Category Archives: humor

Confessions of a Hunt‑and‑Peck Typist

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Owl on a computer keyboard humorously admitting to hunt‑and‑peck typing, perfect visual for a post about typing mishaps.

A love story between me, my keyboard, and the typos that betray me

I Type Like I’m Defusing a Bomb

Let’s get this out of the way:
I am a hunt‑and‑peck typist.
Not a casual one.
Not an occasional one.
A lifelong, committed, two‑fingered warrior of the keyboard.

My typing style is 10% accuracy, 90% determination, and 100% “please don’t look at me while I’m doing this.”

If I keep my eyes glued to the keyboard, I can produce something that resembles English.
But the moment — the moment — I glance at the screen?

My sentence transforms into a ransom note assembled by squirrels.

My Typos Have Typos

I don’t just mistype words.
No, no.
My typos are so bold, so creative, so aggressively wrong that autocorrect just throws its hands up and walks away.

I try to type “affiliate program.”
My fingers: affilaue progeam
Which sounds less like a business opportunity and more like a medieval plague.

I try to type “invited.”
My fingers: incited
Suddenly the email isn’t welcoming me — it’s starting a riot.

I try to type “wrong answer.”
My fingers: wring answer
Which is… ironically correct.

Honestly, my keyboard should qualify for hazard pay.

The Keyboard Is My Frenemy

We have a complicated relationship.

I rely on it.
>I fear it.
>I suspect it judges me.

Every time I sit down to type, the keyboard sighs like, “Oh great, here she comes. The woman who types like she’s playing Whac‑A‑Mole.”

And yet… we continue.
Together.
In chaos.

Looking Away Is a Crime

Touch typists can look at the screen while typing.
They can even carry on a conversation.
Some of them can type without looking at all.

Meanwhile, if I look away for one second — ONE — my sentence becomes:

“Thsi si a greta idae adn I’m suer it wlil mkae snese.”

I don’t type words.
I type word scrambles.

But Here’s the Thing…

Despite all this, I still write blog posts, emails, stories, and entire volcanic rants.
>I still show up.
>I still type.
>I still create.

I’m not a bad typist.
I’m an adventure typist.

And adventure typists have the BEST stories — because half the time, we have no idea what we just typed until we scroll back and gasp.

So if you’re a fellow hunt‑and‑peck typist out there, squinting at your keyboard like it’s a treasure map…
Welcome.
You’re among friends.

 

Junk EMail, Weak Willpower, and the Daily Quiz That Owns Me

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The junk mail that has become my morning obsession

My Morning Ritual: Delete, Delete, Delete

Every morning I open my email and face the overnight avalanche of junk. Doctor appointment reminders? Keep. Greater Good reminders? Keep. Recipes I want to try someday? Keep. Everything else? Delete is my best friend.

I have no idea where half this stuff comes from. Sometimes I scroll through before deleting and hit “unsubscribe,” but honestly — how did I get subscribed in the first place?

I know the recipe emails are my own fault. Some sites make you sign up before you can print anything, and others insist on emailing the recipe like it’s a state secret. Fine. I accept responsibility for that avalanche.

Enter: The Daily Quiz I Never Asked For

But The Daily Quiz?
That one’s a mystery. I don’t remember signing up for it, and yet there it is every morning, sitting in my inbox like a stray cat I accidentally fed once.

My inbox basically screams “YOU’VE GOT MAIL!” like it’s trying to startle me into opening it.

Deleting it is always my first instinct.. Trying to delete it is my second.. But every couple of days a question catches my eye, and suddenly I’m taking the quiz again. And of course, that just encourages it to keep coming back.

The Volcano Quiz That Took Me Down

The other day the quiz was about volcanoes — one of my favorite topics, especially Kīlauea in Hawaii — so naturally I took it.

Disaster.

I started off strong, then the questions took a nosedive straight into the obscure.

For example:
Which is NOT a type of volcano? Composite or Stratic?
Or:
The name of New Zealand’s most active volcano translates to what?

Ask me the difference between lava and magma and I’m fine. But these quiz masters were digging deep — like “I have a geology degree and no social life” deep.

Then Came the Driving Quiz… and Humility

Today’s quiz was about driving. Now, I’ve been driving for… well, let’s not say how many years. I figured I’d ace it.

Wrong.
I missed the very first question.

Let me ask you:
What does a double yellow line on the road mean?
Multiple choice:

  1. Denotes two‑way traffic
  2. Allows passing on the left
  3. Separates lanes on a one‑way street
  4. Prohibits lane changes

If you picked #1, congratulations — you’re smarter than I was at 6 a.m. I confidently picked #4. I was sure it meant no passing. Wrong answer, but hey, at least it was a safe answer.

Then it asked things like the fastest speed limit in the U.S. (85 mph in Texas, in case you’re curious). By that point I realized I was in too deep.

Hooked, Annoyed, and Weirdly Invested

I may complain about this quiz, but clearly I’m hooked — and I get irrationally annoyed when I miss the basic questions.

So tell me:
Do you get tons of unsolicited emails too? And do any of them have you weirdly hooked, the way this quiz has its claws in me? Please tell me I’m not the only one with zero willpower when it comes to deleting junk.

 

The Invasive Creatures of Suburbia

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The mongoose may be cute but he is an invasice species in Hawaii

Every Place Has Its Own “Wildlife”

Every place has its invasive species.
Florida has pythons.
Hawaii has the mongoose.
Australia… well, Australia has everything and then some.

And if you’re lucky enough not to share your ZIP code with an actual invasive species, you still have the local wildlife: deer tiptoeing through the gardens, skunks waddling with bad intentions, coyotes trotting around like they’re late for a meeting, maybe even a badger or two if the universe is feeling spicy. Then there are the cute ones — chipmunks stuffing their faces, squirrels plotting whatever squirrels plot, and of course the rogue turkey who thinks he owns the cul‑de‑sac.

I have all of that.
But I also have something… extra.

Meet My Personal Invasive Species

I have Toolman Tim on steroids.

While other invasive species creep in quietly, mine announces himself with the subtlety of a jet engine. If he’s home, something is running. Always. Leaf blower, lawn mower, wood chipper, snow blower, chainsaw — I’m convinced he has a generator just to power the rest of his equipment.

He takes immaculate care of his home, I’ll give him that. His lawn looks like it’s auditioning for a golf tournament. His shrubs are trimmed with military precision. His driveway is so clean you could perform surgery on it.

But the noise.
The noise.

Summer Dreams vs. Suburban Reality

Summer arrives and I think, Ah, fresh air, maybe I’ll open the slider and sit on the deck.

Banner and Balboa hear the slider open and immediately assume the world is ending. Instead of watching the world go by like normal cats, they scatter like I’ve just announced a fireworks show in the living room.

Meanwhile, my neighbor hears the same warm breeze and thinks, What if I ran every motorized object I own… in alphabetical order?

Our landscapers come once a week, roaring through like a NASCAR pit crew. If my neighbor and the landscapers ever coordinated schedules, we’d get one big burst of chaos and then peace. But no. They operate like they’re on alternating shifts, ensuring continuous, rolling noise pollution from dawn to dusk. It’s like living next to a construction site that never actually builds anything — just revs, blows, grinds, and growls for the sheer joy of it.

I swear the birds have started wearing tiny earplugs.
Banner and Balboa would too if they had opposable thumbs.

 

A Little Loud, But Harmless

And yet, I can’t be mad. He’s not rude. He’s not messy. He’s not blasting music at 2 a.m. He’s just… enthusiastic. Overly. Mechanically. Enthusiastically.

Still, if the state ever updates its list of invasive species, I might submit a nomination. Because while the deer nibble, the squirrels plot, and the turkey struts around like he pays the mortgage, my neighbor is the only creature in the ecosystem who seems powered entirely by gasoline and adrenaline.

Sunflower and butterfly 2018

Some people attract birds.
Some attract butterflies.
Apparently, I attract the suburban equivalent of Tim “More Power!” Taylor — and trust me, he lives by that motto every single day.

 

 

The Furry and the Restless- Episode 2 The Cardboard Coup

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Banner sitting proudly in the cardboard box, blissfully unaware he’s about to spark a feline power struggle

Scene 1: Banner’s Brief but Glorious Reign

Banner discovered The Box with the wide‑eyed optimism of a cat who believes the universe occasionally gifts him nice things.

He stepped in, sat tall, and lifted his head like he was posing for a Renaissance portrait.

Banner’s internal monologue:
“Yes. This is perfect. I am perfect. The Box is perfect. Everything is going great for me personally.”

For a shining moment, Banner was the Prince Regent of Cardboard, blissfully unaware that his reign had an expiration date.

Scene 2: The Return of the True Monarch

Balboa reappeared — not running, not pouncing, just materializing like a villain entering stage left.

His eyes narrowed.
>His whiskers stiffened.
>His soul whispered:

Balboa’s internal monologue:
“I leave for FIVE MINUTES and this is what I come back to? Treason.”

Banner, sensing the atmospheric pressure drop, executed a graceful, drama‑free exit — the kind that says, “I was done anyway.”

Scene 3: Consolidation of Power

Balboa climbed into The Box with the solemn dignity of a king returning to his throne after a brief and embarrassing coup.

He inspected the corners.
>He checked the flaps.
>He sniffed the air like a monarch detecting betrayal.

Balboa’s internal monologue:
“I can still smell him. Unacceptable. I will be filing a formal complaint.”

Then he sat — tall, tense, and deeply unimpressed.

Scene 4: Banner’s Hopeful Interlude

Banner retreated to the top of the cat tree — the highest point in the land — and gazed down upon the cardboard kingdom like a tiny, fluffy general surveying the battlefield.

His tail twitched.
>His whiskers quivered.
>His little cat brain began swirling with plans.

Banner’s internal monologue:
“Okay… okay… hear me out. What if I… take back the box? Not now. Later. When he’s sleepy. Yes. A surprise insurrection. Brilliant.”

From his lofty perch, he looked almost regal — if “regal” included the occasional distracted blink and the faint hum of a single orange cat brain cell working overtime.

He knew Balboa ruled the cardboard empire.
He knew any rebellion would be short‑lived.
But that didn’t stop him from dreaming.

For now, he plotted.

Scene 5: The King’s Return (and He Is Not Amused)

Balboa eventually arrived to reclaim the new box, too.

He settled in with the expression of a king who has discovered someone sat on his throne without permission.

Balboa’s internal monologue:
“This kingdom requires constant supervision. I am surrounded by fools.”

He sat alert, annoyed, and fully prepared to defend his cardboard empire from future uprisings.

🐾 The cardboard kingdom is secure… for now. But in this house, the next coup is always just one box away.

 

Don’t Forget your Mom Today

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Happy Mother’s Day!

Breakfast in bed  prepared and served by your lovely children. Oh and by the way, sorry about the mess in the kitchen. Were we supposed to clean up after ourselves?

A special breakfast in bed for Mother;s Day, Isn't that special

it’s the thought that counts. Love you Mom! Happy Mother’s Day!

For all that you every day of the year, hope your Mother’s Day is special and someone else cleans the kitchen!