(Yes, meth is a terrible problem, and WOOF is in no way making light of the REAL thing and its serious nature. Hope we don't offend. We're just having a little fun!)
For more silliness ... Buy WOOF: Women Only Over Fifty
Amazon
OmniLit
Friday, April 29, 2011
WOOF: Furry Friday ... How to Spot a Meth Lab!
A law enforcement officer was approached by several people wanting to know how to identify a meth lab. Following are four photos he believes makes it pretty obvious which one is the meth lab. 
(Yes, meth is a terrible problem, and WOOF is in no way making light of the REAL thing and its serious nature. Hope we don't offend. We're just having a little fun!)
For more silliness ... Buy WOOF: Women Only Over Fifty
Amazon
OmniLit
(Yes, meth is a terrible problem, and WOOF is in no way making light of the REAL thing and its serious nature. Hope we don't offend. We're just having a little fun!)
For more silliness ... Buy WOOF: Women Only Over Fifty
Amazon
OmniLit
Tuesday, April 26, 2011
WOOF: Tickle Tuesday
WOOFers, we're just sayin'...We think part of a best friend's job should be to immediately clear your computer history if you die.
Nothing sucks more than that moment during an argument when you realize you're wrong.
We totally take back all those times we didn't want to nap when I was younger.
There is great need for a sarcasm font.
Map Quest really needs to start their directions on # 5. We're pretty sure we know how to get out of my neighborhood.
Obituaries would be a lot more interesting if they told you how the person died.
We can't remember the last time we weren't at least kind of tired.
Bad decisions make good stories.
You never know when it will strike, but there comes a moment at work when you know that you just aren't going to do anything productive for the rest of the day.
Can we all just agree to ignore whatever comes after Blue Ray? We don't want to have to restart my collection...again.
We're always slightly terrified when we exit out of Word and it asks us if we want to save any changes to my ten-page technical report that we swear we did not make any changes to.
We have a hard time deciphering the fine line between boredom and hunger.
How many times is it appropriate to say "What?" before you just nod and smile because you still didn't hear or understand a word they said?
We love the sense of camaraderie when an entire line of cars team up to prevent a jerk from cutting in at the front. Stay strong, brothers and sisters!
Sometimes we look down at our watch 3 consecutive times and still not know what time it is.
Even under ideal conditions people have trouble locating their car keys in a pocket, finding their cell phone, and Pinning the Tail on the Donkey - but we'd bet everyone can find and push the snooze button from 3 feet away, in about 1.7 seconds, eyes closed, first time, every time.
The first testicular guard, the "Cup," was used in Hockey in 1874 and the first helmet was used in 1974. That means it only took 100 years for men to realize that their brain is also important.
Ladies.....Quit Laughing.
Fun with WOOF! BUY WOOF: Women Only Over Fifty!
Friday, April 22, 2011
WOOF: Dog Tails - Pancho and the Remote
Continuing WOOF's series, Dog Tails, with Regan Black:
My husband, Mark, came home from work with that weary, don't-want-to-talk-about-it expression. After the perfunctory greetings and a pat on the head of each greyhound, he went straight for the family room.
"Where's the remote?" he called from his favorite end of the couch.
"Should be there," I called back from the kitchen. Assuming of course the last person to use it had returned it to the basket to keep it out of reach of our youngest and most curious foster greyhound.
A search ensued while the greyhounds watched, each hoping for a different result. Faith wanted him to sit back so she could put her head under his hand, Brody wanted dinner early, and the foster greyhound Poncho wanted to play.
But Mark was focused on one thing - the TV. Knowing the channel he wanted, he still grumbled over the remote. He called to the kids, but neither the seven year old nor the four year old had seen it. Both denied any involvement in it's disappearance.
Poncho followed the four year old back to his Hot Wheels racetrack and giggles ensued. Brody nudged at the seven year old until I nodded for her to go ahead and feed them all.
And Mark continued searching.
"Here it is!" Mark's triumphant shout nearly made me drop the casserole dish on its way to the oven.
He thundered down the stairs, bellowing for the kids to report. "They always drag it off," he complained. "I've told them it won't work up there."
Nodding, I asked where he found it.
"Guest room."
"Let me see it."
I could see Mark warming up his 'return things to their rightful place speech' when I pointed out the teethmarks on the corner of the remote.
"Our kids are way past teething, honey."
"What?"
"Look at it." I handed it back, laughing as he sighed.
"Poncho."
"Yup." From the moment of his arrival, the greyhound had been stealthy about tasting and testing everything in the world of retirement.
Mark looked down into Poncho's smiling face and held the remote close to his chest. The long tail wagged hopefully, but Mark shook his head. "Mine."
Poncho's smile faded and the tail slowed for a moment. Then Mark rubbed his ears and led our small pack of greyhounds back to the couch for TV and snuggling before dinner.
Thanks for your Dog Tail, Regan!
Regan Black is a paranormal romance writer
Amazon
Regan Black Website
For more Great Dog Tails, BUY WOOF: Women Only Over Fifty!
Submission guidelines for:
"Dog Tails:
Stories About Women & Their Best Tail-Wagging Friends”
How to tell your story:
Whether your special canine buddy is still with you or not, we’re looking for nonfiction stories told in first person with action, dialogue and an emotional pivotal ending. Make readers laugh, cry, get chills!
How not to tell your story:
Stories should not be political in nature or preachy. We want original, unpublished stories that are 400 words or less.
How to submit your story:
A Word document e-mailed to GreatDames@WoofersClub.com
My husband, Mark, came home from work with that weary, don't-want-to-talk-about-it expression. After the perfunctory greetings and a pat on the head of each greyhound, he went straight for the family room.
"Where's the remote?" he called from his favorite end of the couch.
"Should be there," I called back from the kitchen. Assuming of course the last person to use it had returned it to the basket to keep it out of reach of our youngest and most curious foster greyhound.
A search ensued while the greyhounds watched, each hoping for a different result. Faith wanted him to sit back so she could put her head under his hand, Brody wanted dinner early, and the foster greyhound Poncho wanted to play.
But Mark was focused on one thing - the TV. Knowing the channel he wanted, he still grumbled over the remote. He called to the kids, but neither the seven year old nor the four year old had seen it. Both denied any involvement in it's disappearance.
Poncho followed the four year old back to his Hot Wheels racetrack and giggles ensued. Brody nudged at the seven year old until I nodded for her to go ahead and feed them all.
And Mark continued searching.
"Here it is!" Mark's triumphant shout nearly made me drop the casserole dish on its way to the oven.
He thundered down the stairs, bellowing for the kids to report. "They always drag it off," he complained. "I've told them it won't work up there."
Nodding, I asked where he found it.
"Guest room."
"Let me see it."
I could see Mark warming up his 'return things to their rightful place speech' when I pointed out the teethmarks on the corner of the remote.
"Our kids are way past teething, honey."
"What?"
"Look at it." I handed it back, laughing as he sighed.
"Poncho."
"Yup." From the moment of his arrival, the greyhound had been stealthy about tasting and testing everything in the world of retirement.
Mark looked down into Poncho's smiling face and held the remote close to his chest. The long tail wagged hopefully, but Mark shook his head. "Mine."
Poncho's smile faded and the tail slowed for a moment. Then Mark rubbed his ears and led our small pack of greyhounds back to the couch for TV and snuggling before dinner.
Thanks for your Dog Tail, Regan!
Regan Black is a paranormal romance writer
Amazon
Regan Black Website
For more Great Dog Tails, BUY WOOF: Women Only Over Fifty!
Submission guidelines for:
"Dog Tails:
Stories About Women & Their Best Tail-Wagging Friends”
How to tell your story:
Whether your special canine buddy is still with you or not, we’re looking for nonfiction stories told in first person with action, dialogue and an emotional pivotal ending. Make readers laugh, cry, get chills!
How not to tell your story:
Stories should not be political in nature or preachy. We want original, unpublished stories that are 400 words or less.
How to submit your story:
A Word document e-mailed to GreatDames@WoofersClub.com
(Remember to save a copy for yourself!)
How to submit your picture:
Jpeg or Gif submitted to GreatDames@WoofersClub.com
How to submit your picture:
Jpeg or Gif submitted to GreatDames@WoofersClub.com
Monday, April 18, 2011
WOOF: Media Monday - Prevent Sagging!
Everywhere I look, some worthwhile organization is promoting walking, running, yoga, exercise classes, or water aerobics, especially for WOOFers. Since, of late, my mirror has started screaming, “You’ve gotten totally out of shape!”
I got my doctor's permission to join a fitness club and start exercising. I found the perfect fit. An aerobics class for WOOFers. I bent, twisted, gyrated, jumped up and down, and perspired for an hour, but, by the time I got my leotards on, the class was over.
That’s why I’m adopting a new program to prevent sagging. Eat till the wrinkles fill out.
For more fun-filled exercise ideas, Buy WOOF: Women Only Over Fifty
Amazon
OmniLit
Friday, April 15, 2011
Monday, April 11, 2011
WOOF: Media Monday - Generation Alzheimers
This year, the first wave of Baby Boomers are turning 65 – and with increased age comes increased risk of developing Alzheimer's disease.
While it may be frightening to discuss this terrible disease, Generation Alzheimer's –the defining disease of baby boomers, discusses the facts, the signs, the stages and even the myths.
There is, however, great promise in Alzheimer's research and a focused commitment from the nation’s leaders could make the difference in solving the crisis.
Download a copy of the report. Join Generation Alzheimers and get the facts!
Email: info@alz.org
Phone: 800.272.3900
Alzheimer's Association Public Policy Division
1212 New York Avenue, NW Suite 800
Washington, DC 20005-6105
WOOF: Women Only Over Fifty Amazon
While it may be frightening to discuss this terrible disease, Generation Alzheimer's –the defining disease of baby boomers, discusses the facts, the signs, the stages and even the myths.
There is, however, great promise in Alzheimer's research and a focused commitment from the nation’s leaders could make the difference in solving the crisis.
Download a copy of the report. Join Generation Alzheimers and get the facts!
Email: info@alz.org
Phone: 800.272.3900
Alzheimer's Association Public Policy Division
1212 New York Avenue, NW Suite 800
Washington, DC 20005-6105
WOOF: Women Only Over Fifty Amazon
Friday, April 8, 2011
WOOF: Dog Tails - Bubba and Me
“Bubba, this is the last time,” I bellowed as the big dog jumped to the table, grabbed a biscuit and bolted away.
He ran into a large clay pot.
“Darn you,” I say sliding to the floor and sobbing amidst the broken earthenware.
I didn’t want to be here, alone and hurting this much. And I didn’t want to be dealing with this demon dog.
Two years ago, my husband had lugged home a large carton. “A surprise for you," Arnie announced as a filthy dog sprang from the box, onto our new white sofa.
When Arnie was around, Bubba was Mr. Nice Dog. But it was hate from the beginning between me and the dog.
I tolerated Bubba only because Arnie loved him. Each evening, as the clock chimed seven, the beast plopped down on the area rug in the front hall, to await Arnie's homecoming.
One evening Bubba waited. The clock chimed seven, then eight, then nine. Finally the doorbell rang. A policeman stood in my doorway twisting his hat. There had been an accident. Arnie was dead.
Friends and family came and went. Someone took Bubba. I don’t remember much about the next few weeks. Until, one day, the doorbell rang and Bubba was back.
He took up his vigil in the front hall, getting up only to eat, or be let out in the fenced-in yard I shared with my neighbor. I only kept the ungrateful mutt because Arnie had loved him so much.
One day, darkness came before I realized that Bubba hadn't scratched at the door to be let back in. I called. No Bubba. I tried to switch on the back light then remembered, the electricity had been disconnected because lights were being installed around my neighbor’s new in-ground pool. No, it couldn't be! Bubba hated water!
I grabbed a flashlight and approached the water. The terrified dog hung by his paws onto the edge of the pool.
I hauled Bubba from the cold water, dragged the shivering dog back into the house and wrapped him in the nearest thing I could find: my favorite afghan - the last present Arnie had given me.
Almost a year had passed since Arnie died, yet each night Bubba faithfully took up his vigil when the bell chimed seven. Tonight, he left my side, started toward the front hall, and then hesitated. Turning, he looked me in the eye and came back to my chair to settle at my feet.
Carren Strock
Author of:
Married Women Who Love Women
and
A Writer's Journey: What to Know Before, During, and After Writing a Book
www.carrenstrock.com
Submission guidelines for:
"Dog Tails:
Stories About Women & Their Best Tail-Wagging Friends”
He ran into a large clay pot.
“Darn you,” I say sliding to the floor and sobbing amidst the broken earthenware.
I didn’t want to be here, alone and hurting this much. And I didn’t want to be dealing with this demon dog.
Two years ago, my husband had lugged home a large carton. “A surprise for you," Arnie announced as a filthy dog sprang from the box, onto our new white sofa.
When Arnie was around, Bubba was Mr. Nice Dog. But it was hate from the beginning between me and the dog.
I tolerated Bubba only because Arnie loved him. Each evening, as the clock chimed seven, the beast plopped down on the area rug in the front hall, to await Arnie's homecoming.
One evening Bubba waited. The clock chimed seven, then eight, then nine. Finally the doorbell rang. A policeman stood in my doorway twisting his hat. There had been an accident. Arnie was dead.
Friends and family came and went. Someone took Bubba. I don’t remember much about the next few weeks. Until, one day, the doorbell rang and Bubba was back.
He took up his vigil in the front hall, getting up only to eat, or be let out in the fenced-in yard I shared with my neighbor. I only kept the ungrateful mutt because Arnie had loved him so much.
One day, darkness came before I realized that Bubba hadn't scratched at the door to be let back in. I called. No Bubba. I tried to switch on the back light then remembered, the electricity had been disconnected because lights were being installed around my neighbor’s new in-ground pool. No, it couldn't be! Bubba hated water!
I grabbed a flashlight and approached the water. The terrified dog hung by his paws onto the edge of the pool.
I hauled Bubba from the cold water, dragged the shivering dog back into the house and wrapped him in the nearest thing I could find: my favorite afghan - the last present Arnie had given me.
Almost a year had passed since Arnie died, yet each night Bubba faithfully took up his vigil when the bell chimed seven. Tonight, he left my side, started toward the front hall, and then hesitated. Turning, he looked me in the eye and came back to my chair to settle at my feet.
Carren Strock
Author of:
Married Women Who Love Women
and
A Writer's Journey: What to Know Before, During, and After Writing a Book
www.carrenstrock.com
Submission guidelines for:"Dog Tails:
Stories About Women & Their Best Tail-Wagging Friends”
How to tell your story:
Whether your special canine buddy is still with you or not, we’re looking for nonfiction stories told in first person with action, dialogue and an emotional pivotal ending. Make readers laugh, cry, get chills!
How not to tell your story:
Stories should not be political in nature or preachy. We want original, unpublished stories that are 400 words or less.
How to submit your story:
A Word document e-mailed to GreatDames@WoofersClub.com
Whether your special canine buddy is still with you or not, we’re looking for nonfiction stories told in first person with action, dialogue and an emotional pivotal ending. Make readers laugh, cry, get chills!
How not to tell your story:
Stories should not be political in nature or preachy. We want original, unpublished stories that are 400 words or less.
How to submit your story:
A Word document e-mailed to GreatDames@WoofersClub.com
(Remember to save a copy for yourself!)
How to submit your picture:
Jpeg or Gif submitted to GreatDames@WoofersClub.com
How to submit your picture:
Jpeg or Gif submitted to GreatDames@WoofersClub.com
Monday, April 4, 2011
WOOF: Texting Acronyms
WOOFers TEXTING ACRONYMS:
ATD..At The Doctors.
BFF..Best Friend Fell.
BTW..Bring the Wheelchair.
BYOT..Bring Your Own Teeth.
FWIW..Forgot Where I Was.
GGPBL..Gotta Go Pacemaker Battery Low.
GHA..Got Heartburn Again.
IMHO..Is My Hearing-Aid On.
LMDO..Laughing My Dentures Out.
OMMR..On My Massage Recliner.
OMSG ..Oh My! Sorry, Gas.
ROFLACGU....Rolling On Floor Laughing And Can't Get Up.
TTYL..Talk To You Louder.
WOOF: Women Only Over Fifty! Buy on Amazon
BFF..Best Friend Fell.
BTW..Bring the Wheelchair.
BYOT..Bring Your Own Teeth.
FWIW..Forgot Where I Was.
GGPBL..Gotta Go Pacemaker Battery Low.
GHA..Got Heartburn Again.
IMHO..Is My Hearing-Aid On.
LMDO..Laughing My Dentures Out.
OMMR..On My Massage Recliner.
OMSG ..Oh My! Sorry, Gas.
ROFLACGU....Rolling On Floor Laughing And Can't Get Up.
TTYL..Talk To You Louder.
WOOF: Women Only Over Fifty! Buy on Amazon
Friday, April 1, 2011
Furry Friends Friday - Lucky Lucy-Lucky Us!
It’s been two and a half years since we lost our 16-year-old terrier mix, Molly, and more than two years before we even considered adopting another dog. We’d casually talk about it but, just over a week ago, I announced to my husband that I was “putting the word out” to various pet rescue sites.A few days later we saw the picture of a little black and white puff ball named Gigi. For whatever reason, her owner abandoned her at a Pets Mart. I choose to believe this person simply couldn’t take care of her and thought, what better place to leave a dog? Surely some kind soul would take care of her.
Lucky for Gigi and lucky for us, 1 Lucky Dog Rescue picked her up, got her shots up-to-date and groomed her for what might be a long adoption process. Not so. The moment we spotted the picture that a friend posted on my Facebook page, we knew she was the “daughter” we’d waited for.
Oh, but getting her wouldn’t be that easy. First, she was in South Florida! Logistics were against us, but fate intervened. A rescue transport volunteer just happened to be driving to the Atlanta area the next day! Within 48 hours of seeing her picture, we had a new member of the family.
We decided that, although the name Gigi is cute, it just didn’t fit, so she is now, Lucy. Like the Beatles song, she’s our diamond.
WOOF promotes adoptions and rescues. Please do your part and help dogs like Lucy find good homes. You won’t regret it. If you don’t believe me, just look at these pictures. Who could resist?
And, please, if you're thinking of getting a furry friend for your family - ADOPT!
WOOF on Amazon: Women Only Over Fifty!
WOOF on OmniLit
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