Hello From Planet Innuendo

Apparently Mercury was retrograde from June 7 to July 1, which astrologers say is supposed to cause general chaos.  I don’t know much about astrology, but if there’s a planet that governs accidental double entendres, it’s definitely exerting its influence this week.

Friday night I was sitting in the pub with the usual suspects, regaling the crew with tales of our recent search for a good used RV.  I had only one requirement:  a queen-size bed with some space around it.  I didn’t care about the kitchen or living area or anything else.  Just the bed.

(Those of you with dirty minds are getting ahead of me… oh, never mind; whatever you’re thinking, you’re probably right.)

Anyway, we found a trailer Hubby really liked, with a nice big living space and kitchen, only seven years old, yadda, yadda.  But the bedroom was designed for a double bed.  The current owners had put in a queen mattress, but that left only a few inches between it and the wall.  You could still squeeze in, but only if you had skinny legs.  Grrr.

Now back to the pub scene…

Fuelled by some very tasty beer, I was expounding upon the idiocy of the designer who planned the layout of a huge trailer without allowing for a queen-size bed.

“Goddammit,” I ranted.  “It’s a thirty-one-foot trailer, for shit’s sake!  It’s not like the guy who designed it didn’t have any space to work with!  I can’t believe he couldn’t give me just six more inches in the bedroom!”

My rant was completely derailed when my buddy Chris burst out laughing.  “You want six more inches in the bedroom?” he sputtered.  “That sounds like a blog post.  But I want credit!”

So here you go, Chris – this is your five minutes of fame.

After we dried our tears of laughter, the conversation wandered as it usually does and we got talking about cars and buying gas and the oddball sensor in my car that requires the gas cap to be cranked around several times after it’s tightened to prevent the ‘check engine’ light from coming on.

My friend Swamp Butt spoke up:  “Our new car doesn’t have a gas cap at all.  It’s so easy to fuel up.  You just stick it in, pull it out, and you’re done!”

More raucous laughter ensued.

But Planet Innuendo still wasn’t finished with me.  The Calgary Stampede is on now, so everything around here is western-themed.  And wouldn’t you know it; the patron saint of dirty minds blessed me with another gift this weekend:  a completely serious ad from a staid and reputable company, exhorting me to “Celebrate the cowboy in you.”

I might have let that pass if not for the fact that I’d just finished reading an article about how all the health clinics brace for the annual surge in syphilis cases during Stampede.  Save a horse; ride a cowboy!  Give the gift that keeps on giving!  Yaaa-hooo!!!

Needless to say, I laughed myself silly(er).

Did anybody else notice the effects of Planet Innuendo this week, or was it just me?

P.S.  The word ‘innuendo’ always gives me a childish snicker, too.  It sounds like the Godfather describing a sex act:  “In-U-end-o”…

* * *

Speaking of celebrations, I’m celebrating the upcoming release of Spy Now, Pay Later by giving away two signed paperback copies!  If you’d like to enter to win one, here’s the contest link:  https://blog.dianehenders.com/do-you-know-me/book-8-giveaway/.

Look for the first e-book versions of Spy Now, Pay Later at Smashwords and Amazon on July 17.  As usual, Kobo, Nook, and Apple versions will show up later than Smashwords and Amazon… but my distributor promises me they’ve improved their system and it should only be a few days instead of a few weeks.  Time will tell, but regardless, I’ll email notifications to everybody who’s signed up on my new book notification list.

I Can Type With A Banana In My Hand

That isn’t a euphemism, though it might be fun if it was.  In case you’re wondering, I can also type with a banana in my mouth, and you can just get your mind out of the gutter right now.

I know I shouldn’t type with a banana in my hand. I’m well aware of the effects of mashed banana on the usefulness and mean-time-to-failure of keyboards.

And I learned years ago about the deleterious effects of multi-tasking when someone (no, neither Hubby nor I) cremated a chicken while watching television in the basement.  Until then, I didn’t know it was possible to start with a dead chicken immersed in boiling water and end up with a half-melted pot containing a crispy black cinder.

We first detected the stench from more than a quarter-mile away.  When we arrived, a thick pall of reeking smoke obscured the main floor of the house.  It took days to air the place out.  Nobody was happy by the end of that episode, though I’m pretty sure the chicken was past caring.

I blame the internet for my current multi-tasking disorder.  Before we had internet (yes, I am that old), I had to make a concerted effort to be distracted.  I had to get out of my chair, look out the window, drift down to the kitchen to graze on whatever snacks might be handy, whatever.

Now my ass takes root in my desk chair while I write, email, text, tweet, phone, check RSS feeds and surf the web.  I’ve gotten so used to doing umpteen things at once, I caught myself bouncing up from the table several times during lunch to rush off and do something else.  I actually had to force myself to sit in the chair and eat an uninterrupted meal.  That may be a way of life for people with families, but I don’t even have kids (unless you count my puerile brain).

Some people are good at multi-tasking.  I’m not.  I can’t even listen to music while I’m writing.

That doesn’t stop me from trying.

The other day, I found myself in the kitchen slicing zucchini and loading it into the dehydrator.  Jars were sterilizing in my canner, a big pot of jam boiled on the stove, and my laptop was open on the couch so I could work in between kitchen tasks.  When the phone rang, I fired up the hands-free and carried on canning jam while occasionally zipping over to reference my laptop.

Disaster didn’t strike that time, but I could easily have poured the jam into the dehydrator, stuck zucchini slices in the laptop, and dumped the phone into boiling water.  Try explaining that to the caller at the other end of the line.

I’d like to say I plan to turn over a new leaf, but it’d be a lie.

‘Scuse me, gotta go – my chicken’s overheating.

Get your mind out of the gutter.

P.S.  Hell, who am I kidding?  One of the great joys of life is creating filthy innuendos whenever possible.  Go for it.  You know you want to.  And you know I’ll laugh.