Blob Horizons

Hi, Chot.......Thanks for the birthday greeting. I have re-read it several times. Today is the day I learn to comment on everyone's blog. I can't wait to comment on Miss Cindy Loo Hoo's blog, because she has been kind enough to hit mine twice. Does Brian have a blog? Or does he just hide safely in the woods and comment on everyone else's blog? We'll get him going!

Somehow, I must differentiate my style from everyone else's blog. That's hard to do, considering all the incredible talent I see out there. So far, BLOBBIN' is my only significant distinguishing feature. Oh, well. It's all I got.

Here is a list of my favorite things.
Favorite movie: The Blob. Original version.
Favorite T.V. show: Welcome Back Kotter with Vinnie Blobberino.
Favorite game show host: Blob Blarker.
Fave cartoon: Spongeblob Squarepants.
Fave political tacticians: The blobbyists.
Favorite song, from the fabulous Al Jolson: When the Red Red Robin Comes Blob Blob Blobbin' Along.
Second fave song, in honor of Jot, Bri and Marcnie (how long are you?) Blobbin' Robin.
Third fave song, by the superbulous Kris Kristofferson: Me and Blobby McGee.
Fave food: Maine blobster.
Most feared surgery: The blobotomy.
Honorable mentions: Blobbing for apples, discomblobulation, Blobbies on blicycles, two by two.

The following newsflash is printed by permission: Yer ma just baked me a birthday cake and it didn't even go lopsided. I repeat, PRINTED BY PERMISSION. Yumski.

Newsflash: Munchie is in town. She is meeting Gus at Ikea (start the car). She will be along in due time, at some point, in due course, eventually, sometime or other, sooner or later, when all is said and done.

Everyone will be here this evening to celebrate my birthday. No kids. None. BORING! The entire world celebrates my birthday. Except for 1.3 billion Chinese. I'll get to them. They will celebrate also. Eventually. Sometime or other. Sooner or later. When all is said and done. I go now.

GonnaWin

Well, we only have a few days to:
A) Decide on our new year's rezz, or
B) Finish up on our last year's rezz.
C) Or both.

I have chosen to finish a serious resolution that I have been ignoring for eleven and 3/4 months. Gotta move fast. Today is the day to make serious strides. I am absotively posilutely going to put an end to all my obsessive behaviors. Yer Ma and I went to the Chuckarama. The place was jammed. We no sooner got into the front door than I spotted a big fat older guy with a fabulous pair of John Deere suspenders. I don't like suspenders. Don't trust 'em. One overstretch of the torso and where are the levis? On the floor. But these were JOHN DEERE suspenders. I asked yer Ma for a pair. She was laughing so hard that she didn't even answer. Who was she laughing at.? Me? Or the guy because the suspenders came straight over his shoulders, then took incredible detours around his enormous gut, straightening out again at the beltline where a belt darn well shoulda been.

She continued laughing as we filled our plates. Who in the h-e-double-toothpicks is she giggling about? She rounded a corner and there he was. Face to face. She almost dropped her plate. I told her that I bet any John Deere dealer would have them. Cheap, too. I found the biggest drumstick I had ever seen. Yum. String beans, cantalope, a ho-bunch of napkins and I was ready to dig in. I peeled some of the skin off the d'stick as I always do. The drumstick turned out to be greasy as they often do. I wrapped a napkin around it and wrenched the grease off as I often do. Disaster. The tissuie face of the napkin stuck to the drumstick. I thought it would peel right off. Oh, no. I picked and picked and picked. Yer Ma said that a small amount of napkin wouldn't hurt anything. Have you ever gotten napkin paper in your mouth? Gag! I picked and picked. She got up and refilled her plate.

She was certainly smiling when she returned. I assumed she was having an extended encounter with the 'spenders. I asked about it. She glanced at my d'stick and said no. She suggested that I merely set the drumstick aside. I said, no that would be wasteful and could even get us into trouble with the manager. ("You! Big Boy! You go now!") Well, large drumsticks are not all they are cracked up to be. I couldn't tell the meat from the gristle. I couldn't tell the bone from the fat. I couldn't tell the dark meat from the burned skin. I hate burned skin. It hadda come off. But how? It worked out well. As I got the last of the skin off, the last of the paper appeared to be gone.

I wondered aloud if the guy would be offended if I simply asked him where he got those marvelous green and yellow suspenders. Yer ma has a sort of a personality disorder. Her smiling holiday-season personna was momentarily gone. She said, "dont you go over there." STUPID DRUMSTICK! It was cold. It was hard. It had less meat than a normal small drumstick.

I had an epiphany. The John Deere dealers would have everything on sale. I could buy twenty or thirty pairs of suspenders! For next to nothing! Greenie greenie greenie! But how could I keep the secret for 363 days? Mandy struggled for 17 days (plus 2 days because the toys were on the mountain.) This would test my compulsion to tell all! I always finish at Chuckarama with chocolate pudding. Wouldn't ya know it? The pudding was almost all gone. What do I do? People were pushing from all directions. How do I get anyone's attention? No employees anywhere! I ran to our booth. "Ma, what do I do? The pudding is gone. Do you think maybe that drumstick could have come from a small turkey?"

She said, "I cannot put up with all these people another second. I'm heading for the car." As she was going through the door, I swear I saw a boat of pudding arriving at the dessert bar. I realized that this was a wonderful opportunity to overcome a compulsion. No pudding. I am strong. I am El Tigre. I caught up with yer Ma as she reached the car. "Now, about those suspenders........." I go now.

The Abominable Blobman

Hi, Folks. I have decided to pay for every comment I get on my blob. I am discovering what the appeal is on writing blogs. It's the comments. They are more addicting and more compulsion-ating than... than........even nail biting. I am a driven man. So I'm beginning - starting today - to pay $1,000,000.00 for each comment. Jodi and Brian will be skeptical. I offered to pay them a million for every tough catch they made in back yard softball-tossin'. They caught manymanymany. The money is still pending. Be patient, ya little coots.

Anyhoo, the Abdominable blobman is so happy to find a venue to keep up better with everyone. Kookins, Twisty, the four siblin's and all others are registered participants. Ken might receive $2,000,000 for his first comment just to get him jump-started. I didn't even know of the comments for the first 3 or 4 weeks of my blob. Surprise!

Is it too late (Dec. 26) for a Christmas story? Don't get Gramps going. I'm compulsive about Christmas stories. A strong magnetic force is pulling, pulling me into the distant past. Help! I'm falling. Suddenly I am six years old. Grandma Burton came to see us for Christmas. She was so fun. A real character. But a bit outspoken. I was afrrrraid of her when she in one of her "snappy moods." She stayed in my bedroom. I awoke very early, probably at about 5:am. I was so silent as I crept to the bedroom door. But all was lost . "what are you doing," she demanded. "I just want to open some of my presents," I said in a strange, whining voice. "Get back in bed right now." "But, but ... I always get up this early..." My voice trailed off. "You get back in bed this instant," she commanded. "Today is Christmas Eve." She was right.

Speaking of falling, Yer ma (and grandma) fell this morning. Very soft landing. No breaks or bruises. Just some stiffness. I would offer to do her falling for her, but I'm afraid she would be about as convinced as you others are on my offer for cash prizes. We have had a fabulous Christmas. Remember Big Boy? "You! Big Boy! You go now." The Abdominable goes now.

Instructoblob

Our home teacher always says, "Merry merry, happy happy!" I concur.

This an instructional/tutorial/heads-up/blobbo.
A) Play with this outside 'til you get the hang of it.B) Don't let the smaller kids control it by themselves for awhile---- Maybe never.
C) Don't let anyone play with this toy if there is another greenie within about 50 or 100 feet. (They are on the same frequency.)

Blobbadociousness

Went to the dentist today. Didn't have a good experience. Told the dentist and his seven dwarfs about the greenies. Casually mentioned that I could safely divulge the nature of da greens. Said, however, that they'd have to kill me if I did. They weren't impressed. They were offended. And they tried to kill me. They tried laughing gas. They found that lol gas was not the same as truth serum. I told them nothing. I screamed with laughter, hahahahahaha, and then everything went black. When I awoke I knew that I was in deep trouble. The elves were attacking me with drills. They pretended to reassure me by saying "this is not a drill!" And it wasn't. It was fer real. Ironically, it was not a drill, but it WAS a drill. Go figure. Seven whirring, whining drills. They were trying to KILL me. I thought, "this whole greenie nonsense has gotten out of hand."

I quickly said, "This whole greenie nonsense has gotten out of hand." I tendered a recapitulation. "All right, all right, here is the straight story...." But all was lost. They had decided, (while I was asleep) that killing me would be more fun than learning the verdant truth. With jaded eyes they came after me. I thought quickly. What will stop the drill faster than anything else? Yeah! I've got it! Slobber. They always stop the drill and stick that vacuum wand into the mouth to capture slobber. Fortunately, I had popped a green tic tac into my mouth to keep from offending anyone. "Eeuuww", they shrieked. "Green slobber."

I raced for the door. But they cornered me. Those girls are so cute. I said, "if I bring green cookies, will you let me go?" So yer ma spent the day making green cookies and now I must deliver them. After all, I need to feel safe next time I go into that scary place. I go now.

Blobberooski

At 5:18 this morning I got a comment from Twisty Widgits. Would someone please pull me down from cloud nine so I can continue with my day?

Anyhoo, You must all be told this: There WILL be an instructional blob on the morning of Dec. 25. For security reasons, nothing more can be added or explained at this time. Barb & Dean and Mandy & Mike made a huge portion of our whole Christmas yesterday. What a great season we are all having!

I've been having fun with "compulsive behaviors" on my blobs, but in reality, I do have 'em. I was recently reminded of one of my serious ones from out of the past by a nameless person who now suffers from this same disorder. (Well, this guy has a name, mind you, but...) This condition may not seem important to you, dear reader, but it is truly maddening, life-disrupting and even painful to the victim.

If you have no obsessions or compulsions, you may consider skipping the remainder of this exciting, fast moving blobbo. For you others, the subject for today is: nail biting! Yeah! Nail biting. Let's get to it!!!

I "Chewed" for thirty five years or more from my early teens to my late forties. My nails permanently receded a full quarter-inch over the decades because of being constantly bitten into the quick. (Bloody stumps! Pain!EEuuww) They are now unsightly because of their shortness, but they are perfectly sightly in their evenness. I tried many cures, but the one that flat-out worked for me is now unfolding for you. It's value will be all up to you, but please let me know if my plan is a boon or a bust.

I read an article by a woman (psychologist?) a couple of years back telling people how to stop biting. She said, "surround yourself with nail files. Have one on hand at all times!" Though her article contained other hints also, I was firmly convinced that she had never been a biter herself. She seemed to know nothing of the degree of a biter's impulsive, driven need to conquer demons; or of the nervous energy that a person puts into his habit. Her method was merely to substitute one conpulsion for another. A person in this situation would revert back to biting if A) a file were suddenly unavailable, or B) the nails got too long for the file to be effective. Plus he/she would be constantly filing, filing, filing.

Here 'tis. Get a good nail clipper and put it in your bathroom, along with an emery-board file. (No metal file.) These will be your primary tools and should do 100% of your manicuring. Get a clipper for "just in case" and keep it at work along with a file. If you travel, get one of each for your luggage. You might also keep a file in your car for extreme emergencies. NEVER use any of these except in case of a hangnail or unexpected rough edge that seems to bother you.

Remember, the reason most people bite, and I number myself in this group, is because of an endless quest for perfection. Any ragged edge is a cause for madness. I mean, Edgar Allen Poe MADNESS! Well, folks, biting cannot bring about this perfection. Human teeth cannot achieve the excellent edge of a stainless steel blade. A clipper, if you will.

Okay, back to the plan. Choose one hour of the week for manicuring. (I always chose Saturday mornings.) Clip the nails TO but not INTO the quick. Clip as deeply as you normally BITE. This is important . Give yourself nothing to bite! After you have clipped as deeply and cleanly as possible, take the file and file each nail To showtime-perfection. Smooth. Silky. Liveable. Never deviate more than one day from this timeframe. During the week, use your thumbs from time to time to feel all of your nails, and your index finger to feel your thumbs. Am I going too fast? If a problem appears correct it on the spot. Don't wait for a "convenient" time to clean it up or you will be tempted to gnaw at it.

I have been "free" of this compulsion for about twenty years, now. It feels good. Even now, I have a momentary crisis if I get a hangnail or a rough spot during a moment when help is not available. I do not call 911. I tough it out. I'm so manly.

Caution: The more progress you make in this area, the more danger you will face in falling for another compulsion. My current obsession seems to be in chasing all over Northern Utah looking for greenies. Some compulsions can be interrupted and even cured with the loud verbal command: "STOP IT." Please comment. I go now.
P.S. If you are constantly using your nails to "even-up" your cuticles, consider this normal. I go now.
hasEML = false;

Blobbity

Omigosh. Just when I thought my compulsive disorder was being fenced in the sky fell in. It imploded. Yer Ma had a nice gift purchased for Shelly, but she did the unthinkable. She said, "If Ben and Skyler get a greenie, then what would you think of Shelly getting one also, considering that she and Ben do everything together?" O-Mi-Gosh. My frenzied brain began counting numbers.

If Shelly gets one then Amanda gets one. (This lets you out as a confidant, Mandy.) (Thanks for the response to my blob.) If she gets one then L-loo and K-2 each get one. Lets's see, here. Would this leave Mommybarb the only one in the Hevelone clan without one? UNCONSCIONABLE! I mentioned to Babs earlier that I might tell her what these mysterious objects are, but then she would have to kill me..... Wait. I may not have that right.

My fevered brain teleported itself to the Watson residence. What if.....WHAT IF the 3 Watson girls awoke on Christmas day without a single greenie. Not one green gummy worm.....INDEFENSIBLE! Think about it. Sixteen gummy worms for the MANY and no gummy worms for the FEW! Aargh.

Well, it will all be over soon. But for now the FBI, the CIA, Muh and myself will stoically carry on in silence. Incidentally, I determined that I would travel all the way to Dagget County if necessary to find green ones. It wasn't that bad. I found all seven I needed in Rich County and in North Summit County. Whew! Glad that's over. Seven? Oh oh. I need eight. Frenzyfrenzyfrenzy. I go now. I think I can find one in Lawrence, Kansas. If I drive all night. I should be okay. I go now.