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lisa marie corley | greenville, sc

Month

March 2008

I don’t think it’s a partridge in that pear tree

Me: “Hey, have you ever heard of a cum tree?”
S: “A what?”
Me: “A cum tree.”
S: “A country?”
Me: “No, a cum tree. Two words. A cum tree.”
S: “A cunt tree?”
Me: “No, a cum tree. C – U – M… T – R – E – E.”
S: “Um. No.”
Me: “So you’ve never smelled one?”
S: “Nooooooooo…. What are you talking about? Is this a euphemism for a penis?”
Me: “No, it’s a tree. Outside. A tree.”
S: “Oh, it’s an actual tree?”
Me: “Yeah.”
S: “Is that the actual name of it?”
Me: “No, I don’t know what kind of tree it is. That’s what I was wondering. Some friends called it a cum tree a few years back while we were walking through downtown Asheville. That’s when I smelled it the first time.”
S: “You know, now that you mention it, I used to take drives to Chicago, and on the way I would always smell…jizz.”
Me: “Man juice.”
S: “Baby batter.”
Me: “Spooge.”
S: “Man relish.”
Me: “Guy goop.”
S: “I thought maybe the smell was some type of…I don’t know…onion, maybe.”
Me: “Well, I smelled it again recently. Took me awhile to realize what it was. At my gym the other day, we dragged our bikes outside for a spinning class, and I kept getting a whiff of…something. Then I realized we were underneath those trees.”
S: “I wonder what kind of tree it really is.”
Me: “Dunno. Googled ‘cum tree’ last night, but plant-related results didn’t land near the top.”
S: “Hey, you should ask J. She is a master gardener, you know.”
Me: “That’s right, she is! And she will know what I’m talking about because she was the class instructor that day. Perfect, I will ask her.”
S: “Please make sure I’m there when you do. And make sure other people are standing around, too.”
Me: “Come on, let’s do it now. J and M are both sitting in the next room.”

So we walk over to find J and M talkin’ shop at a small conference table…

Me: “Hey, J–we’ve got a question for you.”
J: “Yes?”
S: “There’s a tree…that has a particular….smell….”
J: “You mean a Bradford pear tree?”
Me: “Are those Bradford pear trees outside the gym?”
J: “Yes, they are.”
S: “Does the tree…have a nickname?”
J: “Hmm?”
S: “Do people call it a cum tree?”
M: “Oh, I know what you’re talking about. It smells like semen.”
J: “You know, it’s funny. Some people can’t smell it at all, but the ones who do smell it, think it reeks–no one actually likes the smell. It is a very popular tree, though.”
S: “Oh, yeah? Why?”
J: “Well, for one thing, it grows very fast.”
S: “Really, it grows fast? Does it grow very tall?”
J: “Yes, quite tall and straight. It also has a nice shape and an early bloom.”
S: “How interesting. And the top of the tree–does it get pretty full? Plump? Like it has a big head?”
J: “Oh, yes. It gets very full. Sometimes it gets so heavy that it falls over.”
S: “You’re kidding me. It will fall over, limp?”
M: “Like it’s had too much to drink?”
J: “Correct. Or it may break.”
S: “So sometimes the trunk is not strong enough?”
J: “Correct.”
S: “Wow. That is interesting.”

Fast facts
According to Clemson University’s online Home & Garden Information Center, the Bradford pear tree…
– Grows up to 50 feet tall and 30 feet wide.
– Has a narrow and erect canopy.
– Is a rapid grower, but has a short life span.
– Sprouts showy white flowers in the springtime which, unfortunately, have an unpleasant fragrance.
– Also bears small, round, brown fruit which are hidden by the leaves.
– Can be used in urban settings because of its tolerance to pollution.
– Is relatively free of insect problems, but can suffer from severe branch splitting.
– Requires low-to-medium fertility.
– Tolerates most conditions, including occasional wet soils or drought.

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Neverdone #2 :: Running with the devil

I can’t prove it. But after careful consideration of all the possibilities, I’ve concluded that I must be possessed by a sadistic devil.

Maybe it’s the ghost of someone who has recently passed away, someone I was mean to in my younger days. I was a pretty sweet kid until I hit my early teens….I wish I’d known back then that my rebellious, selfish little 13-year-old attitude might one day create some pretty dire consequences. Or maybe it’s someone I knew in college, back when I was so intent on pursuing my newfound freedoms that I didn’t notice I’d injured someone’s feelings quite badly. Or maybe it’s not personal after all….maybe it’s just a mischievous entity that came across my deviant, slothful soul completely at random.

How do I know I’m possessed?

It’s Saturday. The one morning of the week I cherish as my relaxation time. For a few tranquil hours, I sit on my blue couch while sipping freshly brewed coffee, cuddling with my cats, surfing aimlessly on my laptop, and watching TV shows I’d DVR’d throughout the week. If I feel particularly productive, I might blog some sort of nonsense. I protect this time. I decompress from the energies of the previous week. I “meditate” through mindless, stress-free, brain-resting, low-key activity.

But last week, I did something that will effectively end my blissful ritual throughout the entire springtime. It’ll force me out of my happy, comfortable home at a freakin’ obscene hour every single Saturday morning for the next 12 weeks. I will roll out of bed before 7am… slide into, ahem, *athletic* clothes… skulk, bleary-eyed, into my car… and drive 20 minutes across town to have someone chase me up and down the streets of Greenville at, I’m guessing, 5-7mph.

I signed up for a group running program.

I would never do this of my own free will. My weekends have always, always been about sleeping as late as possible and putting out only enough effort to get me through whatever idle amusements may strike my lazy-ass fancy. To get up and get dressed and leave the house before 8am when I don’t *have* to? Not possible! To go through all that in order to do something NOT gratifying in an immediately pleasure-inducing way?? I must be possessed!

I know the running is good for me. So perhaps I won’t seek an exorcist, allowing the devil to stay warm and snug within me. Maybe the vile little thing will create some other sort of havoc, too, to keep me entertained in the coming months. You know how I hate to be bored.

Hey, now I’ve got a devil AND a pixie! Awesome.

Anyway…..

This morning was our first run, in a cool, sprinkling rain which, by the time we were done, had my hands numb (why did I leave my gloves in the car?) and my hair soaked. To my surprise, I performed pretty well, but I’m not expecting that to last. Within a few weeks, I’m sure my cardiovascular system will suffer in ways I haven’t experienced since basketball practice in high school. But, if I’m successful in the program, it’ll lead to another neverdone — my first 5K!

We’ll see how it pans out.

( Don’t know what a ‘neverdone’ is? Click here >> * )

Yo, Simon….click here

I realize that only a couple of you read magicalmonkey on a regular basis–so I’m probably not helping her out that much–but on the off chance that your name is Simon Cowell and you have stumbled upon this blog by googling something like “dimwitted pixie ass hair geocaching Barbie iPhone nipples,” I’d like to turn you on to Brandy Lindsey & the Punch.

I’d known Brandy for many years as a freelance graphic designer before I ever knew she was into music. Then I discovered that she was a singer/songwriter/musician/composer in addition to being a talented print pro. I checked out a performance one night at a local club, and have been a big fan ever since. Remember those really superathletic people you used to know in school? Those lucky people who, no matter what physical activity they attempted, they excelled? Well, Brandy is one of those lucky people in the world of creativity. Impressive.

Nowadays I don’t work with her in her freelance capacity, but she sings to me over my fun little Shuffle as I run. :)

Oh, and before she chastises me for not mentioning “The Punch,” let me say that they rock, too! Here’s their first video.

A lazy post

Yeah, yeah…..this entry is a blatant cop-out, I know. The original content here is nil. But WHAT a hip little blend of funny, philosophical, and practical. You may find some words here which will change your life forever. Wow!

If it raises me a notch in your esteem, I do have a couple topics percolating. They’ve been…..smelling kind of nice in the mornings. Mmmmmmm. :)

When my friend told me he had found Jesus, I thought, “Yahoo! We’re rich!” But it turned out to be something different.
— Jack Handey

A secretary runs into the boss’s office and says “Can I use your dictaphone?” He says, “no, use your finger like everybody else.”
— Bernard Manning

You’ll never achieve extraordinary results by taking average measures.
— Skwigg

Silly is you in a natural state, and serious is something you have to do until you can get silly again.
— Mike Myers

The trouble with being punctual is that nobody’s there to appreciate it.
— Franklin P. Jones

Why do you have to be a nonconformist like everybody else?
— James Thurber

To avoid criticism do nothing, say nothing, be nothing.
— Elbert Hubbard

Before you criticize someone, you should walk a mile in their shoes. That way when you criticize them, you are a mile away from them and you have their shoes.
— Jack Handey

There are grammatical errors even in his silence.
— Stanislaw J. Lec

I am always doing that which I can not do, in order that I may learn how to do it.
— Pablo Picasso

Crazy nerd fun

Whoa!! I am blogging directly from my freaky-hip new iPhone. This is the coolest geek-thing I’ve done since figuring out how OSX handles fonts.

My biggest frustration with the device is lack of MMS support. Geesh! The thing is a step away from time travel, and they didn’t build in a feature that every $30 phone possesses. But then maybe Apple knows something we don’t. Reminds me of the day they introduced a Mac with — gasp! — NO floppy disk drive. Everyone thought Steve Jobs was insane, but we missed those drives for about 3 minutes before they became obsolete.

There’s a workaround, anyway. It’s a minor pain in my ass, but I’ll live. :)

And I’m getting used to the keyboard. Soon I’ll be posting porn-star length entries from odd places like, um, my sister’s barn or, ummmm, the upstairs restroom in Stephen Colbert’s summer home.

Hey, I said ‘porn-star length’ again.

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