Flip Side to Music

Welcome to Humor Highway!

My name is Shelly Ryan and i will be bringing you some monthly humor here at Flip Side to Music!
My mantra is “If you obey all the rules you miss all the fun”

Take a trip down this Februarys Humor Highway…..
but PLEASE cover your mouth and nose when you sneeze because there are even more good reasons why we don’t need to be spreading “cooties”!

Medical Wonders

If you’re about to undergo any type of medical procedure, have no fear. During a recent excursion with a family member for a minor outpatient procedure, we were instructed to view a movie that entertainingly explained what to expect. As informative as it was, they missed many key components:

• You will be asked to disrobe and put on a gown. By the way, it only comes in unflattering colors, and men will be assigned a cheery floral pattern. That’s the good news! The design…let’s say it will leave nothing to the imagination However, do not be alarmed, as the medical staff has seen it all before and solemnly swears to not to point and laugh. Your choices will be the miniscule miniskirt or the XXXXL versions.

• We will then poke, prod, and do many other generally nasty things to you. Depending on your specific procedure, we may even shave certain hairy areas of your body! I am beyond squeamish when it comes to anyone drawing blood. During a procedure whereby I had no bodily fluids and bad veins to start with, the hospital staff learned some new cuss words. When the second nurse came in to make the fifth feeble attempt to start my IV, I tried to distract myself by watching TV. “There, there,” she said after jabbing me numerous times, “Yogi Bear wouldn’t talk like that!” Like heck he wouldn’t, especially if Boo Boo Bear kept sticking needles in him!

• While you wait for your procedure, we will let you watch television and even give you a remote control. However, it is impossible to operate due to the IV sticking out of your arm. You might also accidentally and suddenly raise and lower the head and/or feet of the gurney. When you’re on the “no food for 24 hours” rule, you probably won’t want to watch the cooking channels.

Once you’ve endured the “pre-op” festivities, here’s what to expect afterwards:

• Wherever we’ve poked and prodded, it will hurt…a lot!

• We will make matters worse by making you get up ASAP and walk around.

• Just when you think you’ve suffered enough humiliation by having your backside exposed as you shuffle about in your hospital gown, we will follow you to the restroom and make sure you make tee-tee before you are allowed to leave the premises.

If you’re lucky, you’ll be the person accompanying the patient. However, you’ll have to find interesting ways to pass the time besides browsing through informative pamphlets entitled, “The Amazing Spleen.” Striking up conversations with the nurses can be an educational and entertaining activity. “So, Betsy, tell me something…is your job like those popular hospital television shows where all the doctors are hunks?” “You mean as in George Clooney on ‘ER’?” I wiped the drool from the corner of my mouth and vigorously nodded my head. “Unfortunately, that breed is few and far between,” she said in a dismal tone.

TV series from decades ago always portrayed the doctor as a more seasoned medical professional. For example, Marcus Welby, MD was a trusted older gentleman you knew would diagnose and cure your ailments. With the influx of younger “hot” doctors, is it any wonder more women might consider going in for an elective appendectomy?

While there weren’t any physicians on staff that night that made my heart go pitter-patter, I did notice how young all of them looked. That happens when you get older. When the doctor skipped into the room sporting some spiffy sneakers, the first words out my mouth would have been, “Have you even hit puberty yet?” Seriously, I expected him to tote a pretend doctor kit and playfully wield a plastic stethoscope. He used very impressive medical words, which assured me at least he’d passed Hooked on Phonics.

And if he by any chance used any off-color words, he could have picked them up watching cartoons.

The Humor Highway brings you for January – The Evolution of Music




I am dedicating this month’s article to my friend Ray Sharp who died on January 3rd.
His music and kind spirit touched the lives of so many people!

Social networking has truly opened my eyes to a whole new world. Since I’m feeling inspired by the music of some talented friends, this morning I contemplated the many genres of music, the categories of which seem to be growing on a daily basis!

The exploration of music genres came about after perusing artists and their styles; such as “the blues.” Having the blues is bad news. I can see why people write songs when they’re blue, and I’ve composed my share.

But some people react differently when they’re feeling unhappy. And thus the style called “screamo.” The CD was described as featuring “screaming bursts and distorted guitar sounds.” Why are they screaming? Did the lead guitar guy slam his private parts in the whammy bar? Which would explain distorted guitar sounds…

Being the curious person that I am, I attempted to create a “family tree” of music. Trying to figure out what style influenced the next is like trying to answer the question, “What came first, the chicken or the egg?” The music history course I took in college only went back as far as classical composers and ended with some more classical composers. There had to be some talent before then. My theory is that prehistoric man experimented with many of the genres we have come to enjoy today!

You see, there wasn’t much to do back in the day. Cable reception was horrible in those caves, so they had to invent their own MTV. One of the more talented dudes started beating a rock with a stick and began a catchy little tune. More men joined in and broke out into spontaneous song, much like you’d see in a musical from the 1940’s! Since official written language had not yet been invented, lyrics were recorded by means of another dude who frantically scribbled pictures on the wall.

Then the dancing began. The presence of small pebbles on the ground and the fact the platform shoe had not yet been invented caused our party people to dance in a peculiar fashion. And thus was born the concept of “hip hop.” But wait, there was something missing! As the women were coming home from an afternoon of beating clothes against rocks at the river (this was the pre-dry cleaning era), man had an idea…

“Uugghhh, baby, you come over here and shake booty!” And THAT was the first music video. Please check back frequently as there will be many more segments in The Evolution of Music. If I’m lucky I’ll sign a deal with PBS or at least can make some Time Life videos!

Next in the series: Prehistoric ‘boy’ bands:

The Humor Highway brings you for December – Jingle Jock Itch

Any advertisement discussing personal bodily functions sends most of us over the edge, especially during the holiday season.

Nobody’s problems are off limits, including Santa’s. Have you always envisioned this jolly guy in a red suit who doesn’t have a care in the world? Ha, think again reindeer breath! Anyone who lives at the North Pole and delivers toys to every child in the world in one night isn’t immune from a variety of disorders.

A recent television commercial portrayed a much more personal side of Mr. Claus…too personal. Santa stands up, looking quite uncomfortable after having mobs of kids scrambling on and off of his lap for hours. Muscle cramp? No, he boldly proclaims, “I wish I’d used Preparation H.” I’d never thought about this issue, but now that I have and am amused (yet grossed out), this could spawn a multitude of other embarrassing bodily situations for Kris Kringle:

• Santa is visiting the last house of the night and has eaten his umpteenth cookie. He turns a greenish hue and begins to belch: “Gee, I wish I’d taken SantaAntacids.” Or, even worse, poor little Jimmy could be in therapy for years when he begins to cry, “Mommeee, Santa pooted!”

• Santa must work up quite a sweat hefting all those bags down the chimneys. Wouldn’t you think that heavy wool coat could get quite ripe? Let’s find some manly personal care product company to sponsor Santa: “When you sweat like I do, you need a strong, yet jolly deodorant.”

Then there are those delightful gift products you see advertised only during the holidays:

• The Clapper. You’d think by now every household would own one or more of these contraptions, because boy do they look handy! The closest product we have is similar in concept, but instead uses a squeaky device to turn on and off the Christmas tree lights. The kids discovered if they shrieked at just the right pitch they could make the lights go on and off. Irritating, but highly entertaining to holiday guests.

• The Chia Pet series, which has evolved into a zoological wonderland. The majority of species represented do not actually grow green fuzzy fur…unless their natural habitat is near a toxic waste spill.

Even more confusing is Cha-Cha-Chia Head. One is a Looney Tunes rendition of Elmer Fudd. But isn’t Elmer bald? After consuming some of our favorite wine, my mom and I reached into untapped markets. We’ll soon patent Chia Nostrils.

• Battery operated nose-hair trimmer with stainless steel rotating blades, allegedly painless. You make the call on this one. One of the cast members of “Queer Eye for the Straight Guy” swears every man should own this device and considers it “power tools for your nostrils.”

• Talking calorie counter and pedometer. Updates you on calories burned and distance traveled. I wonder if it’s encouragingly polite or barks, “Hey chunky, you’ve only walked one block; 20 more to go to get rid of that donut you ate this morning.”

• Massage pen with a vibrating tip. You’re supposed to apply this to your pressure points to relieve stress. I can just see it now, someone walks into the boss’ office and says, “Hey Charlie, what’s wrong? Why are you poking yourself in the temple with your pen?”

By next season another state-of-the-art gift should be available: the Combination Ball-Point Pen/Earwax Removal Device. The other day while I was driving I saw this product in use. Even if used while not operating heavy machinery, this object looked quite dangerous! Presumably one would use one end for writing and the other for wax extraction? Maybe I’ll run into the guy at the patent office.

Ho, ho, ho, remember on Christmas Eve as you anxiously wait for your stocking to be stuffed with useless household products, leave some milk and cookies for Santa. And don’t forget his favorite antacid.

The Humor Highway brings you for November …..Pest Control 101

Did you know there are living organisms which infiltrate your home at alarming rates?
No, we’re not talking about your child’s friends searching for snacks or even the new and interesting science fair projects in your refrigerator you may have as a result of leftovers gone bad… I’m referring to dust mites. Dust bunnies are at least visible and can be swept up (or, as we prefer to do, leave them around for the dog to play with when she gets bored).

We had a VERY obnoxious vacuum cleaner salesperson demonstrate some new, improved, and outrageously overpriced sucking device. Not only were dust mites a looming dilemma, but unbeknownst to me, many people are actually allergic to dust mite droppings, which must be even MORE microscopic than the mites themselves. Of course, only HIS vacuum cleaner would rid me of this horrendous problem.

At least when you have visible pests, there are solutions that allow you to take control. After a fun family vacation where we spent the majority of our time tending to children with alternating bouts of “Montezuma’s Revenge,” we arrived to find our home had a MAJOR ant infestation. Did they scurry to the kitchen where they could have overdosed on sugary treats? Nooo, they found their way into the playroom (and had the nerve to leave the Nintendo on). Worse yet, they had taken my daughter’s bed hostage. This sounds like a scene from a horror movie, and thankfully we made this discovery before we tucked her in that night!

We made an immediate trip to the home improvement store to stock up on a variety of pest control products. We painstakingly placed ant traps all over the house and sprayed enough chemicals for the noxious fumes to knock us out. We even used the product in a “well ventilated room.” Since we got the country fresh scent, we hoped all the ants would sing a rousing rendition of “Booty Scoot Boogey” and break into a line dance!

Later that evening after we believed we had the ant problem under control, I phoned my parents to let them know we had arrived home relatively safely. My dad asked, “What kind of ants are they?” My first response, vividly recalling how my daughter’s comforter seemed to come alive before my eyes, would have been, “They’re (expletive) ants!” Trying his best to assess the situation from over a thousand miles away, he inquired, “Do you think they’re carpenter ants?” “Gee dad, let me put the phone down, get a magnifying glass and see if they’re toting power tools.”

Another buggy situation occurred when “normal” ants invaded our kitchen in Puerto Rico. When the pest control man made his house call, I used my pocket translator to attempt to say, “Pardon me, kind man, but I have ants in my pantry.” His expression gave it all away when I indicated the whereabouts of the “hormigas;” I double checked my translator and discovered I’d informed him I had ants in my pants!

I used to be horribly terrified of spiders, but when your husband travels a lot, you learn to deal with it. If you don’t kill the arachnids, they’ll likely sneak up on you as they’ve been known to do in horror movies! My biggest fear is not fully incapacitating one of these creatures and having it crawl out of the tissue and up my arm. Slapping them with a convenient shoe only leaves unsightly splattered spider guts on the wall.

Did you know if you squirt hairspray on flying insects, their little wings will stick together and thus they will be rendered flightless? This was helpful information as a natural by-product of leaving the windows open to fumigate our ants was having some curious flies buzz by to assess the situation.
Now if I can figure out what to do about those dust mite droppings.

Exclusive clip
“Shelly’s Nursery Rhymes: The Rest of the Story” CD

Its a Whale of a Good Time on the October Humor Highway!~

Donde esta Shamu?

When we lived in Puerto Rico, many of our amigos raved about the annual whale-watching excursion. “It’s better than Sea World,” we were advised. The springtime migration in this area of the Caribbean was not to be missed. Then we were ominously warned, “But take Dramamine…just in case.”

Our next omen was the fact that nobody could produce a physical map of how to get to this venue. “Just drive to the other end of the island and when you get to Rincon, look for boats.” Upon our approach, the breathtaking coastline was dotted with dozens of marinas. It shouldn’t have been a surprise…this was a seaside village.

Not knowing which marina was the correct one, we stopped to ask a security guard for assistance. “Permisso, donde esta el barco para watching los whales?” Our broken Spanish was greeted with a blank stare. The majority of the population is bilingual, but once you’re outside the city limits you’d better pray your pocket translator doesn’t run out of batteries.

“WHALES,” I shouted, assuming the louder I spoke the more likely he’d be to understand English. Suddenly I remembered the second Golden Rule of speaking a foreign language: pantomime with frantic hand signals. “SHAMU?” I hollered as I fashioned the equivalent of an animated shadow puppet. My daughter slumped down in her seat and said, “Mom, stop being so embarrassing.”

As I glared at her and explained I was doing the best I could, I slowly reached for her throat. She thought I’d lost it and was going to strangle her. Instead, I’d spotted the whale charm on her necklace which would provide a more effective visual. “OH, BALLENA” he said, thinking if he spoke loudly I’d understand Spanish. He started pointing and rapidly firing off directions.

Safely reaching our destination should have been a happy moment. Instead, we witnessed a long line of people who were waiting to board a small rubber raft. Jumpin’ Jonah! The whales will surely mistake us for a tasty appetizer! Thankfully this was the shuttle service to transport us to the larger boat.

Once we were at sea, we were enjoying the sun, the fresh salt water, the ocean breeze. Then our anxious son inquired, “So, where are the whales?” The only animals we’d seen were a few seagulls that swooped down to snatch food and drop “bombs” on us.

We didn’t give up hope; “Reconnaissance” radioed to our boat that somewhere very far out into the ocean they “thought” they’d sighted some whales. The further away from shore we sailed, the choppier the sea became…and then it started to rain. The theme song to “Gilligan’s Island” began playing in my head. Good thing we took the Dramamine!

We ducked inside the boat to dodge the downpour, but that’s where all the puking people were parked. I brought some extra motion sickness prevention caplets and considered setting up a kiosk. I could have made a fortune charging black market prices to the people who thought they be “just fine.”

We ventured back outside and stood at the front of the boat because by golly we PAID to see some whales and we were going to SEE some whales! We almost took a swim with the whales as the boat crashed through an enormous wall of water. At least we weren’t attempting to capture this Nightmare Trip on our video camera as others were. We learned some new Spanish cuss words.

Then El Capitan determined by checking the fuel gauge that we wouldn’t make it back to shore unless we turned around now. What should really be inscribed somewhere on the Statue of Liberty is: Send me your vomiting, your drenched, your ticked off.

By an odd twist of fate, we learned this had been the first time in 19 voyages whereby NO form of oceanic life had been spotted. We promised the kids next year we’d take them to Sea World!

September’s Team Spirit on the Humor Highway

Dangers of being a mascot

If you’re one of those folks whose job at some time has required you to wear a zany costume, perhaps you could answer some questions. On the way to the grocery store, I drive past an apartment community. Every weekend for the past several weeks there’s been a cheerful, giant penguin perched at the side of the road vigorously waving at passers-by. Okay, it’s not really a giant penguin, but I suspect a person dressed up in a penguin costume.

What I want to know is:

1) Do they pay this person?

2) Are the costumes provided by the apartment folks, or do they have to provide their own?

3) Are there medical personnel standing by as there is a strong likelihood this person could pass out in the 90 degree heat even if they weren’t wearing a bulky costume?

4) Should I wave back?

The most important question, however, is does this method of publicity work? When the marketing strategy team gathered, did they think this might in some way effectively rent more apartments?
I tried to put myself in the shoes of a person who might be searching for a place to live.

Mary: Oh look, honey, there’s another apartment community. Can we stop?

Jerry: No, we’ve already looked at too many places.

Mary: Aw, come on! We HAVE to stop because there’s a giant penguin waving at us.

They could have been so impressed by the costume and the friendly critter waving that it made them want to sell their house and rent an apartment in that community.

Another hazard, besides passing out from heat exhaustion, comes from another gift of Mother Nature. A popular sub sandwich shop dressed up one of its employees as a large drink cup. They placed said cup on the corner of a busy intersection on a windy day. It was difficult to tell if this mascot was overwhelmed by the enormity of the plastic costume…or if he had to go potty. His unstable, yet comical motions caused great concern that he would eventually blow over and roll down the street into oncoming traffic.

The mascot at a popular children’s pizza dining establishment in Macon, Georgia, may have wished they’d have blown into the middle of a busy intersection. While a large rat may look somewhat menacing, that’s no reason to pelt it with pizza. Reportedly, an enraged mother threw a slice of pizza and yelled at Chuck Your Cheeze because it was not paying enough attention to her child.

We, however, experienced an opposite problem. Our daughter did not want the attention; rather, she was petrified of large woodland creatures. Our first trip to the Large Orlando Theme Park yielded an album full of pictures of Mom with Bouncy Tiger and Mom with Gloomy Donkey. The only photos of our daughter depict a blur of a toddler who is trying to dash away from these creatures as quickly as possible.

When the children finally outgrew this fear, the large mascots were nowhere to be found. If Bear who Loves Hunny was nearby signing autographs, the moment we stepped into line a cheerful Theme Park staff member would alert us, “I’m sorry, our characters have to take a break and will return in two hours.” This may explain why some children kick and punch these loveable characters.

Serving as a mascot has other drawbacks. A friend, Gary, admitted he was “Charlie the Tuna” at a Florida-based aquatic theme park. Our discussion of “odd jobs we had in college that we held out of sheer desperation” awarded Gary with first place. Besides sweating and having kids swatting him, he said he wasn’t allowed to talk.

Gary did answer an important mascot-related question. When we asked if not speaking was a blessing because it kept him from saying nasty things to the kids he replied, “No, actually it made it impossible to pick up women.”

August’s Homemaker Humor on the Humor Highway

I wanna be a domestic diva!

R-E-S-P-E-C-T. That’s the song Martha Stewart needs to stand up and sing from the rooftops. As much as many homemaking-impaired women like me have scoffed at this domestic guru, I think it’s time we give her some respect…despite the fact she’s spent some time in the slammer.

She has fully utilized her gifts and talents (not to mention street savvy and shrewd marketing abilities) to create an entire universe of stuff that matches. Coordinate the paint to the plump pillows to the fruit punch stains on the carpet, and voila! You have achieved decorating nirvana.

We’re just jealous WE aren’t making a jillion dollars educating the public on the intricacies of cooking with ingredients we cannot identify, much less pronounce, or transforming our drab dwellings into designer showcases. At least I have a good excuse or two to justify my inadequacy: I begged for the Easy Bake Oven year after year and never received it. Moreover, I now realize I should have paid more attention in home economics class.

I can only imagine what Martha was like as a child. No doubt she complained about the nasty cafeteria food and instead of flinging it at unsuspecting classmates, she may have marched confidently back into the kitchen and attempted to reform the hair-net clad lunchroom ladies. “Excuse me, but have you considered spicing up the macaroni and cheese with a dash of paprika?”

For Ms. Stewart fans, you are likely to be highly impressed with how she can take seemingly ordinary household objects and wield her creativity to amaze us. If she had siblings, I could imagine the ultimate revenge of stealing her brother’s boxer shorts and whipping up some decorative placemats. “Mom! Would you tell Martha to stop swiping my unmentionables?”

The only show of hers I watched involved fashioning a whimsical birthday party theme based around fishing. Cute idea. What I didn’t understand was why you’d go to Bob’s Bait & Tackle to purchase REAL lures which contain sharp, barbed edges, stick them into a cute little hat and give it to a five year old child as a party favor. Dangerous, but creative. I would have tossed a “Go Fish” card game and a packet of gummy fish into a bag and sent the little party participants on their way. Boring, but it wouldn’t potentially involve a trip to the emergency room.

In fall of 2005 she hosted her own “apprentice” style reality show. Although similar in concept to that of a certain motel mogul, SHE had a reasonable hairdo and less abrasive personality. Never saw the show, but I wonder what Martha would have implemented as her “challenges”?

Picture this…teams of domestic diva wannabe’s in battles over cooking with spices that cannot be pronounced, and furthermore cannot be found on this continent. “Kathy, in order to complete this recipe, we need to go to Thailand to get this ingredient.”

Next it’s on to decorating, where team members have to coerce one of the men to donate his boxers, which the other members in the group must fashion into attractive placemats AND subsequently sell at an alarmingly high profit. “Martha, would you tell these women to get their paws off my unmentionables?”

Then I wonder if the contestants had to do their time by working at K-Mart and learn to smile as they announce in garbled fashion over the loudspeaker about the Blue Light specials? “Today we have Joe Boxer placemats on sale, buy one get one free!”

Finally, when contestants have built their decorator empire, they must learn the “tricks of the (inside) trade”…then instead of the catch-phrase “You’re fired,” folks would hear, “Go to directly to jail; do not pass go, do not collect $200.”

Yes, it’s easy to scoff at such creative minds, but I challenge you to see what you can do with underwear!

July’s Journey down the Humor Highway

In honor of infomercial guru Billy Mays, here is a tribute to the wealth of items “Not Sold in Stores”.

Not Sold In Stores

Any time you hear the phrase “not sold in stores,” you should seriously question, “Why not?” Is the item that unique? Or is it a case of once you purchase it and discover it’s not what you thought you bought you’re pretty much stuck with it?

Then why do many “not sold in stores” products eventually end up being sold in stores? There are even merchandising outlets that have names such as “Junk You’ve Seen on TV.” Maybe some really drunk people are buying all this stuff from infomercials and opening their own stores? Is there a huge black market for really bad products? So, if something actually IS sold in stores, this makes the manufacturers big fat liars.

Years ago, these amazing products would be advertised around 2:30 a.m. or other bizarre times when the only viewers were, in fact, people who’d consumed their fair share of alcohol. Thankfully my friends and I were sensible enough to NOT call within the next ten minutes to get the steak knives FREE with our purchase of the Ginsu knife set for the amazingly low price of only $19.95. Oh how I wish I’d have purchased this fine cutlery set. In retrospect, I think of all those times I’ve needed to cut through a tin can then slice delicately through tomatoes.

One product I did purchase (after it WAS sold in stores) was a hair accessory that we couldn’t figure out how to use, despite the helpful instructions and memorizing how the girls on TV inserted this plastic loop through their pony tail and fashioned a bun-like knot on the back of their head. No matter how hard I tried to duplicate the look, I always ended up with a hairstyle that resembled the nest of a small rodent.

I also discovered the secret of how Princess Leia of Star Wars fame achieved those lovely bun-like twists on the side of her head. She was losing sleep over the fact Luke Skywalker was her brother and impulsively ordered the “Bun-O-Matic” off late night paid programming. Timing was everything, because if she called in the next 10 minutes, she’d also received a gallon of Wookie Conditioner. Now you know why Chewbaka’s coat is so shiny!

Too much viewing of late night television made me aware of some interesting facts:

• EVERYTHING is $19.95. We were already familiar with the Ginsu knives, so when an advertisement for a set of jewelry aired, it prompted my friend to think I was psychic when I declared, “Bet it’s $19.95.” Now that they’ve moved beyond small products to more complex ones, you see an occasional $49.95 OR the sneaky “10 easy payments of $29.95.”

• You must be 18 or older to order. How do they verify this fact over the phone?

• If you’re not 100% delighted with the product, return it for a full refund. Ha, good luck finding someone at a post office box in New Jersey!

• But wait, if you call in the next 10 minutes, we’ll super size your order. How do they keep track of what time it is and when the 10 minute window of time has elapsed? What if all the customer service reps are busy assisting other customers and you call but are put on hold for, say, 12 minutes? Do you still get the deal?

• Operators are standing by. They’re probably bored out of their minds since very few people would be calling at 2:30 a.m. If you DO call, you’re more likely to wake them up.

It’s consoling to know that any product to simplify household chores or cooking tasks, help you achieve personal fitness goals, enhance your beauty, or generally improve life as you know it can be purchased from the comfort of your own home.
If only I could figure out how to use that loop-de-loop contraption to create an attractive hairstyle.

June- Trip on the Humor Highway

Dating for dummies

How difficult can it be? Have we become so focused on technology that we can’t let nature take its course? When I first spotted “Dating for Dummies” on the bookstore shelves, I let out a loud laugh; so loud, in fact, I startled several other people browsing through the self-help section. Then again, we have evolved from the wholesome 1940’s movies where it was as simple as boy meets girl. We’ve allowed ourselves to become entirely too complicated.

Looking back on the years I spent as a single woman, I’m feeling less cynical about such a silly book and now nod my head in agreement with its premise. A lot of hot to trot people could have used a few pointers in the ways of romance…for example, at least 75 percent of the guys who tried to woo my friends and me.

It goes well beyond the realm of bad pick-up lines like “Come here often?” and “What’s your sign?” My swinging single friends and I came up with our own set of witty remarks which left men, at best, mildly confused. At the top of our list was, “Didn’t we go to different high schools together?” Running a close second was our response to a guy asking us if we wanted to dance: Yes but not with you.

Times have changed over the past several decades. In the 1980s society seemed to be searching for a way to step away from the sleazy nightclub environment. I know, why not place a classified advertisement? If it works for searching for a job, an automobile and a new puppy, certainly it will be an effective means of finding romance. Weren’t blind dates bad enough? At least when your friends fixed you up there was a remote chance of getting truthful information, like the guy is NOT 6′1″ and his only criminal offense truly WAS a parking ticket.

Personal columns provided more entertainment than information. You could spend hours chuckling over the various mutations of suddenly sensitive men. The seemingly ideal ones must have been sitting at home waiting to write lines such as “enjoys long walks and cuddling by the fire.” The system was further confused by the quest to save money on their ad:

SWM w/BMW & HMO seeks SWF w/T&A

Huh? I suspect this confusion planted the seed for the “Dating for Clueless Folks” books; someone had to help us decipher the code! It’s in Chapter 3, Acronyms R’ Us.

When the attitude shifted towards women being equally focused on their careers as finding a mate, we found ourselves with less time to search for romance. Here’s a thought: let’s pay someone ELSE to find men for us! Dating services removed a bit of the guesswork but still provided an opportunity for more laughs. In some instances the “matchmakers” were highly skilled…at matching up the columns of likes and dislikes on the lengthy forms participants were required to fill out. They could also get summer jobs grading the Iowa Basic Skills Test if the computers were down.

As the Information Highway became more glutted with traffic that zoomed along at breakneck speed, you can now be assured your date is only a click away! I won’t buy junk off e-Bay, so what would be the selling point of this type of dating? One distinct advantage is at least you get to view pictures of people and select from those who are most attractive. However, this may neglect to tell you they have the I.Q. of a lima bean.

For those of you who are still lookin’ for love in all the wrong places, don’t despair! Your options are limitless, and thanks to amazing technological advances, you are in greater control of your destiny.

Or you could go to Disco Nite at your local lounge and see if anyone has come up with more creative pickup lines since the 70s.

Mays Trip on the Humor Highway!

Losing my mind and my luggage

Don’t you feel silly when you’re the only person standing at the baggage carousel watching one lonely suitcase slowly circle past you? Did you know the wayward luggage has been planted there to give you a false sense of hope that your own bags will soon be on their way? Some patient souls have been known to stand there for hours, even though everyone else from their flight is already long gone and enjoying a drink at the hotel.

Our worst experience on record was a trip to a family wedding where we learned the following:

Rule Number One: Try to plan your travel so you don’t arrive the day of the rehearsal dinner. This will help you avoid purchasing an entire new wardrobe in less than 15 minutes when the airline reroutes your luggage to Taiwan!

Rule Number Two: Pack all important clothing items and accessories in carry-on luggage. Remember, that new dress won’t look so glamorous with your tennis shoes. The good news is our last-minute shopping spree at Macy’s was reimbursed by the airline.

Rule Number Three: Don’t rely on the airline’s promise that your bags are on the next flight. Despite days of believing that story, our original wardrobe finally showed up, just minutes before we left for the airport to depart for home.

Another lesson we’ve learned is that the luggage dilemma is definitely one-sided. We’ve never had any of our bags get misdirected on the way home, where we have the comfort of our own closet and toiletries. No, it’s only when you travel to a remote island where the gift shop clothing is so outrageously priced that you keep wearing the same bathing suit and cover-up (in a variety of configurations) everywhere in hopes that nobody will notice.

Losing your luggage during domestic travel is one thing, but heaven help you if you’re on another continent. My husband had an interesting shopping experience in Brazil, of all places. Same situation: misdirected suitcase, or maybe he had forgotten to pack his unmentionables. There he was without the benefit of at least a regular department store or discount chain trying to find Fruit of the Looms. When you don’t speak Portuguese, you end up with some very interesting undergarments!

It’s no different traveling to Europe. Our trip to Florence, Italy, seemed to be off to a great start, even though flight attendants served us breakfast at midnight. It was when we approached the small, yet quaint, baggage claim area that the adventure began. Our first signal that things might not be right was the very long line at the problemo con suitcase area.

The three other people with whom I traveled and I soon discovered we would meet this overworked staff. Everyone else from our flight was off to view the ancient artwork (which consists primarily of paintings and statues of naked folks). Meanwhile, the four of us stood there mesmerized by that lone suitcase circling around, not fully alert due to the fact it was technically the middle of the night. Suddenly a man shouted Fini, termini! Translated: No more luggage! AAUUGGHH, not again!

The long line had dwindled to just a few people making numerous sweeping hand gestures. The next task was to complete a form describing the missing bag. The only complication was that my husband had just purchased this luggage. When I packed, I didn’t pay attention to details such as color, how many wheels and pockets it had, or other distinguishing features that would allegedly lead to the safe return of said suitcase.

Thankfully in this situation our luggage did arrive on the next flight, proving that sometimes the standard protocol of what they’re instructed to tell you is the truth. The airline saved itself a bundle on this slip-up. I’m sure I could have worn what I had on but if I had to purchase shoes in Florence they’d go bankrupt!

Shelly Ryan
May 7, 2009

As a result of deciding on a name and ‘theme’ for this adventure
I’m sharing this travel blog:

A REAL road trip
(originally written by Shelly Wednesday, September 19, 2007)

It’s no coincidence the title of my blog on MySpace is “A Road Trip into Shelly’s Mind”. I guarantee if you were ever a passenger in my mid-sized SUV a trip on a REAL road would be every bit as much of an adventure. Guess it’s funky travel karma.

Last weekend’s journey to the Festival for Change was different. Most of my longer trips have been to various locations in the Southeastern US when my son played travel ice hockey. My daughter asked me if I was going to be bored on the 6 hour (thanks to Mapquest it was more like hour drive. Don’t get me wrong, I adore my son and his friends, but after a few hours in a vehicle…

The good news is they all had iPods so they could enjoy their music. While I listen to and attempt to appreciate all genres of music, there’s only so much hipping and hopping that a child of the 1960’s can endure. But yo mama has been known to start rapping!

Something else different was the aroma, or lack thereof. The trip to the hockey tournaments was fine, but when they scrambled into the car after the last game with their gear… Then the fresh scent of whatever fast food items they wolfed down was soon thereafter tainted by the gastric aftermath of the boy(s) who HAD to order the spicy chicken sandwich.

So as I began my road trip northbound on Interstate 85, I felt like a liberated woman because I knew I’d ENJOY the solitude. I rolled down my windows and opened the sunroof, not to rid my car of wicked smells but to feel the wind in my hair as I belted out my favorite classic rock tune…BORN TO BE WILD!

PART II OF THE ADVENTURE of Road Trips past…

Wednesday, September 19, 2007
Born to be lost: Part I

My inner lyricist wants to rewrite the Steppenwolf song “Born to be Wild”. But first a word from our sponsor: Mapquest…whose tagline should be “Don’t believe everything we tell you.” Both attempts to get to an Indie Music for Life event have resulted in some midguided directions.

The first time was trying to get to Blackstock Winery in Dahlonega, GA last November. Nobody could find the right turn onto Frog Hollow Road because it DID NOT EXIST. Good news for the frogs.

This time I made it all the way into North Carolina and by my estimate was less than an hour away from my destination. The exit from the Interstate was clearly marked…but that’s when things started to get murky. Okay, I don’t entirely blame these online navigational services because the people who design our infrastructure must have a sadistic streak. Case in point: roads that change names several times for no apparent reason and with no warning.

I’ll spare the details of which roads I should/should not have been on. Let’s just say it was dark and I was lost in the middle of nowhere. Although I think I was more a bit to the northeast of nowhere. Up ahead in the distance, I saw a shimmering light…NO it wasn’t the Hotel California…it was a REALLY small gas station but it appeared to be open.

Nothing says “Y’all ain’t from ’round here, are ya?” faster than Cobb County, GA license plates on a mid-sized SUV and a woman with a Vera Bradley purse clutching a piece of paper with the big friggin’ MAPQUEST logo on it. But I knew country folk are good people, much like Floyd the Barber of Mayberry.

(NOTE TO SELF: After I write the lyrics for Born to Be Lost compose opera entitled “The Barber of Mayberry”).

But the man behind the counter was right friendly…considering he had two, possibly three of his own teeth and smelled horridly of chewing tobacco. When I told him what road I was TRYING to locate, he pointed in various directions and I think told me to take a right turn after the squashed possum in the road. But I DID get to Highway 65…

…except I didn’t know whether to go East or West because my directions told me to “merge” northbound and mentioned nothing about the possum.

Part III of the Road Trip of 2007. Yes, it gets MORE wild than I ever imagined!

Thursday, September 20, 2007
Born to be a lyricist

As I mentioned in a previous blog, I’m decided to rewrite the lyrics to my favorite road song, Steppenwolf’s “Born to be Wild”. Okay, so the vision of a middle-aged woman in a mid-sized SUV with the sunroof and windows open going 4 miles per hour over the speed limit on the interstate with the wind in her hair…

…perhaps not as wild as if I was on the back of a Harley with some low rider leather pants that showed off a “bumper sticker” tattoo, but I could have experienced THAT adventure because of the second place I stopped to ask for directions! I’ll write about that later.

But first I’m here to ask for assistance because I need help with the remainder of the lyrics that tell my story of getting severely lost on my road trip to the Festival for Change. Here’s what I have so far…

Get your map a printed
Head out on the highway
Lookin’ for a rest stop
And whatever comes our way

************************
HELP:

Yeah Darlin’ go make it happen
Take the world in a love embrace
Fire all of your guns at once
And explode into space

I like smoke and lightning
Heavy metal thunder
Racin’ with the wind
And the feelin’ that I’m under
Yeah Darlin’ go make it happen
Take the world in a love embrace
Fire all of your guns at once
And explode into space

**************************

Like fumes from the exhaust
We were born, born to be lost
We can drive so far
And never get outta the car

Born to be lost
Born to be lost

After I posted this on my Facebook site I heard from a fun high school friend who also had obviously taken many trips on the Humor Highway:

Yeah Darlin we’re lost again
Thought this trip wouldn’t take so long
Kids are screamin, and the movie’s over
Shoulda brought more DVD’s

Driving quite awhile now
Know we missed our exit
Gettin’ pretty hungry
Why’d we trust the auto-pilot?

Yeah Darlin we’re lost again
Burning gas Damn I need to pee
GPS says we’re almost there now
How come no one in the car agrees?

Sound bites from Shelly!

You can find more of Shellys humor at:
www.myspace.com/shellyryan
www.reverbnation.com/shellyryan