I was almost named Clothilde. (KLO-TEEL. It would have been a source of constant torment to be named Clothilde. (It wouldn’t have taken mean kids long to rename me Kotex.) Daddy tried to hang that horrendous name on my three sisters,too. No matter what heinous deed my mother may have committed or may commit in the future, I forgive her because she stuck up for me when it really mattered. Daddy was raised in North Louisiana during the deepest of the Depression, one of seven pitiful children always on the brink of starvation. His father either rented a farm or sharecropped when he couldn’t manage rent. He died young leaving a widow and family. Daddy didn’t speak often about his family’s situation, but occasionally slipped up and revealed the difficulties they suffered. They were a troubled family, economically and socially and moved frequently.
As an adult, Daddy patterned himself on Mr. Ward, a prosperous landlord he knew as a child. I am grateful Mr. Ward provided Daddy a good role model, except for one small problem. Mr. Ward had a lovely daughter named Clothilde. Her hideous name threatened all girl children in Daddy’s bloodline. He was set on Clothilde for Phyllis, his first born daughter. Normally, Mother acquiesced to Daddy in most things, but this time she put her foot down. No Clothilde!!!!! Daddy contented himself with naming the baby “Phyllis,” after an old girlfriend holding Clothilde in reserve for the next daughter. Three years later, I came along. “Clothilde” was the first word out of his mouth when he saw me. Thank God, Mother didn’t die in childbirth. Again, Mother stuck to her guns, so I got Linda. Daughter number three might have been his last chance. Even though Mother had had a long and difficult labor, she rose from her childbed, vanquished Clothilde, and named the baby Connie. Not expecting another opportunity, he lost hope. A little more than a year later, his fourth and last daughter joined the family. Hopefully, he asked Mother, “You wouldn’t want to name her Clothilde, would you?” Her name is Marilyn. We thought that was the end of the story. Recently, my brother’s oldest daughter revealed the final chapter. “Mom told me something funny. When she was pregnant, Papa asked her to name me Clothilde.”
Aunt Julie looked like a wild woman, but I adored her. She cackled like a hen when she laughed with her crinkly black hair standing up like a nest of stinging worms. I saw her comb it once or twice, but it didn’t make a bit of difference. Fortunately, she was easy going and didn’t seem bothered by it. She was a skinny, little woman with a big stomach and pipe-stem legs. The legs of her pants bloused out and never touched her. Had I not known her since I was born, I’d have thought she was a witch. She had a filthy mouth, peppering her language with forbidden words. I learned early on Mother would warm my britches should I repeat anything coming out of Aunt Julie’s mouth.
One of Aunt Julie’s phrases always hooked me. She often prefaced statements with, “as the old saying goes.” I loved old sayings, so I was all ears waiting for what came next. Sadly more often than not, she finished with something perfectly mundane like, “I have to make a pan of biscuits.” I never failed to be disappointed, feeling she had not followed through on her promise. “Fortunately, from time to time, she finished up with a thrilling phrase like, “If I don’t get to the bathroom soon I’m gonna s___ my drawers.” Her use of forbidden language always brightened days moderated by Mother’s prudish language. We weren’t even allowed to say pee pee or doo doo. It’s rough being a gee gee-er in a world of kids who doo doo or donkey. I don’t think Mother cared how she marked us. More on Aunt Julie later.
Phyllis and I had been at it all weekend. It was her first weekend home from college in 1965 and she was on top of Daddy’s good list. Daddy liked his kids a lot better when he hadn’t seen us lately, so Phyllis was basking in the warmth of his rare approval. Since I still lived at home and was a smart-aleck, I was definitely was not on his good list. His ingratiating treatment really grated on my nerves, since he was gracious by proxy, ordering me to, “Do this for Phyllis. Get Phyllis some more cake. Stop what you’re doing and kiss Phyllis’s behind again.” Of course, Phyllis was soaking all this up since only two weeks before, she had been one of the peons who had to “Get so and so some more cake, Kiss so and so’s behind.”
We took a few hours off to sleep and let Phyllis’s behind get a little rest from all that kissing and picked up the fight where we left off. Sunday morning found me in a particularly bad mood knowing Phyllis would switch into her “sweet and precious persona” as soon as she stepped into the sanctuary, while “mean Phyllis ” recharged to be unleashed on me as soon as we got home. For good measure, I insulted her again just before going in to take a shower. She pounded on the bathroom door, demanding the girdle she had hung to dry on a towel rod. I got out of the tub, stripped the girdle from the rod, and flung it out the bathroom door, and yelled at her, “Here’s your darned old girdle! It’s wet anyway!”
This was all it took. Phyllis flew to Mother, squalling so hard, she couldn’t even tell Mother anything except how horrible I had been to her. Mother finally calmed her enough to find out what was wrong, and Phyllis blubbered out, “She said my girdle’s wet. Boo hoo hoo!”
I am so grateful to be highlighted by the lovely Melinda at Lookingfor thelightblog I have gotten hooked on her uplifting and informative blog. Please check her out.
Who would have ever thought chicken wings would need their own day? When I was a kid, chicken wings would have only come before back and neck on the request list. Mother broke the leg-shaped portion off and gave it to babies long before they learned about drumsticks. Of course, she wrestled off the gristly end so they wouldn’t choke. It served as a kind of greasy pacifier to be pried out of their grubby list fist after they went to sleep. Who’d have thought chicken would be a sought after specialty treat?
An american, a russian, and an italian. The guards come for the american, bind his hands and drag him off. The other 2 hear his screams for sn hour, then nothing. In another hour the guards drag him back in, cut his bonds and dump him on a bunk. “All my training was for nothing, i told them everything.”
They take the russian bind his ha ds and drag him out. And for 4 hours the others hear screaming, then nothing. In Another hour, the guards drag the russian back in, cut him loose crying. I yhought after a life in rusdia i had suffered the worst but it was nothing compared to what they did. I told them everything.
The guards then took the italian, bound him, and dragged him out. All day, and all night the others listen to his screams. After what seemed like forever the guards dragged the italian back in, cut him loose and dump him.
The russian says”you must be the toughest man on earth!”
The american says “how did you not break?”
The italian says, “i wanted to, i tried to tell them everything. But they wouldn’t untie my hands!!!
Wish I Was Rich
A genie came to me and asked, “What’s your first wish?” I answered, “I wish I was rich!” Then the genie said, “What’s your second wish, Rich?”
Grandma Jones…
Grandma Jones from the valley had never experienced a sick day in her life, so she didn’t take it kindly when a bad case of the mulligrubs sent her to the hospital for observation.
By the time a pair of husky interns got Grandma tucked into bed, she had managed to complain about everything: the temperature, the lights, the skimpy gown, the food and the mattress – especially, the mattress.
Suddenly, Grandma spotted a small plastic item with a button, attached to a cord.
“What’s that?” she demanded with great suspicion, suspecting it might be one of those high tech items the city folks talked about.
“If you need anything in the middle of the night, Grandma,” said one of the interns, “just press that button.”
“What does it do, ring a bell?” she asked.
“No, it turns on a light in the hall for the nurse on duty,” the intern replied.
“A light in the hall?” responded Grandma. “Look, I’m the sick one around here. If the night nurse needs a light on in the hall, she can get up and switch it on herself.”
Church Cake!
Have you ever told a white lie? You are going to love this — especially all the ladies who bake for church events Alice was to bake a cake for the church ladies’ group bake sale, but she forgot to do it until the last minute.
She baked an angel food cake and when she took it from the oven, the center had dropped flat.
She said, “Oh dear, there’s no time to bake another cake.”
So, she looked around the house for something to build up the center of the cake.
Alice found it in the bathroom … a roll of toilet paper.
She plunked it in and covered it with icing.
The finished product looked beautiful, so she rushed it to the church. Before she left the house, Alice had given her daughter some money and specific instructions to be at the bake sale the minute it opened, and to buy that cake and bring it home.
When the daughter arrived at the sale, the attractive cake had already been sold.
Alice was beside herself.
The next day, Alice was invited to a friend’s home where two tables of bridge were to be played that afternoon.
After the game, a fancy lunch was served, and to top it off, the cake in question was presented for dessert.
Alice saw the cake, she started to get out of her chair to rush into the kitchen to tell her hostess all about it, but before she could get to her feet, one of the other ladies said, “What a beautiful cake!”
Alice sat back in her chair when she heard the hostess (who was a prominent church member) say,
I had eighteen bottles of whiskey in my cellar and was told by my wife that I had a drinking problem, and to empty the contents of each and every bottle down the sink, or else. I said I would and proceeded with the unpleasant task.
I withdrew the cork from the first bottle and poured the contents down the sink with the exception of one glass, which I drank.
I then withdrew the cork from the second bottle and did likewise with it, with the exception of one glass, which I drank.
I then withdrew the cork from the third bottle and poured the whiskey down the sink which I drank.
I pulled the cork from the fourth bottle down the sink and poured the bottle down the glass, which I drank.
I pulled the bottle from the cork of the next and drank one sink out of it, and threw the rest down the glass.
I pulled the sink out of the next glass and poured the cork down the bottle. Then I corked the sink with the glass, bottled the drink and drank the pour.
When I had everything emptied, I steadied the house with one hand, counted the glasses, corks, bottles, and sinks with the other, which were twenty-nine, and as the houses came by I counted them again, and finally I had all the houses in one bottle, which I drank.
I’m not under the affluence of incohol as some thinkle peep I am. I’m not half as thunk as you might drink. I fool so feelish I don’t know who is me, and the drunker I stand here, the longer I get.
…. spending so much of his free time in the local bar, so one night he took her along with him. “What’ll you have?” he asked.
“Oh, I don’t know. The same as you I suppose,” she replied. So, the husband ordered a couple of Jack Daniel’s and threw his down in one shot.
His wife watched him, then took a sip from her glass and immediately spit it out. “Yuck, that’s TERRIBLE!” she spluttered. “I don’t know how you can drink this stuff!”
“Well, there you go,” cried the husband. “And you think I’m out enjoying myself every night!”
The man downed it with one swallow, put a five dollar bill on the bar, and turned and rushed out of the bar.
The bartender picked up the five dollar bill, and folded it carefully and tucked it in his vest pocket.
Just at that moment he looked up at the boss standing in the doorway staring at him.
Doing a bit of fast thinking he said, “Hi boss, did you see that fellow just now? Came in here, bought a double martini, gave me a five dollar tip, and rushed out without paying.”
So, the bartender does just that, and hands the man the bill. The drunk says, “I haven’t got it.” The bartender slaps the guy around a few times then throws him out into the street.
The very next day, the same drunk walks into the bar and once again says, “Bartender, buy everyone in the house a drink, pour yourself one, and give me the bill.” The bartender figures that he can’t possibly be stupid enough to pull the same trick twice, so he gives him the benefit of the doubt. He pours a round of drinks for the house, has a drink himself, and hands the drunk the bill.
Again, the drunk says, “I haven’t got it.” The bartender can’t believe it. He picks the guy up, beats the living daylights out of him, and then throws him out into the street.
The next day, the same drunk walks back into the same bar and says, “Bartender, buy every one in the house a drink and give me the bill.”
In disgust, the bartender says, “What, no drink for me this time?” The drunk replies, “Nope! You get too violent when you drink.”
Myth #1: The Guinness served in Ireland is different to the rest of the world
Actually, the Guinness served in Ireland is most likely the same as that served in Boston or Berlin. However, many people will attest that Guinness simply tastes better in Ireland, which is why the myth spread. There’s a certain amount of sentimentality in this myth, but when you dig into it, most of the reasoning is pretty circumstantial.
There are a few reasons why it may taste better in Ireland – most likely freshness and rapid keg turnover (a pub in Dublin will serve the freshest Guinness in the world) – but the actual product is not any different to the black stuff served around the world. Also, a Guinness drinker in Ireland is guaranteed to have their drink poured correctly in Ireland than in some parts of the world, which will have an impact on the quality of the experience.
Myth #2: Lite beers will help you lose weight
On average, a lite beer will have 90-100 calories, while a regular beer might have under 200. In the grand scheme of things, lite beers will contribute very little to your dietary goals, and considering their typical lack of taste, you’d be better off drinking one or two regular beers.
Myth #3: Dark beers are stronger in alcohol
The color of beer has no relation to its alcohol content. For example, Guinness, one of the most popular dark beers has an alcohol volume of 4.2%, while several light-colored Belgian beers have alcohol content of 8%+.
Myth #4: Corona beer contains urine
This was a nasty rumor claiming that Mexican brewery workers were relieving themselves into the beer. Allegedly, the rumor was spread by a Heineken distributor and was only refuted following a lawsuit by Corona.
Myth #5: Imported beers are stronger than American beers
Traditionally, American beers measure their alcohol content by weight, while many other countries (across Europe and in Canada) measure by volume. The alcohol by weight figure will always appear lower than the alcohol by volume – for example, 4% ABW = 5% ABV, hence the myth creation.
Myth #6: Beer should be served ice-cold for best flavor
This is an unfortunate myth perpetuated by the major commercial breweries – especially for their lite beers. The fact is, flavor typically diminishes when beer is served ice-cold. It may make for a thirst-quenching, refreshing beverage, but often bears little resemblance to traditional beer. Several beers are, in fact, best served much closer to room temperature or slightly cool and are considered undrinkable when icy cold – such as Guinness and many of the traditional English ales.
Myth #7: The best beers have green bottles
Another myth that circulated imported beers. Brown glass is the best color to protect beer from light, which is why most beers are bottled with it. A shortage of brown glass in Europe during the last century led to many breweries using green glass to bottle their beer – therefore, green bottles represented imported beer for many years and people incorrectly assumed the color indicated a better beer.
Myth #8: “Beer before liquor, never sicker – liquor before beer, in the clear”
This is common drinking advice shared but not scientifically true. In reality, alcohol is alcohol, and the overall quantity you imbibe will determine your resulting (in)sobriety or hangover. Drinking beer before drinking hard liquor may prolong the onset of inebriation. However, it won’t ultimately matter whether you drink beer first or last; it’s the quantity of alcohol that does the damage.
Myth #9: You can’t get a hangover from drinking organic beer
If only being eco-friendly was this rewarding! This myth is based on the idea that organic beer is cleaner or purer than other beer, but there’s no existing proof that it manages to avoid giving hangovers when consumed in sufficient quantities.
Myth #10: Beer will raise your cholesterol levels
Beer actually contains no fat and no cholesterol! Perhaps this is one reason that Guinness was originally advertised as good for your health.
Myth #11: A good beer must be high in alcohol
Many people unfairly associate low alcohol with low flavor. There are plenty of poor quality beers that are high in alcohol content, and the opposite is also true. Some of the famous Belgian and German beers have traditionally high average alcohol content – perhaps 8% or 10%. However, the alcohol content is only one feature and doesn’t necessarily account for the good taste. In England, many of the best mild ales have alcohol content of 4% or less – resulting from a higher tax on stronger beer. Of course, the advantage is finding good-tasting, lower alcohol beers is that you can drink more of it!
Myth #12: Beer kills brain cells
Possibly the most damning of all beer myths, and we’re happy to explode this for you. An Australian study has determined that beer is not responsible for killing brain cells as was once thought
Submitted by Kenneth, Shropshire, England (and the English know their beer!)
A handful of 7 year old children were asked, ‘what they thought of beer.’ Some interesting responses, but the last one is especially touching.
Tim- ‘I think beer must be good. My dad says the more beer he drinks the prettier my mom gets.’
Melanie – ‘Beer makes my dad sleepy and we get to watch what we want On television when he is asleep, so beer is nice.
Grady – ‘My Mom and Dad both like beer. My Mom gets funny when she drinks it and takes her top off at parties, but Dad doesn’t think this is very funny.’
Toby – ‘My Mom and Dad talk funny when they drink beer and The more they drink the more they give kisses to each other, which is a good thing.’
Sarah – ‘My Dad gets funny on beer. He is funny. He also wets his pants sometimes, so he shouldn’t have too much.
Lilly – ‘My Dad loves beer. The more he drinks, the better he dances. One time he danced right into the pool.’
Ethan – ‘I don’t like beer very much. Every time Dad drinks it, he burns the sausages on the barbecue and they taste disgusting.’
Shirley – ‘I give Dad’s beer to the dog and he goes to sleep.’
I was almost named Clothilde. (KLO-TEEL. It would have been a source of constant torment to be named Clothilde. (It wouldn’t have taken mean kids long to rename me Kotex.) Daddy tried to hang that horrendous name on my three sisters,too. No matter what heinous deed my mother may have committed or may commit in the future, I forgive her because she stuck up for me when it really mattered. Daddy was raised in North Louisiana during the deepest of the Depression, one of seven pitiful children always on the brink of starvation. His father either rented a farm or sharecropped when he couldn’t manage rent. He died young leaving a widow and family. Daddy didn’t speak often about his family’s situation, but occasionally slipped up and revealed the difficulties they suffered. They were a troubled family, economically and socially and moved frequently.
Nutsrok 