Oxymoron Diaries The Video

Hope you enjoy the very first Oxymoron Diaries video! I made it just for YOU! Love ya, Didi O'Neil.   http://animoto.com/play/OQLmmwHX9alRZOhqQouWGQ

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The Oxymoron Diaries | Twelve Ounce Poundcake | Didi O'Neil | Excerpt from Chapter Nine | Big Sip.

The Oxymoron Diaries | Twelve Ounce Poundcake | Didi O'Neil | Excerpt from Chapter Nine | Big Sip.

(Used with permission of the author.)

      “I didn’t hire you to think straight. I hired you for your slightly askew perspectives. And I have the utmost faith in you. So do Fritz and Alfredo. They’ve given me carteblanche to offer you anything you want. They’re even talking syndication.” She held up a folder of paperwork. “You can’t pass up this opportunity.”
      I sat silently, my thoughts racing. “I’ll have to think about this,” I finally said.
      “Go ahead, think all you want. The offer will still be on the table for as long as it takes you to decide, or rather as long as it takes me to convince you.” She stood up behind her desk and put her hands on her slender, lipo-suctioned hips. “Let’s go find a Bloody Mary somewhere, Abb. I’m not opposed to getting you drunk to get your signature on these contracts.”
      “I could use one right now,” I muttered still in a small amount of shock over the Skyline’s unexpected, but generous offer. “But only one.”
      She arched an artificially enhanced by-way-of-tattoo eyebrow at me in skepticism.
      I grabbed our coats and headed out of her office toward the elevator. Tossing her coat at her as we reached ground level, we exited the building and made a right turn, walked two blocks, and found M’Larkey’s around the corner from the police station.
      As we entered, Kemp waved to the bartender. “That’s Shamus,” she said to me as I took my coat and flung it on the back of my barstool.
      “Hi, Shamus,” I said. Lifting myself up and onto the stool, I extended my hand across the bar and shook Shamus’ massive hand.
      “We’ll have two of your special Bloody Mary’s, Shame,” ordered Kemper.
      “Are ye sure the Missy here can handle one of me specials?” he asked, a look of doubt written across his authentic Irish face as he motioned toward me.
      “Quite sure,” she replied with a laugh. As Shamus tended to our drinks, Kemp asked, “So what’s going on with Belly lately? You look more stressed than normal.”
      I laughed at her suggestion that I might be stressed. Stressed was putting it mildly. Instead, I simply said, “We’re thinking about asking her to live with us. Permanently.”
      “You’re not serious.”
I grimaced. “Yes, I am very serious. I can’t stand the thought of her living in some rinky-dink studio apartment with a bunch of strangers. Not to mention The Eve being so near-by will make Belle crazed,” I blabbered. Turning my head toward Shamus, I said, “Hey, Shamus? I could use that Bloody Mary sometime soon, darlin’.”
      He turned and set a tall glass in front of each of us.
      I wondered what made them so special as I took a big sip. My eyes started to water as I lost my breath. Not only was my drink fiery hot, it tasted as though it was made with Irish Whiskey instead of vodka. And if I wasn’t mistaken, there was a raw egg sitting at the bottom of my glass.
      “You should have warned me, Kemper!” I spurted, wiping off my chin.
      “I assumed, Dearest Abby, after Shame asked if I thought you could handle one of his specials, you might surmise something rather exotic might be in it.”
      “Kiwi fruit and a stone crab claw would be exotic in a Bloody Mary. Irish Whiskey, hot lava, and raw egg is not exotic,” I choked.
      “Better not let Shamus hear you say that,” she warned as she took a small, safe sip from her own glass. “But back to Belle. When did you come up with this ludicrous idea of having her move in with you forever? And were you drinking at the time? Because if you were, it’s not binding.”
      “I have been drinking more than usual lately, but I was stone cold sober when I came up with this idea. Scotch was involved immediately afterward, though,” I confessed as I carefully took another sip of Shamus’ concoction.
      Kemper sat, shaking her head and muttering to herself something about how could I possibly allow a ninety-eight year-old woman to sidetrack my budding new career? She finally turned her head back toward Shamus, then plopped her chin in her upturned palm. “Well, Abby, whatever you decide, I’m sure your work won’t suffer.” She held up the contract folder she’d brought along.” So don’t turn down the offer just yet. Okay?”
      I exhaled sharply. “I haven’t decided anything yet, Kemp, about either topic. Right now I’m just trying to go over the last two months in my mind and determine if her living with us is the best thing for everyone; not just Belle. There are a number of pros and cons, as My Other Half has so eagerly pointed out to me the last few days. Not to mention, if I’d only considered asking Belle to live with us before this week, I wouldn’t have spent the previous weeks losing my mind trying to figure out a way to eek out from the paltry allowance the bank doled out, all of the things she needs for The Eve’s version of Home Sweet Home. This expectation is irrational, at best. At worst, it’s a purposeful, devious manipulation of Belle’s financial resources. Limited as they are.”
      “Tell Your Other Half to suck it up and go buy Belle everything she needs, Abby. Make it easier on everyone, including yourself.”
      “No,” I said. “Belle steadfastly refuses to allow any of us to pitch in, Kemper. Consequently, when we go shopping for apartment necessities, I grab a cart for her and a cart for myself. I try to inconspicuously toss a few things for her in my cart when she isn’t looking and then stash them with her own things when we get back home.” I took another sip. “This ploy has proven successful to a point, but I can’t exactly sneak a sofa into the house.”
      “She won’t need a sofa if she’s living with you, will she?”
      “No, but she’ll want to furnish her space at our house her own way. After all, I turned it into a den before Belle moved in. And if she ends up going to Estherville, she’ll still need absolutely everything.” I frowned. “The real problem isn’t just the money issue, though. It’s getting her to make a decision about buying anything at all. The Eve’s put a lot of ideas in her head and Belle seems almost afraid to do anything The Eve hasn’t suggested. This ranges from color scheme to her choice of lamps. Everything seems to be predetermined in Belle’s mind.”
      “Which means The Eve should have taken care of these issues before she brought Belle back to Ohio to stay with you,” Kemper interjected with a flick of her wrist.

     “Yes,” I agreed. “Or better yet, instead of hauling most of Belle’s worldly possessions to the nearest Fort Myer-area Salvation Army Collection Center last November, she should have packed it up and brought it north with them. Considering The Eve charged The Trust for Belle’s moving expenses, she should’ve loaded up the van they rented with more of Belle’s possessions. I can’t for the life of me figure out what The Eve and Sane and Rational brought north besides Belle. Her mattresses and at least a few pieces of furniture would have been a marginally good idea.”

      “The Eve obviously forgot that one man’s junk is another man’s treasure. And obviously Sane and Rational did not live up to his name this time.”
      I nodded. “You’re right. What might have looked like junk to them may very well have been perfectly fine to Belle. What ninety-eight year-old woman has brand new House Beautiful-type belongings?” I asked, still taking very small sips of my drink. It was growing on me, though. “People that age have a tendency to be quite frugal. They usually have well-used, but adequate possessions. Even most rich people at age ninety-eight don’t buy things they already have.”
      “That’s my personal plan, Abb, but how sad for Belle to be ninety-eight years old and own absolutely nothing.”
      “I get more than a little irritated every time I think about the insanity of the situation,” I said, then touched my lip, checking for habañero-induced blisters. Finding none, I added, “My newfound philosophy of no Eve-bashing has been a challenge to keep lately, because I’m pissed off at her on a continuing basis over this money matter. Consequently, our treks to all of Belle’s favorite stores are simply exhausting, both physically and emotionally. A type of painless torture, actually.”
      Kemper started to say something, but I held my left hand in the air in front of her as I reached down for my shoulder bag with my right, extracting a small notebook and pencil.

     “I got it, Kemp, don’t worry.” I wrote down Painless Torture, then stowed it away until the next spontaneous oxymoron spouting.

      Trying to catch a glimpse at my own personal version of A Little Black Book, she stretched her neck at me. “See, Abby? Twice a week wouldn’t be so hard. You have any number of ideas written in that little notebook already. It would be a breeze for you, Darling.”
      “Kemper. Any moron can come up with an OXYmoron. The hard part is coming up with an explanation to go with it that pertains to people’s everyday lives.”
      Kemper shook her head in frustration.
      “Anyway, back to our original conversation. Belle’s shopping trips have been just one more issue that crops up to antagonize Moh and my relationship, since for some reason he feels compelled to tag along with us. It drives me bonkers,” I said as I thrust my hands out in front of me. “He’s not a shopper under even the best of circumstances, Kemp, so following a ninety-eight year-old woman around who insists on always pushing the shopping cart is not exactly a shit-load of fun for him. Nor is it fun for me either, actually. I’m nearly sick to my stomach with a pounding headache by the time we get home. Belle walks so slowly, the customers behind us get visibly angry.” I pondered the last of my drink and eyeballed the raw egg at the bottom of my glass.
      What the hell! I thought, then tipped it up and slugged it down my throat, feeling only briefly the slimy egg slide over my tongue and disappear. I was slightly surprised the hot sauce hadn’t hard-boiled the thing by now.
      Shamus stood watching, hands on hips. “You were right, Livingston. She can handle it,” he said wryly, wiping my dribble from the bar in front of me. It was hard not to dribble with my lips numb.
      I grinned and then went on without skipping a beat. “Luckily, Belle can’t hear people rudely mumbling under their breaths and hasn’t noticed that sometimes I resort to turning around and running my middle finger discreetly over my cheek, sending them scurrying off into other directions, away from the woman with the wild look in her eyes. Namely, me.”
      “They’d run for cover if they saw what you just did with that egg.”
      “I didn’t want to insult Shamus,” I whispered.
      “Honey, I have never yet sucked down the raw egg in the bottom of one of Shamus’ drinks and as you’ve noticed, he’s still talking to me.”
      “Why the hell didn’t you tell me that before I tipped my glass up?”
      “I never thought you’d actually slurp the damn thing!”
      I shook my head and looked over at Shamus, who was smiling broadly. “I’ll have another one, Shame, but could you hold the protein this time? Please?”

     He nodded and grabbed my glass.

     I added,  “Easy on the whiskey. Keep the hot sauce, though. No offense, Shame, but I don’t usually drink my breakfast.” I cracked a smile at Kemper as she began to protest and then interrupted, “It must be the company I’m keeping this morning.”

      Ignoring my slight, she pursed her lips together in thought. “I’m trying to imagine how you discreetly flip people off. It’s no fun if you don’t thrust it smack dab in the air at their faces!” She demonstrated and Shamus whipped his head around with a questioning look on his red-bearded face.
      “That wasn’t meant for you, Shamus, honey,” she explained. “Don’t get yourself all in a mood. I was just showing Abby the proper way to give someone The Finger.”
      He shook his head back and forth in doubt. “Anybody that sucks their first Shamus’ egg down like the Missy here just did, needs no lessons on flipping someone off, Livingston.”
      I smiled. “Thank you, Shamus. I think.” I paused, and then continued. “Not everyone is nasty and impolite, of course. On occasion someone does offer me a polite smile and a knowing look, as if to say, ‘I’ve been there and done that, so you are a saint in my eyes’, which mellows me for a few seconds and helps me regain my much needed patience and composure. Moh, embarrassed however, will vigorously ignore all nearby impatient customers and simply walk off to other areas of the store to squirm aloneespecially after noticing my occasional hand gestures.” I rubbed my middle finger on my chin as if I had an itch to scratch. “I think he’s afraid my looks can kill and doesn’t want to be either a witness or an accompliceor possibly even a victim. He resembles a lost child most of the time. I’ve considered putting nametags in his clothing so that someone might eventually make an announcement that there is a little lost child by the name of Mohby waiting at the front desk. Tracking him down while also trying to keep track of Belle is not amusing to me in the least.”
      “The Number One Rule to successful shopping, Abby, is to leave all men at home, where they belong!” she spouted. “How do you still shop in Toledo anyway? People know your face by now. While you are not even remotely famous - by the way, syndication will change that to some extent. You are a local celebrity. I can imagine that total strangers spontaneously shout oxymora at you in very unexpected places.”
      “Ain’t that the truth,” I nodded, pulling a number of such incidences from my memory. “All too often an unfamiliar person will wave at me and then yell through the crowd, ‘Hey, Ms. Nutter. I’ve got a good one for you!’ Then he’ll drag his obviously with-child wife over to me and point at her stomach while cracking, ‘A little bit pregnant!’ I usually deadpan a simple, “Almost Impossible.”
      Kemper took her mirror out of her handbag and checked her make-up, blotting under her eyes. “Quit making me laugh so hard, Abb!” Her expression suddenly turned serious. “That would make a great column, Abb.”
      “I’m saving it for a rainy day,” I smirked. “The situation is funny, but Belle doesn’t understand these interruptions. She thinks my job is more of a hobby, like quilting or painting seashore watercolors.”
      “Well, she better get to used it, because if you go to twice a week, plus a website and blog, the possibilities will be endless. Blog is the new black, you know? You’ll be even more recognizable. There will be a lot of promotion to go along with it, too.”
      “One more reason NOT to sign those contracts, Kemp.” I cupped my chin in my hands and leaned down to suck my Bloody Mary from my tall straw, something I was actually able to do now that there was no egg on the bottom of my glass.
      “You’re a people-person. What’s the problem?”
      “I’ve still got the Belle dilemma on my brain. In addition to oxymoron interruptions, there’s the issue in regards to her making decisions. Any decisions. This is complicated by the fact that when she does actually make a choice, she ultimately decides the item she wants is too much money. Like I said, she isn’t rich, but she also isn’t indigent, so she can afford, within reason, to buy what she wants. I can never convince her of this, though, so our shopping adventures have digressed to deep discount stores. Very deep discount. Very, very, deep, deep discount,” I sang and nodded my head simultaneously.
      “Stop it! You look like one of those toys people suction cup to their dashboards.”
      “Lately, I feel like I’m suctioned cup to someone’s dashboard and traveling at a very high rate of speed,” I said, still bobbing my head. “While I’m in no way adverse to saving money, Belle stubbornly refuses to buy anything elsewhere that might be cheaper at one of these places instead. Most things are only a dollar, with a few bigger items being more than that, but not much more. At these prices, though, quality is an issue. My philosophy is that you get what you pay for, but I can’t convince Belle of this. Consequently, she’s determined to buy, for example, a mop for a dollar. She doesn’t care that it has no way to wring the water from it except with her bare arthritic hands.”
      “Mohby doesn’t go with you to the Dollar Stores, does he?”
      “Unfortunately, yes; and you know how he walks a very fine line between being frugal and just being a cheap bastard. I worry every time he gets excited about a new item he found for a buck that he’ll soon have me shopping there for year-old groceries.”
      “If that happens, you’ll have to put your foot down. Either no more deep discount stores or Moh is barred from your shopping excursions until further notice. I can’t have people seeing you in places like that!”
      “Why not? Unlike your own un-average self, I am your average Jane Blow citizen, and as frugal as the next. Besides, I can’t decide which option would be most beneficial for my sanity. Both options would serve their purpose. In reality, though, I know neither option is practical, since Belle will never give up her discount stores and My Cheap Bastard Half will never alter his cheap bastard perspective.”
      Kemper piped in immediately, while motioning for our check. “The only solution then, is for you to stay home while Belle and Moh go shopping together.”
      “Dream on, Kemper,” I retorted, then finished my Famous Shamus.
      “Go ahead and dream, Dear,” she said as she scanned her tab. “After all, William Dement said something like, ‘Dreaming allows us to be safely and quietly insane every night of our lives’.”
      I climbed down from my bar stool, grabbed my coat and bag and threw a ten on the bar top. “In that case, I think I’ll go home and take a nap now, so that I can safely and quietly dream about feeling insane.”
      Looking closer at the tab Shamus had given her, she grabbed mine that I had yet to even look at and said, “Hey, Shamus? How come you charged me five bucks a piece for my Famous Shamuses, but only charged Abby three?
      Shamus pointed to a hand-written sign hanging behind the bar. It read, PRICES SUBJECT TO CHANGE ACCORDING TO CUSTOMERS’ ATTITUDE. He then clarified further by saying, “If you don’t like the bar’s rules, Livingston, you have two choices. Either go out the front door and turn right. Or go out the front door and turn left.”

           I looked at the ten I’d thrown on the bar and smiled, “Keep the change, Shame.”
      Shamus was growing on me.

Oxymoron Diaries | Delicious Buffet

Oxymoron Diaries | Delicious Buffet. Another back-from-Vegas entry into The Oxymoron Diaries.
Buffets always sound good in theory. But face it, after a long day do you really want to stand in line to pay for your food, stand in line to get a table, stand in line to grab a chicken leg, stand in line for a diet coke, and then stand in line for dessert ... all while hanging on to your meal ticket, your purse, your jacket, and your kids simultaneously?

Throw the location in there and a Vegas Buffet is anywhere from 25 to 50 bucks. Serious mula for having to wait on yourself.

Gone are the days of cheap or nearly free anything in Sin City. Prices are on the rise. Unless, of course, you are a steady gambler and you can get some stuff comped.

Little ol' ME? Not a steady gambler and no comps available.

 Of course, if I DID become an actual gambler and was able to earn those delicious comps, I'm thinking Vegas would still be ahead and I'd still be in the hole.

Gambling be damned, I haven't even mentioned the idea of a delicious buffet in theory yet ...

Seriously, do you really want to eat anything that 10,000 people have sneezed and breathed over?

Not me, kiddo. My son and his family were in a wedding in Niagara falls recently. Two of them picked up a PARASITIC WORM from the buffet (confirmed by the CDC) that took weeks to get rid of. I'm not making this up!

Consequently, Delicious Buffet is definitely on my list of oxymorons and is the newest addition to The Oxymoron Diaries.

Update - I was reminded of another reason that buffets sort of suck ... calories, calories, and more calories! Pigs at the trough mentality, since you want to get your money's worth, right? Yep, definitely an oxymoron.



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Oxymoron Diaries | Frugal Gambler

Oxymoron Diaries | Frugal Gambler. Just back from Vegas and as I said in my recent post, Oxymoron Diaries|Comfortable Stilettos, Sin City is ripe for the pickin' when it comes to oxymorons.

Today's addition is Frugal Gambler.

Since my feet were killing me on a number of occasions, I really had no choice but to grab the nearest stool and sit down. Not my fault that the only available stools in Vegas are smack dab in front of slot machines, right? Right! Since I have a rather addictive personality, thank goodness the stools were all in front of the penny slots!

I'd never been to Las Vegas before, but I have gambled a few times in my life. Not a lot, but a few.
Years ago we drove up to Windsor, Ontario to the casino on the riverfront. Parked the car in the designated area down by the river and caught the shuttle to the casino. Saved A LOT of money that day by accidently leaving the wallet in the car! Could only gamble with what was in our pockets, which wasn't much!

Have been to the casinos in Detroit, Michigan, too. Only about an hour away from us, so every once in awhile we'll take a break and go up to Greektown Casino in downtown Detroit. But there is always a method to our madness. Hubby gets $100 and I get $100. When it's gone, it's gone. We always stop midway through our trip and have some grape leaves, hummous, and assorted good food, and always end the day by going to The Astoria Bakery across the street from the casino. The best dang chocolate covered pretzels ANYWHERE!

We've stopped by a few casinos in our travels through Michigan, Tennessee, and the Carolinas and even gambled a bit on a Gulf Coast boat excursion one day. Never hit big, but never lost a lot either. Probably because we stick to our rules, which basically is one rule - NEVER EVER USE AN ATM CARD ANYWHERE NEAR A CASINO!

My other rule is whenever I cash out of a machine, I take the cash slip and put it in my purse. I continue to play with the cash I brought with me. When the cash is gone, I stop gambling. On the way out of the casino I stop by the cash-out machine and get cash for those tickets in my purse. I have never lost a bunch if I do this, but I have won enough to make the stay worthwhile and not go home grumpy.

I've decided that if I want to save money and not lose a bunch gambling when I'm anywhere near a casino next, I need to accidently leave my wallet in the hotel room and pack my foldable flats for when my feet start screaming at me so I don't plop down at the nearest slot machine - or worse yet, a blackjack table.

So, why is Frugal Gambler an oxymoron?

Well, because even if I follow ALL of my rules and don't lose much, gambling is the same as flushing money down the toilet. Period. In other words, there is no such thing as frugal gambling. It gets expensvie the moment it enters your mind to stick that bill in the machine. You'd be better off donating that money to a charity and getting a tax write-off. In fact, I know one you can donate to ... how about the "Oxymoron Diaries Get Out of Debt Charity."

Just kidding. Keep your money.



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Oxymoron Diaries just got a Featured Post on the Activerain Network

Oxymoron Diaries just got a Featured Post on the Activerain Network. Check it out here. It's titled Oxymoron Diaries|Short Sale.

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Oxymoron Diaries | Comfortable Stilettos and Just back from Vegas, Baby!

Oxymoron Diaries | Comfortable Stilettos. I'm just back from a meeting in Las Vegas and boy, oh boy, was it ripe with oxymorons. In fact, I have a new appreciation for the term Oxymoron.

First on my list is Comfortable Stilettos.

Hard as a tried, my feet were a hurtin' from the git go.

I needed to wear heels for my meetings so I had no choice. Plus my new blue suit was a bit conservative and the length on the skirt was about an inch too long. The only thing I could do to change that quickly was to up my heel height, right? Yeah, right. Ouch.

Below is evidence of the crime scene. Believe me when I say these suckers were 5 inches if they were an inch. Only a three quarter inch platform though. They looked fantastic. My legs were gorgeous. Problem was my toes were fire engine red when I took them off.

Platinum Stilettos

You would think I'd learn my lesson, but no. Heaven forbid I hit the Strip in comfortable shoes. Not with all those long legs, micro mini skirts and sky high shoes going on all over the place. I refused to look like I was from Ohio.

So, pair #2 looked like this ... even higher and with a 1 inch platform. Plus peep toes, so all that height made my toes try to squish out the little peep toe. Double ouch. Double red.

Black Stilettos

I finally resorted to my foldable flat ballet slippers that I never leave home without. I looked like a dork, but I wasn't screaming and wincing with every step I took. I did, however, put on my favorite cap so no one would recognize me looking like a dork. If I had been wearing capri jeans or a skirt I could have pulled it off, but I had on long flared brown dress jeans and had to tuck three inches of fabric into the back of the flats. "Dork" was probably an understatement. The people I was with made me walk in back of them ... way in back of them.

Foldable Flats

My only relief before I resorted to foldable flats was to sit down and try my luck at the penny slots.

Hence, my next post will be titled ... Oxymoron Diaries|Frugal Gambler.

I did notice at the airport on the way home that pretty much everyone, every man, woman, and child had flip flops on and their toes were fire engine red. So I don't feel quite so stupid or vain.

Stay tuned for Frugal Gambler, Delicious Buffet, and perhaps a few other Oxymoron Diary entries.

Later ... I gotta go soak my feet.

Seriously.

Epson salts and the whole nine yards.

Love ya ...

If you enjoyed what you read up there in Comfortable Stiletto Land, you might just like a work of fiction called The Oxymoron Diaries "Twelve Ounce Poundcake". Check out the right side bar for info on how to download from Amazon. It's a full length novel.

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The Oxymoron Diaries | Easy To Follow Directions

Oxymoron Diaries | Easy to Follow Directions.

Yeah, right.

I can remember years ago in my previous life the dryer broke down. This was way back. Way, way back. I was 22 years old, two little kids, our first house and we were broke, broke, broke. And like I said, the dryer broke down.

Did I mention that we didn't use disposable diapers? No? Well, we didn't use disposable diapers. For those of you out there scratching your head about that statement, that means that all those diapers were cloth and I had to wash and dry after use.

Yea, wash and dry after THAT use. So not having a working dryer was a bit of an issue with two little ones still in diapers.

In an effort to save money (did I mention we were broke, broke, broke?), instead of calling a repairman, we went to the part store and purchased a dryer belt to change and install ourselves.

Couldn't be all that hard, right?

Right. (By the way, I did not resemble that perfectly put together lady on the right. My hair probably hadn't been combed in 3 days and I'm sure I had on sweat pants. Dirty sweat pants, since the dryer was broken.)

Unfortunately my husband at the time, God love him, he tried for three straight days to get that damn dryer belt on, but to no avail. I was really starting to feel sorry for him. No, actually I was starting to feel sorry for myself, as those dirty diapers were piling up. If it had been summer I could've hung them outside on the clothesline, but to complicate things further, it was winter and my babies preferred their diapers not to have icicles hanging off of them. Although that nice warm baby pee would've melted those icicles in short order I'm sure.

Ewww. Too much information.

Anyway, about the third day, my husband trudges off to work and I decide that I am not giving up until I get that damn belt on and some diapers washed.

I pull out the directions and give them the once over. They seem simple enough, so I give it a whirl.

Five minutes later the belt is on the dryer, the dryer is pushed back against the wall and I've got load number one of dirty nappies agitating in the Clorox.

I am so proud of myself that I actually call my husband at work to say "Honey, don't worry. I fixed the dryer."

His response was a quick, "How did you manage that?"

I was hoping for a little more enthusiasm, but frankly didn't care because my diapers were ready for the drying phase and we were good to go. My reply to his question was an excited, "It wasn't all that hard. I just followed the directions."

Slight pause. No, a lengthy pause and then his response. "What directions?"

It should have dawned on me when the directions were still folded up in the bag that perhaps they were never actually used. Silly me. I was young and naive.

In all fairness, I am not, in any way picking on husband #1, since husband #2 would have been the exact same story except for the dirty cloth diapers part.

It's just a guy thing.

Another version of Easy to Follow Directions is the opposite of the above scenario.

We have two great big Goldendoodles who like to drag my butt down the street. So we buy these "gentle leader" collars that are supposed to prevent them from dragging my butt down the street anymore. The problem is these things are not intuitive at all. That's why they come with both paper directions AND a DVD! Plus the clerk at the pet store even showed us what to do. That should have been our first clue to hang those packages back up on the display rack.

You see where I'm gong with this? Right.

Even though we have multiple resources and have watched the DVD forward, backwards, and repeatedly, those collars are still not on the dogs.

So, NOT easy to follow directions.

Hence, I am dubbing that phrase an oxymoron.

If you liked the post above, perhaps you'll also like a work of fiction titled
The Oxymoron Diaries ...

About The Oxymoron Diaries ...

Abigail Nutter has walked a fine line between the apathetic urge to hang out a welcome sign for blood relatives, in-laws, out-laws, kissing cousins and stray animals or digging in with cold emotion and a quarantine sign, boarding up windows and padlocking doors against intrusion. The Oxymoron Diaries' Twelve Ounce Poundcake (Life is an Oxymoron), tells the story of Abigail Nutter,a local writer temporarily forced into multi-generation serfdom, disrupting her daily life in sadly amusing, mildly psychotic ways. As evidenced throughout the telling by random sprinklings of oxymora, she routinely takes her inspiration from everyday life, causing her family to frequently prefer she write her column in invisible ink. From 'plastic glasses' to 'nice and sleazy' and 'cold as hell' to 'safe sex', each chapter is subtitled by a relevant oxymoron, subtly teasing readers with the upcoming possibilities.

Abby's mother, Eve, a control freak, and her editor, Kemper, a sixty-something nymphomaniac and plastic surgery junkie, add to the endless instances of oxymoron humor, but no one more so than Belly, her nearly ninety-nine year old grandmother and self-proclaimed living fossil, who has been dropped on her doorstep for the winter.

Abby's husband, Bryan, who she fondly calls Moh, except when he's in trouble and she calls hiim Mohby Dick, is dismayed when two months later Abigail suggests their uninvited guest live with them permanently.

Hence ensues many emotional ups and downs, laughter, tears and heartbreak before the Nutter family realizes that with a touch of humor and a sprinkling of unconditional love, they can turn burdens into welcome loads. What surprises them the most is how Belly does not fit into the burden category as much as they anticipated. Broken marriages, broken families, and broken bonds turn out to weigh so much more than a ninety-nine year old sprite of a woman.

Click here to download to your Kindle from Amazon.  Only $2.99 through March 2012.

Click here to download to your Nook from Barnes and Noble. Only $2.99 through March 2012.

Click here to Like The Oxymoron Diaries on Facebook

Click here to Subscribe to The Oxymoron Diaries

Click here for an excerpt of The Oxymoron Diaries "Twelve Ounce Poundcake".

Click here to purchase The Oxymoron Diaries on Kindle.

Click here to purchase The Oxymoron Diaries on Nook.

Oxymoron Diaries | Disposable Plastic

Oxymoron Diaries | Disposable Plastic.

We recycle. Truly we do. At least we try our best to try our best. Unfortunately, I just walked into our family room and took one look at the two Golden Doodles, Cappy and Izzy, and realized that our efforts at re-cycling may be a bit, shall we say, for naught.
Cappy and Izzy are the true recyclers at our home since there isn't much left to throw away after they've chewed on everything in sight. If you want proof, click here for my blog post titled Things My Dog Ate This Week.

The problem is that even they are having trouble with their own version of recycling.

For example, take a peek at this photo of a 2 liter soda bottle. After 3 days of constant
gnawing, it still looks pretty much like a 2 liter soda bottle, just a bit squished.
Keep in mind that somewhere on this bottle it used to read something like "Disposable Plastic" or "Recycle-able" or words to that effect, but if these dogs can't even hurt this hunk of plastic, is anything else gonna turn this into either something re-useable or something that disintegrates in a landfill? I think not.
One more thing ... I don't remember any stamp anywhere on the bottle stating that it was dog-proof either. But it obviously is.
I guess the only solution is to give up soda pop, since everything else I own of any value is somewhere inside one of my dogs.

By the way, getting rid of the doggies is not an option.
Besides, if we take them to the pound they will simply become "recycled" dogs and start this vicious cycle all over again. Or shall we say this vicious REcycle?
Gotta run ... time to check on what's hanging out of the dogs' mouths. Since it's a spring-like day of almost 70 outside in NW Ohio and they're playing outside right now, the likely answer to that question is probably one of my hostas.

About The Oxymoron Diaries ...

Abigail Nutter has walked a fine line between the apathetic urge to hang out a welcome sign for blood relatives, in-laws, out-laws, kissing cousins and stray animals or digging in with cold emotion and a quarantine sign, boarding up windows and padlocking doors against intrusion. The Oxymoron Diaries' Twelve Ounce Poundcake (Life is an Oxymoron), tells the story of Abigail Nutter,a local writer temporarily forced into multi-generation serfdom, disrupting her daily life in sadly amusing, mildly psychotic ways. As evidenced throughout the telling by random sprinklings of oxymora, she routinely takes her inspiration from everyday life, causing her family to frequently prefer she write her column in invisible ink. From 'plastic glasses' to 'nice and sleazy' and 'cold as hell' to 'safe sex', each chapter is subtitled by a relevant oxymoron, subtly teasing readers with the upcoming possibilities.

Abby's mother, Eve, a control freak, and her editor, Kemper, a sixty-something nymphomaniac and plastic surgery junkie, add to the endless instances of oxymoron humor, but no one more so than Belly, her nearly ninety-nine year old grandmother and self-proclaimed living fossil, who has been dropped on her doorstep for the winter.

Abby's husband, Bryan, who she fondly calls Moh, except when he's in trouble and she calls hiim Mohby Dick, is dismayed when two months later Abigail suggests their uninvited guest live with them permanently.

Hence ensues many emotional ups and downs, laughter, tears and heartbreak before the Nutter family realizes that with a touch of humor and a sprinkling of unconditional love, they can turn burdens into welcome loads. What surprises them the most is how Belly does not fit into the burden category as much as they anticipated. Broken marriages, broken families, and broken bonds turn out to weigh so much more than a ninety-nine year old sprite of a woman.

Click here to download to your Kindle from Amazon.  Only $2.99 through March 2012.

Click here to download to your Nook from Barnes and Noble. Only $2.99 through March 2012.

Click here to Like The Oxymoron Diaries on Facebook

Click here to Subscribe to The Oxymoron Diaries

Click here for an excerpt of The Oxymoron Diaries "Twelve Ounce Poundcake".

Click here to purchase The Oxymoron Diaries on Kindle.

Click here to purchase The Oxymoron Diaries on Nook.

Reviews:

If sarcasm and an acid-tongue top your list of fiction prerequisites, then look no further. What I thought would be solely a work of fiction for the kinder and gentler sex turned into one laugh after another, with more than ample cringes thrown in for good measure for this macho man. Ms.O'Neil's use of oxymora as inspiration is brilliant and highly entertaining. In between the humor is pain and sadness, but never far behind is another humorous jab in the funny bone.

Meet the Author

DidiO'Neil walks a fine line similar to that of her characters, teetering between straight-laced and a straight jacket. She has written fiction for years for self-medication and is now delighted to entertain and medicate the general public. Nicknamed "The Human Sponge" she has the ability to pull out of a hat random bits of useless information that can be applied to the moment at hand and often, her writing. Her unofficial status as an accomplished wordsmith spurred her to use oxymorons as the theme of her first published series, The Oxymoron Diaries.

Her professional life also includes that of a National Real Estate Coach and Speaker.

Coming Fall of 2012:

The Oxymoron Diaries Vol. 2
A Little Pain Never Hurt Anyone

by Didi O'Neil

Excerpt from The Oxymoron Diaries Vol 1|Twelve Ounce Poundcake:


prologue     half dead

     The floor tile was the most unattractive and ordinary I’d ever seen, but I was tired of staring non-stop at her monitors and being mesmerized by their beep, beep, beeps. No, I was only mesmerized until those beeps turned into silent screams resounding off walls of the shabbiest flocked wallpaper I’d ever seen.
                 She would be mortified.

     Mentally tracing the lines of genuinely fake marble tiles was mildly tranquilizing; however, each drip of her IV had long before begun to feel as though a sledgehammer was pounding a five-inch nail into my belfry.

     I wondered briefly if her brain was feeling anything. Was the sledgehammer sharing time between the two of us? Or was it only pounding at her brain and I was simply having sympathy pains, as a queasy expectant father often did with a nauseous, pregnant wife.

     Genuinely Fake and Silent Screams. Ha! My mind wasn’t so clouded with worry that I couldn’t still identify an oxymoron or two drifting through the cerebral mishmash of emotions and fears I was experiencing. I knew those contradictory phrases were a gentle, subconscious reminder that I needed to keep focusing on my work. My lifeline. Not on the multitude of machines keeping her alive. Not on my family wearing scared, vacant stares - and definitely not on the beep, beep, beeps.

     I’d visited the maternity ward earlier that day in search of peace, but found no comfort, since it had dawned on me that newborn babies - who had no useful vision capabilities - were resting peacefully in a nicely decorated nursery, yet the Intensive Care Unit wasn’t decorated at all, looking like death, warmed over; drab and depressing. Wouldn’t it have made more sense to decorate the ICU? If she woke up and glanced down at the grungy floor, she’d think she’d died and gone to hell already! Or at least to the zip code in Purgatory reserved for sinfully tacky decorators.

     Enough! I remembered my deadline; affirmation that Life went on, even if Death perhaps lingered so nearby.

     I shook my head slowly, almost imperceptibly, thinking of how she would’ve rolled her eyes at my thoughts, since she’d always viewed my weekly column as trivial; simply a glorified fulltime hobby. Maybe if she’d known I was wasting time on The Oxymoron Diaries at that very moment, she would’ve been annoyed enough to will herself to consciousness and yell, “Get a real, job, Abigail!” At least we’d know she was well on her way back to normal.

     Normal for her, that is.

     Fulltime Hobby - yet another oxymoron. I was on a roll. Creative juices were flowing as freely as the saline drip in her intravenous tubing. Who would’ve thunk it?

     I had long before thankfully come to grips with her slightly askew and under-appreciated view of my attempt at mental masturbation - a way of preserving my sanity without going blind. I was resigned to her never understanding why My Other Half called me his Gorgeous Geek.

     I groaned when I realized the beep, beep, beeps were back, knowing I should’ve kept focusing on the oxymora - the unbelievably numerous oxymora. Not on her perspective of my state of mind.

     I re-focused again, as the floor tiles triggered the contradictory word pairs of Genuine Fakes, Clean Dirt, and Dull Shine; uncomfortable chairs were instantly synonymous with Plastic Wood. The beep, beep, beeps reminded me of Bad Health, Half Dead, and Cheerful Undertaker. I digressed toward Hilarious Funeral, but remembered Gorgeous Geek and was uplifted once again. I knew my odd form of mental therapy wasn’t logical when Artificial Intelligence focused my attention on the beep, beep, beeps, and once again propelled my mood into the abyss.

     I was visualizing plenty to write about, practically oozing oxymora from my pores, but would be doing it from The Psyche Ward if I didn’t stop. Me, in a psyche ward, would not make my editor happy, since Kemper preferred the level of lunacy that inspired my creative juices to be safely tucked away, out of public view. She preferred I exude Gorgeous Geek twenty-four/seven.

     So, back to the genuinely fake marble floor tiles. No, back to the beginning. The beginning of Life as I once knew it. The beginning of Life changing.

     Back to the beginning of Belle.

     Back to confirmation that Life is an Oxymoron.

Oxymoron Diaries | Teasing with Chapter Titles

Teasing with Chapter Titles ...

prologue     half dead

chapter one     extinct life
chapter two     random logic
chapter three     distant relatives
chapter four      good news
chapter five     uninvited guests
chapter six     compulsory volunteer
chapter seven     balanced insanity
chapter eight     recent history
chapter nine     big sip
chapter ten     cold as hell
chapter eleven     safe sex
chapter twelve     only choice
chapter thirteen     rolling stop
chapter fourteen     nothing much
chapter fifteen     the living dead
chapter sixteen     hard liquor

chapter seventeen     clean toilet 
chapter eighteen     quiet riot
chapter nineteen     computer jock
chapter twenty     pure filth
chapter twenty one      melted ice
chapter twenty two     plastic glasses
chapter twenty three     intimate murder
chapter twenty four    hard water
chapter twenty five     wedded bliss
chapter twenty six      nice and sleazy
chapter twenty seven      firewater
chapter twenty eight     tough love
chapter twenty nine      limited lifetime guarantee
chapter thirty     water landing
chapter thirty one   terribly pleased
chapter thirty two     secret rumors
chapter thirty three     guaranteed forecast
chapter thirty four     bad health
chapter thirty five     terrific headache
chapter thirty six     demanding patient
epilogue     serious humor

Overview

Abigail Nutter has walked a fine line between the apathetic urge to hang out a welcome sign for blood relatives, in-laws, out-laws, kissing cousins and stray animals or digging in with cold emotion and a quarantine sign, boarding up windows and padlocking doors against intrusion. The Oxymoron Diaries' Twelve OuncePoundcake (Life is an Oxymoron), tells the story of Abigail Nutter,a local writer temporarily forced into multi-generation serfdom, disrupting her daily life in sadly amusing, mildly psychotic ways. As evidenced throughout the telling by random sprinklings of oxymora, she routinely takes her inspiration from everyday life, causing her family to frequently prefer she write her column in invisible ink. From 'plastic glasses' to 'nice and sleazy' and 'cold as hell' to 'safe sex', each chapter is subtitled by a relevant oxymoron, subtly teasing readers with the upcoming possibilities.

Abby's mother, Eve, a control freak, and her editor, Kemper, a sixty-something nymphomaniac and plastic surgery junkie, add to the endless instances of oxymoron humor, but no one more so than Belly, her nearly ninety-nine year old grandmother and self-proclaimed living fossil, who has been dropped on her doorstep for the winter.

Abby's husband, Bryan, who she fondly calls Moh, except when he's in trouble and she calls hiim Mohby Dick, is dismayed when two months later Abigail suggests their uninvited guest live with them permanently.

Hence ensues many emotional ups and downs, laughter, tears and heartbreak before the Nutter family realizes that with a touch of humor and a sprinkling of unconditional love, they can turn burdens into welcome loads. What surprises them the most is how Belly does not fit into the burden category as much as they anticipated. Broken marriages, broken families, and broken bonds turn out to weigh so much more than a ninety-nine year old sprite of a woman.

Editorial Reviews
Neil Nofziger

If sarcasm and an acid-tongue top your list of fiction prerequisites, then look no further. What I thought would be solely a work of fiction for the kinder and gentler sex turned into one laugh after another, with more than ample cringes thrown in for good measure for this macho man. Ms. O'Neil's use of oxymora as inspiration is brilliant and highly entertaining. In between the humor is pain and sadness, but never far behind is another humorous jab in the funny bone.

Meet the Author

DidiO'Neil walks a fine line similar to that of her characters, teetering between straight-laced and a straight jacket. She has written fiction for years for personal enjoyment and self-medication and is now delighted to entertain the general public. Nicknamed "The Human Sponge" she has the ability to pull out of a hat random bits of useless information that can be applied to the moment at hand and often, her writing. Her unofficial status as an accomplished wordsmith spurred her to use oxymorons as the theme of her first published series, The Oxymoron Diaries.

Her professional life also includes that of a National Real Estate Coach and Speaker.

Click here to purchase on Amazon Kindle.

Click here to purchase on Nook.