the street. And there are seriously more than twenty. In each horde. And Wild Turkeys are not particularly quick on their feet, on account of the effort and concentration it takes to coordinate the moving of the feet with the bobbing of the head. So I am waiting awhile because Wild Turkeys are also NOT VERY BRIGHT and do not see the imminent danger of 4200 pound automobiles.

Why do the Wild Turkeys cross the street, anyway?

Note: I am not telling a joke. I am asking a serious question.

Anyway, I believe it was Ben Franklin who championed the Wild Turkey as the National Bird, or maybe it was Aretha Franklin, I’m not really sure. Wild turkeys just get no R-E-S-P-E-C-T, amiright? The premise behind the whole idea is that turkeys have a higher moral character. Huh?


But aside from its high moral character, its penchant for attacking British Guards and being tasty, the Wild Turkey has little else going for it. And did I mention it is NOT VERY BRIGHT?

The Wild Turkey does not have much happening in its head. Unless you count that red gobbly thing that jiggles around on the male’s chin. The technical name for this apparatus is a wattle. And apparently the wattle changes colors when a male turkey is excited. Okay, then.

7062975d551ba98fffcf979b58952258Simmer down, everyone.

Every year in the early spring, the males, well, their wattles change color. And I guess that the females go for that kind of thing and that gets the fellows all riled up, so they fight and argue and bicker to be the Alpha Male. That’s right. One Alpha Male wins a flock of ladies and marches away, the victor, taking his ladies off to some sort of Male Turkey Utopia. And he, um, services all the ladies in his flock.

Meanwhile, the whole group of juvenile Losers wander away, running around the streets in large unruly gangs, vandalizing flowers, chasing dogs. Probably selling drugs. Assorted mayhem. (That’s what happens when there isn’t a lady around to keep the men in check.)

And in the fall, the Losers really show their lack of brain power. As they gather in large groups to cross the streets, they decide that the cool weather is a good time to plump up their feathers.

Picture: Twenty male Losers. All plumped up looking exactly like those Thanksgiving centerpieces we had when I was a kid. Crossing the street in mass numbers.
They may as well ring my doorbell and say, “I’m here for Thanksgiving Dinner!”

But, heaven help me, I’ve become awfully fond of those little Losers with their blazing red wattles and empty little brains. I can forgive them poThanksgiving Turkey Holding Sign That Say's Eat More Beef Clipart pictureoping on my paths and running across the roof and scratching up my flower beds and gobbling at the crack of dawn.

In fact, I’m starting a new campaign: I think I’ll fix a nice hunk of beef for Thanksgiving this year.

Note: I’m not going to eat it. Just cook it.

Heck, yes!


Okay Oleander, You’re Up and Why Do You Always Get the Weekends?: Disneyland. What’s your deal there?

These Pretzels are Making me Thirsty: 7 Life Lessons from George Costanza

George Costanza (of the sitcom, Seinfeld, played by Jason Alexander – and if you didn’t know that, I’m a little sad for you) is arguably definitely one of the best characters to grace our television screens.

Okay, I know that using the word grace and George Costanza in the same sentence is a bit overreaching.

But, somehow, Jason Alexander managed to make George, the neurotic, selfish, man-child into a can’t-miss character. So, without further ado, 7 important lessons we learned from George.

1) On perception from others:
“Leave on a high note.”
giphy (2)

2) On the art of the con:
“It’s not a lie if you believe it.”

3) On avoiding more responsibility:
“When you look annoyed all the time, people think you’re busy.”

4) On motivation:
“I love a good nap. Sometimes it’s the only thing getting me outta bed in the morning.”

5) On mustaches:
“I feel like an out-of-work porn star.”

6) On gratitude:
“Do you ever get down on your knees and thank God that you know me and have access to my dementia?” (here’s looking at you, Bacon)
giphy (1).gif

7) On perspective:
If you take everything I’ve accomplished in my life and condense it down to one day…it looks decent.

8811967-131018604_10-s1-v1    Oleander

Bacon: Turkeys. Go. 

The Preposterous Premise: A Passion for the Phenome, or Pink Pants, I Forget.

If Peter Paver placed a plethora of pretty pavers to pave a patio on Holly Hill, Then how many pavers did Peter Paver place?

Note: This post may be particularly pleasant to people prone to the pleasing presence of such a preposterous post premise as alliteration.

My penchant for pavers has potentially peaked with the placement of pavers on the paths and patios here at Holly Hill.

Note: As previously presented, I have a penchant for naming places, particularly those places in which I park my pompous bum.

Additional Note: My bum is far from pompous, but provided the possibility of using “pompous” in a post is too perfect to pass up!

Additional Note to the Note: Perhaps it would be more pleasing if my professional paver placers wore pink pants.


Note: Not my actual Paving Professional, Sadly.

Another Note, I am Losing Track: I promise I am not a pervert. Pink Pants provide plenty of hits to the post. Sorry, people. The truth can be painful.

So, Peter the Paver planned and plotted, then picked and prepared and finally packed and prodded and placed the pavers, using more of our precious precipitation in one week for this procedure than I have used in the previous six month period, I kid you not.

The answer to the question, then?

If Peter Paver placed a plethora of pretty pavers to to pave a patio on Holly Hill, Then how many pavers did Peter Paver place?

a)  Plenty

b)  Probably 20 pa-jillion

c)  Potentially enough to purchase a Plymouth or a Pontiac, if either still existed.

Answer: All of the above, probably excluding the pa-jillion, but precious few digits provide the pleasure of the letter P.


Actual photograph of an actual Pontiac actually procured in 1989 with the actual Hub. The Pavers definitely cost more than the Pontiac. Definitely.

Please let this be over. I am so done here–BaconIMG_3814

Oleander, you are up: Let’s hear about a few life lessons from George Constanza.


Guilt: The Gift that Keeps On Giving

Note: Bacon got tired of waiting for Oleander’s post and hijacked it during the editing process. Bacon’s nonsensical comments are in italics, of course.

I h63916276ad the weekend to review my guilty pleasures…and I’ve come to one of two conclusions:

  1. I have a lot more guilt than is necessary. (Oleander would make an excellent Catholic)
  2. I am very easily amused. (Oleander would make an excellent three year-old)

So, without further ado:


Diet Soda. I drink too much. (Note: Oh, the strange irony of a teetotaler who drinks too much! ) By anyone’s definition (except for maybe Bacon and The Hub – they get me). My real weakness is Diet Mountain Dew, but pretty much any diet soda will fit the bill.

Where I live, we have this magical place called Sodalicious that is, literally, just a soda fountain drive through where they mix soda with delightful flavors (and sometimes half and half). My favorite is called Persephone and it’s Diet Dew with pomegranate syrup and fresh lime. Also great is the “Just Friends” which is Diet Coke with pineapple and coconut syrups. I might be drooling.

Donuts. Nothing cures what ails me like a good ol’ fashioned donut (literally, old fashioned are my favorite). (Note: Never mind the irony of pairing it with a Diet Soda.)

w310_calm3-1368572391TV Shows

DWTS (Dancing with the Stars). Okay, so I don’t know exactly what it is about this show. I could just be that Tom Bergeron is so great at his job. Note: Tom Bergeron is a freaking genius. I’d do him. (Just checking to see if you are paying attention!) And also…you really learn to care about the “stars”. Watching people learn to master something they never thought they’d be good at or would try is terribly inspiring. I know, I just used the word inspiring for DWTS…but, it is.

Pretty Little Liars. Yes. I’m a full grown adult who is still watching a teen drama. But, once you start…you have to see this whole thing through. (Note: In all fairness, you’ve been watching it since you were a teen. Talk about drawn-out!)  Even though it’s got more plot holes then you can count.


Taylor Swift. I was decidedly not a fan of hers when I was younger…but I’ve learned the error of my ways. (Note: Come on now, just shake it off.)

BSB. You all know my love for The Backstreet Boys has never waned.

Finally …

Bargain hunting. Hub and I have a known love for getting a good deal. He has trained me in his ways. If we have a date night, you’ll find us out at thrift stores finding hidden gems. There is hardly anything in my house that doesn’t have a story behind where/how we found it or got a good deal on it. It drives Bacon bonkers sometimes. (Note: Sometimes a deal isn’t a deal even if it seems to be a deal just because it looks like a deal. Back away from the deal.)


Bacon: How many pavers does it take to pave if the paving is done at Holly Hill?

The Parable of the Talents: A Decidedly NON Biblical Approach

a5269a8692a632fee09b8792fa0bc403Shhh. I have a little secret. 

You know how when you’re in high school and you pick your classes? And you’ve filled your schedule with math and science and lit and history and you have an extra slot to fill and you’re looking for a class that should give you an “Easy A” and kinda pad your GPA a bit?

And so, you know how you choose art?

Not me. I chose Chemistry. Because I knew I could get an A. And Art? Not so much. 

Truth: I NEVER took an Art class. Ever. Oh, I took Humanities and Art Studies, sure. But pencil to paper? I think not.

So, Oleander: What talent do I secretly long for? I wish I could draw! I wish I could release the images that only my soul can see.

Note: I’m a liar. My soul doesn’t see any images. Mostly my soul is just hungry. For ice cream.

I heard somewhere (okay, fine, I listen to NPR) that the things you learn at puberty are the things that stick with you because of all the firing of neurons and whatnot. So, that explains my ability to play the piano “Bacon, have you practiced today?” and my penchant for men in pink pants. (Go on–click that link. You know you want to!) But drawing? I avoided it like the plague. Because I sucked.

So, in the spirit of Lifelong Learning aka We All Die (WAD), which is a corollary to YOLO (You Only Live Once) but just a little more to the point, I present my attempts at art. The Subject? My dog Rubi, a shih tzu of show-quality breeding, except for the unsettling bulgy eyes and 9 nipples (an uneven number is never ideal).


Rubi, unedited. Hence, the devil eyes. She’s not really a devil. Unless you try to take her cookies. You have been warned.


The following represents my first sketch this morning of my dog:


To my credit, I think this drawing looks like a dog. A dog with steel posts inserted into its front legs, but whatever. I know. I suck.


So, as most fledgling artists do, I turned to YouTube for help. And in 19 minutes, I produced this drawing of my dog, sort of:


Yup. Nailed it. Obviously.

Why didn’t anyone ever tell me that I could become a bonafide artist in nineteen minutes? 

Time to check out some breakdance videos next. And then some banjo lessons. Heck, in the next couple of hours I’m going to check all those talents off my list that I have avoided for fear of failure and humiliation. Who knew that developing talents was as simple as a click of a mouse?

Watch for my Etsy shop shortly. Nineteen minute caricatures of your pets. Provided that YouTube has your breed on file …

IMG_3814Heck, yes!


Okay, Oleander: The topic is Guilty Pleasures. Go!

Listen up ye Land Lubbers: There be Pirates in these blog pages

Most people wouldn’t know this at first glance, but piracy (the floating, looting kind, not the movie/music-stealing kind) is in my blood. It’s been passed down through generations of scalawags  1 generation of inexplicable pirate fascination.

Note: Perhaps this is why I gave the pirate/marauder category so much love

In fact, many moons ago I had an encounter that went like this:

I was heating up my lunch at work (in a microwave that, oddly, was in the middle of the room where everyone worked). I was looking around the room when I spotted an earring that I had lost about 3 days prior. I yelped with joy as I walked over to collect it and explained to my co-workers that I had lost it and found myself getting ready for bed to find I had only one earring.

To this, my co-worker replied, “Like a pirate?”

At which point, I got a little too chatty (what else is new) and proceeded to tell him that I had always wanted to be a pirate. And that it was my mom’s fault – she had passed it down to me. And that she almost got to be a pirate once because she had to wear a patch; but it was a white, gauzy patch and not the kind that pirates get to wear.

My food was done at this point in my pirate rantings, so I turned to leave the room and as I exited, I heard my co-worker responding to my story, “Of course, because we all know that the desire to be a pirate is genetic.”

And if you need proof, long before the days where Johnny Depp made being a pirate on fleek (did I do that right? Is fleek reserved specifically for eyebrows?), for my 4th birthday (you know, the first birthday you get to have a say in), I requested a Pirate Party.


Avast my pirate heart, I was one adorable young swashbuckler.

I’ve been working tirelessly to pass down my pirate love to one of my children. No notable success yet. But, they are young. There is time.

Because, after all, we all know that the desire to to be a pirate is, in fact, genetic.


Bacon: You are a woman of many talents. But, tell us, what is one talent you weren’t blessed with that you wish you had. And why?

WHEN MEN HAD BODY HAIR: Music Idols of My Time, may they Rest in Peace because I’m old.

So, this meme pretty much speaks for itself, sums it up, says it all. 


Note: That acknowledgment, will not, of course, prevent me from saying even more stuff. You can bank on it.

Additional Note: Oh my gosh, just look at them! Those tasty golden-wrapped morsels. With body hair, even. And quite a bit, actually.

Yeah, I came of age in the Disco Era, sort of. I mean, in the olden days when we lit a candle to do our homework, coming of age happened differently and perhaps later in a teen’s life. And although I was a big fan of what is now called Classic Rock (Queen, Foreigner, Boston, Styx), my heart belonged to the Brothers Gibb.

And their super hot little brother, Andy, who had a penchant for tight pink pants. Swoon!


Kinda scandalous, amiright?


Note: The Hub and I actually met in a disco, no kidding. I think it went something like this:


But I digress. See, the thing is: We didn’t have the internet or MTV or YouTube or anything to actually see our bands. We listened to their music and gazed at the album covers, which thankfully were large enough back then to have lots of photos to Swoon! over. We had to stay up to late to catch a performance on Saturday Night Live to ever see them for real.

So, imagine the amazement! and excitement! and life-changingness! of seeing a concert. Your idols live. Onstage.

It was a 2-1/2 hour drive from my little farm town to the venue.

Note: Raise your hand if you are surprised that Bacon grew up on a farm. That’s what I thought.

We drove through peach orchards and almond orchards and rice fields until we hit a freeway! and cars! and tall buildings! with escalators, even.

And the venue held four times more people than lived in my whole dog-goned town. The estrogen levels were high and the crowd was whipped into a frenzy.

And there they were.  The BeeGees. In puffs of smoke and flashing lights and falsetto voices and tight gold lame.

We danced. We swayed. We sang. We screamed. We cried, even. 

And when it was over, we climbed back into the car and drove through cars! and freeways! and rice fields! and almond orchards! and peach orchards! until we were back in our farmhouse, back in our beds, back to listening to our albums and remembering.

And we realized that there was a big world out there, maybe not so far away from our little life.

But for now, we pull out our albums and dream.


Alrighty Oleander: Let’s get down and dirty about Pirates, shall we?

Pop Princesses

Nostalgia. It’s pretty great. So, thanks, Bacon for taking me back. As I’ve been musing about the female pop stars of my youth, however, this meme comes to mind:


Pre-teen/Young-teen (tween?) Oleander was, admittedly, a bit naive. But, I know that I wasn’t the only young girl who didn’t fully understand what exactly Britney meant when she said she wanted to be “hit” again or what Christina’s [What a girl wants, what a girl] “needs” were.

But, naiveté aside, there were some powerhouse women to be reckoned with in the late 90s and early 2000s. We had Britney Spears, Christina Aguilera (who freaked us all out when she pulled a Miley – okay, I know I’m mixing generations here – and became Xtina for awhile), Jessica Simpson, Mandy Moore, The Spice Girls, Destiny’s Child, Shakira. We had Avril to help us work out our anger issues. We had Vanessa Carlton and Michelle Branch. Heck, you might even remember Nelly Furtado.

But nothing was better then watching the pop stars you loved coupling up with other pop stars you loved. Jessica Simpson and Nick Lachey did feel like a match made in heaven (unless you actually watched Newlyweds and were there when we all realized that reality TV was going to ruin our lives). I’m pretty sure there have actually never been two more attractive people to make a music video together:

Britney Spears and Justin Timberlake were just the epitome of pop royalty giving us #couplegoals before we knew we needed them. I mean #amiright?

28th annual American Music Awards

Image by © Frank Trapper/Corbis

All jean all day. But, really, aren’t these the cutest photos you’ve ever seen?


But, all good things must come to an end. Our little teenage hearts learned all about heartbreak as our magic couples broke up and grew up.

So, to Britney and your hugely successful Las Vegas residency and all you other lovely pop ladies, thanks for helping us grow up. Even though we didn’t really want to.

Bacon: You were a youth in an entirely different generation of music. What artists/music helped you grow up. 

LOL: Oh, the Hypocrisy

It takes a lot to make me LOL. Maybe it’s just my refined sense of humor or maybe I’m dense, maybe. But I also think that the rest of the social media world is filled with liars. Or exaggerators.

Note: I mean, how many people are literally Rolling On The Floor Laughing Their A$$es Off? (ROFLMAO). I will tell you how many: None. It’s just unhygenic.

Since I rarely laugh out loud unless I’m hanging with Oleander or the DaughterInLaw, who will remain unnamed to protect her dignity identity, I’m more prone to NAG (Nod and Grin) or present a ‘SUP (Slightly Upturned Piehole). Occasionally I have a nice release of GAS (Grin and Snort), but that’s rare indeed.

Note: I’m a lady, after all.

So, what makes me laugh? Out Loud?

Now, this is humor:



I mean, let’s be honest, right? We’ve all been that dog. Been there. Done that.



I am a fan of the humiliating GIF. I mean, this guy. Rubbing the other guy’s knee. With such nonchalance. And the other guy. Look at how he looks at him. And nods, knowingly, like a moment has passed between them.

Note: I am in the midst of an LOL right now.



And Fainting Goats. I totally relate to their overactive startle reflex, a newborn quality I have yet to overcome. They are Myotonic, which is a fancy word for Hilarious. Actually, when surprised, their muscles are triggered to freeze up, which is supposed to be some sort of reflex to protect them from predators. Frankly, I don’t see it.

Unless, of course, their predators are Rolling On Their Floor Laughing Their A$$es Off.

Heck, yes!–Bacon

Okay Oleander, it’s your turn: You handled the Backstreet Boys beautifully. (Handled? That was a weird way to phrase it, right?) Anyway, let’s hear a take on the GIRL pop stars of your generation. Hit Me Baby One More Time, anyone?





Let’s Talk Backstreet Boys

I’ll admit that I gave a good, audible chuckle when I read Bacon’s prompt for me today. For anyone who may have missed it: Okay Oleander: Any preteen in the 90s had her favorite Backstreet Boy, right? Tell us about your favorite and what did that say about your personality? 

And, yes. I was a pre-teen/teen right in the height of the best version of boy bands. And I was 100% on The Backstreet Boys side of the BSB/N*SYNC battle.

Note: I could get into the merits of why…but heaven knows that even 20 years later, no one is swaying anyone to the other side of that debate.

So, the question is, who was is my favorite Backstreet Boy.

Note: YES the Backstreet Boys are still together and still make music. And, yes…I have every one of their albums.


Well, for anyone who’s not familiar, there are 5 Backstreet Boys (there were four for a little bit when Kevin went to perform on Broadway, but he’s returned).

Nick Carter: Arguably the most well known and well-loved Backstreet Boy. He’s the youngest and had that 90s bowl haircut that made any girl swoon (see: Jonathan Taylor Thomas, Devin Sawa, early Zac Efron). He recently came in 2nd on Dancing with the Stars and I’d be mad if Bindi hadn’t been such a freaking delight. Also, check out this ridiculous performance he did during the season finale.

Brian Littrell: The southern charmer with the smoothest (and most prominently used) vocals of the bunch. He has a boy-next-door vibe and littrelly (see what I did there?) doesn’t appear to have aged.

AJ Mclean: The “bad boy” of the group complete with tattoos and a [past] drug problem (okay, we didn’t know about that when we were kids). His voice brings some edge and soul to the group.

Howie Dorough: The Latin flair of the group. For the early years Howie mostly brought vital depth to the top part of the 5-part harmonies. He was my best friend’s favorite of the group and has, in my opinion, gotten the most handsome with age.

Kevin Richardson: The eldest Backstreet Boy and cousin to Brian. He is the tall, dark, and handsome in the group and rounds out the low part of the harmonies.

My favorite Backstreet Boy was always AJ. According to this super legit Buzzfeed article, this means: “Others may see you as dark and mysterious. You may be a rebel and you certainly have a flair for bad boys or girls. Tattoos and piercings are your thing. You have a unique sense of fashion that rocks your world. But you are a real sweetheart with a goofy side.”

Which is hilarious. As you know, I’m not dark or mysterious. I am not a rebel. My ears are the only piercings I have. I think part of the bad boy appeal for me comes from the freedom that seems to come along with being the “rebel.” I don’t have it in me to rebel (and I don’t really want to), but it’s an alluring thing to watch. Additionally, AJ’s voice is pretty killer.

I mean, check this out and tell me he’s not your new favorite, too:

Wishing I never had to grow up,


Bacon! You’re up. We all overuse the term LOL these days. What are the last three things that really made you Laugh Out Loud?