I’ve been acknowledge as hilarious by someone other than my mom and dad.

I’ve been RECOGNIZED as an author of  humorous words on Google’s # 1  ranked site for humor writers http://www.humorwriters.org – a site which happens to be dedicated to my top female humor hero, Erma Bombeck.

It’s a glorious month for this humor writer. Every morning, I do a little celebration dance and sing myself a little cheer (with pom-poms) that goes like this, “Go Terri, Go Terri, Go Terri . . . .”

Enough about me.  Let’s talk about Erma Bombeck, a pioneer of every day humor.

Erma wrote for homemakers. For those unfamiliar with the term, homemakers are the ancestors of stay-at-home moms.  Back in the day, homemakers sewed clothing for their children and cooked for their families in harvest gold kitchens and cleaned . . . REALLY cleaned, like they got down on their knees and scrubbed the kitchen floor EVERY SINGLE DAY. 

Homemakers hosted tupperware and fondue parties. They played charades and disco danced while shamelessly drinking cheap pink wine during the day. And no one thought anything of it.

But I digress.

Erma Bombeck was all about finding the funny in every day suburban life.  She found humor in housework and children and, of course, my favorite fodder – - husbands.

Erma wrote hundreds of columns and several books with entertaining titles like The Grass is Always Greener Over the Septic Tank and Family — The Ties That Bind . . . and Gag.  Although she has passed on, Erma is still vastly popular today, in fact, an online museum exists in her honor and more than 100.000 people visit it every year. Check it out at  http://www.ermamuseum.org/home.asp

A legacy of laughter is wonderful gift.

Thank you, Erma.

 Diary page entries during a week long bout of acute bronchitis.

I’ve fallen ill. My strength is drained by bone-wracking coughing. Bizarre questions/scenarios/fantasies plague me night and day. I fear for my sanity. Or is the codeine-laced cough syrup my doctor prescribed to blame?

When my voice returns, I’m going to practice yodeling like that guy in the Ricola commercial. I should be able to do it as I’ve consumed twenty Ricola cough drops in the last 4 days.

A foot thumping sneeze combined with a thunderous hacking cough attack results in a Depends moment. I can sink no lower. I must keep my bladder empty even if it means crawling to the bathroom every 1/2 hour.

Why does my child gaze at me with faintly disguised repulsion when I croak at her to kindly bring me a cup of soup? HOW MANY TIMES did I nurse her back from the brink of death?

I have an uncontrollable urge to comb out my mucky nose hair with an itty bitty comb. I wonder if there are any Polly Pocket hair utensils around the house?

Five. The number of times the sound of ogre-like snoring woke me.  Alas, I was/am the culprit. I belong on Shrek now. Mucus. Swollen nose. Skin tinged with green. I’m transforming.

Must stop the neighborhood dogs from barking or I will surely go mad. If only I possessed the strength to climb the tallest tree in our yard, a rifle loaded with  . . . tranquilizers strapped to my back. I’ll start with the little dogs first, for they possess the shrillest barks.

BUT WAIT. THERE’S MORE!  To celebrate the start of football season 2010, I’m offering a COUPON because, darn it, I just love COUPONS! Use code FM69L to save even more mola!  

Go Vikings! Go Vikings! Purple People Eaters arise again. I promise to buy the horned helmet with the attached fake braids if you play good!

Please pass along this AMAZING offer which is good through the end of September!

Click here to purchase and download the book. http://www.smashwords.com/books/view/22207

1. I’m a tightwad. Shopping means handing over money. I wear my clothes until they fall apart. I’ll even pick up a needle and thread to avoid buying new ones. And sewing is a close second on the hate list, right behind ironing.

2. I’m indecisive. For instance, I’ve been looking for a new purse for TWO YEARS. And that’s just one item. Trying to shop for a complete outfit with accessories just about kills me.

3. I’m suffering from an identity crisis. I don’t know what image I want to convey. Wait! That’s a lie. I do know. Once a girl jock always a girl jock. Problem is wearing sweats pants and t-shirts all the time just doesn’t cut it. I get away with it 75% of the time because I’m a writer. But 25% of the time I need to look…like…I don’t know!!

4. Trying on clothes is a nightmare. The lights in the dressing rooms suck. Don’t get me started on the mirrors. It’s a sweaty, exhausting, depressing, experience.

Nothing looks good. EVER! And I hate putting clothes back on the hangers. If I could afford it, I would have my clothing custom-made for my curvy, narrow shouldered, short-armed, muscular-thighed, round-butted figure.

Ah ha! Could that be the problem? My hard-to-fit figure? Is this why I hate shopping? That and the ten pounds I really need to lose?

Pondering… Pondering… Nah!

Shopping for clothes just sucks.

My thoughts during the 40 second free fall descent.
Whew! This is awesome! It doesn’t feel like I’m hurtling 120 miles an hour through the air.
It’s kinda noisy.
I know my face is flapping.
Arch backward. The instructor said to keep on arching. I wonder what happens if I stop?

My thoughts during the parachute float to the ground.
Whoa! Sudden jerk upward. Feels like I got a wedgy everywhere.
It’s quiet now.
Really peaceful.
I like spinning.
It’s over already?
I want to do it again!

A couple years ago, I was ready to go for it until I saw an article about a woman who made the leap and landed FACE FIRST in a gravel parking lot.

I wish I could ask her some vital questions.

Are tiny rocks permanently embedded in your pores?
Was the rush worth the pain?
Have you made any subsequent jumps?

For my b-day this year, I got a certificate for a jump from my hubbie. Prepaid.

Before I made the call, I thought about the woman and her face.

I decided to go for it, anyway. Taking a risk means sometimes you fall on your face in a big way. Like from an airplane.

Maybe, I’ll wear a hockey mask.

I blame the movie Jaws.

A hundred rows of teeth, the gigantic snout, dead eyes, the two fins sticking out of the water, that music, severed limbs, gushing blood, and terror, mind-blowing terror.

Even if you haven’t seen the movie, you’re scared. My kids haven’t, and still they are petrified to venture out farther than their waists.

The odds are slim that you or I will be attacked, and yet a loose stalk of seaweed can send us screaming toward the shore.

Many people think sharks hunt humans. My kids for instance. Of course, my one daughter believes scorpions hunt people too.

That’s what fear does for you.

Maybe you felt like you never had any. Zumba will help you get some.
Maybe you had it and lost it. Zumba will help you find it again.
Maybe you have it but supress it. Zumba will help you express it.
Just shake your thing, baby!
And remember, while you’re dancing like a wild woman, you’re burning a crap lot of calories.

Zumba, baby.

Target your core, gluts, and arms. Improve your posture, coordination, and sensuality factor.

Zumba, baby.

This high intensity, low impact workout is appropriate for women of all ages and sizes.

Zumba, baby . . . and spice up your life!