Update, She’s Alive

I wrote a doors post last week. I didn’t actually post it, but dammit, I wrote one. This week, you get this:


I picked that up on Instagram, which I am more consistent with, but not dedicated.

What am I dedicated to? Well, there’s Scrabble. Oh, and Two Dots, which is a game people play when they want to hate themselves until they declare they’re brilliant strategists who then hate themselves harder — a vicious cycle of addiction. Also, there’s The Crown, new season now streaming. And of course my undying love of all things bed — pajamas, pillows, quilts, my husband.

Also, I have done some odd things, like clean my bathroom grout. I don’t really believe in clean grout, but I was already down there with the scrub brush. That might not happen again.

I need to find myself on a ladder cleaning out my gutters, but it is so much more fun to sit inside with the fam.

The season is upon us. No, not that season — Swim Season! This year we have two swimmers and we don’t even have to sit twice as long. In fact, all this really means is that we buy more food and that’s a small price to pay for a double dose of parental pride.

It’s darn near Thanksgiving and it might be time to thank your parents for the years they spent driving you wherever and just bleedin money left and right. I thanked my mother yesterday. All she could say was that she’s proud of all of us, but I’m sure it felt nice to be thanked. I wouldn’t know.

Things have been busy at work, too. Madness, actually. I’m experiencing clock shock. it’s two and i have 12 hours of work to do…. My desk is — my desk has actually never looked as it does now and if I don’t file soon — well, I don’t know that anything will actually happen. Perhaps the documents will wage war against the post-it notes?
I have a remote colleague I mainly communicate with via email. Ordinarily, I begin my email with “Hi Tilly, Attached please find…” The other day, we pinged back and forth so many times on such a variety of matters, she wrote that she was bouncing back and forth in the files and felt her head was also bouncing. I wrote, “Dear Tilly, I can’t see my desk anymore. If I see your head bouncing by, I’ll do my best to catch it.”
but fuck knows I won’t file it…

I wish I had bookmarked the post on how to get rid of this dreadful WP Block Editor. If you’d be so kind? No no, I figured it out. Oof. It keeps reverting. Dreadful.
Takes me back to cub reporting, but it’s 2019.

It’s cold now. Cold all the time. We had the snows and unfortunately, my scraper was taken out of Blanche for our trip to Florida this summer and when I left work, I had to clean Blanche off with A BEACH UMBRELLA. Heavier, but surprisingly effective. Today it’s going to be in the 50s. A heat wave. I’m going to celebrate by wearing my gold ballet flats. And by not wearing socks.

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The Craptastic Week that Was

That title is inspired by John Holton.

I had a crap week. My family and my colleagues had a crap week, too. I haven’t had time to talk to other people to find out if their weeks were crap, because I was dealing with all the crap that made my week crappy.

Fortunately, I seek simple pleasures and mine for happiness.

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First, let’s not forget the beauty of autumn.

 

And cute creatures, whether they’re furry or green.

Then let’s move to the yummy things I ate over the course of the week. Highlights include coconut pineapple ice cream, carrots and onions with the rich flavor of the pork with which they were cooked, an everything bagel with onion and chive cream cheese, a cinnamon pastry, mashed potatoes with gravy, Dreamsicles, greasy, cheesy pizza, hushpuppies, cheese quesadilla, and of course nature’s edible sunshine — oranges!

Also, our place of quesoeverything is open once again. We have no details, but we have that.

Diva Furnace has run every single time it should.

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My new coat arrived. #makeorangegreatagain

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I voted. As a plus to all the leftness, Ally Bean, the referendum I voted for passed by 68%.

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I have more than enough comp time to make up my sick day, and am fortunate enough be in the group of auto-immuners who can still take the flu shot. I am hashtag blessed to live where flu shots are easily accessible, and to have insurance that covers flu shots 100%. Yes, mine gave me a fever and immobilizing body aches, but I have an arsenal of anti-inflammatory meds! Look at all those silver linings!
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I’m really trying here, okay?

One day, I came home to a clean house with all clean laundry, and I went straight to the bath for a soak, because my husband also tries. (and not just to make me crazy!)

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In the snarky victory column, I present that a month ago, an associate from another business did not like our client-based policy and rudely informed me that not only would she not assist us, but that should would fight us for it. This week, I won. Much as I wanted to ring that woman so I could sing Nana Nana Boo Boo and shout Suck It! at her, I merely danced around my office all aglow with revelry. Cause beneficence and shit.

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I got one of those pet grooming gloves. Yes, it works. It’s totes fantastic and all our animals love it.

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I renewed my driver’s license ONLINE! ONLINE! That is magical! For another five years or whatever, I will continue to look like a blob people from Wall-E, but at least I don’t have to go to the frickin BMV!

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Let us not overlook that today is Saturday. My Saturday began with sleeping in, followed by pancake and coffee service via The Mister. Later, we’re going to shop for chili ingredients. Tonight, we will watch our daughter in an 80s play wherein she dons a dark curly wig…

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Hopefully you got some smiles out of all that, cause I sure did. Have a wonderful weekend!

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Halloween or Hallosnow?

I’m a cold weather person. I’m compact, fleshy, red-faced, HEARTY as you would expect a Midwestern Mutt to be. Were I a bird, I’d be a fat feathered black-capped chickadee smiling into my suet. I delight at the end of summer, as I know, especially after my seven years in southeast Georgia, My Body Is Northern.

So when I saw yesterday (Halloween) would be in the 40s and snowy, I wore a long-sleeve button-up shirt AND a v-neck sweater, because I’m me. And while I thought my ensemble was the most masculine thing I’ve worn since ever, I was certain it was warm enough. My mistake. How cold was it? It was your-dumbass-needed-a-coat cold. Cause y’all, it was 40ish at lunch, but by quittin time, it was 33 feels like 24 and the wind was blowin so hard my eyes watered!

I’ve long contended there’s always a freakishly cold day in October — one that makes you panic about whether your kids’ winter coats still fit. Halloween was that day, right at the very end. Fortunately, everyone’s coat still fits. And more fortunately, today’s forecast is 47 and sunny.

Sounds like a good way to start the weekend!

Happy Friday Everyone! 

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In the Eleventh Hour of the Tenth Month

I had THE BEST weekend.

I love this time of year. I know it’s such a basic bitch thing to say, but fall is the very best, and when I was homesick, missing fall almost killed me. I wish this time of year was more static than transitional — if only this part of October lasted four months. Instead, they say our foliage colors will peak next weekend.

I have been busy. I have been run-down. I have had nightmares about fleeting time. I decided to take a four-day weekend to recoup. I decided to love myself better I could sincerely benefit from some outdoor time and down time. The girls had Fall Break. The Mister took some time off as well. It was THE BEST.

Sassy and I went to the orchard and did the whole hayride-corn maze #thotumn thing. We were veritable sun-kissed goddesses of the corn. Ridiculously happy, really.

Moo had gone with her friends and we found them while we searched for the scarecrow in the maze.

Then I told The Mister, “I wanna go to the fowwest.” So we goed. We walked, we hiked, we rested, we played. Tromping about in the leafeses of autumn is utterly joyful. You probably won’t believe me when I tell you, but my husband not only stopped to watch ducks, chipmunks, squirrels, a woodpecker, and a baby blue jay, but he also hugged a tree. Witches’ honor. Saw it with my own two eyes.

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There were other good things, too. While I had lots of time to snuggle babies and furbabies, we were also allotted many hours alone as a couple. I caught up with an old friend, enjoyed a rainy day in pajamas, and slept peacefully. I enjoyed Count Chocula, pumpkin bread, pumpkin cupcakes, pulled pork, and a caramel apple.

Yes, I still taxied kids, shopped, cooked, laundered, and even got some sewing done, but I had a wonderful, beautiful long weekend because so much of it was done at my leisure.

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this lil spot is right close to home, and for deborah, i’ll show you all four seasons of it

I needed that. I am restored. I am extremely grateful. It is well – with my soul.

Which is good, because tomorrow morning will find me taking a deep breath before I click on my work inbox.

Posted in Personally | Tagged , , , , , | 72 Comments

Hope for Tuesday?

WordPress email be like, “Don’t just look at your stats” or whatever, but also, “Check out your competitors.” My what now? Competitors? Who the fuck is competing with this blog? What would that entail? She’s more neurotic? She finished her back hallway the year she started it? She doesn’t have to slide her knee skin up to shave? Does she post every day? Well la-ti-fucking-dah, good for her.

I really shouldn’t blog when I’m in a mood, but here we are.

Yes, I have actual problems like everyone else. However, I shall blog to you about all my petty annoyances and worries.

It was Monday and I had to go to work and therefore I had to take my pajamas off and put on a bra and shoes and make sense of my hair. My poor mother had a procedure today and I had trouble not checking my phone every 15-20 minutes, waiting for an update. Only half our swimmers made it to practice and my whole family napped off their sick all day. Reception had a plumbing crisis that kept her home. It was raining, which, let’s face it, is fine enough when you’re all workee workee indoors, but then, when I thought I’d work late, and was about to wrap up, the rain decided to intensify and so I worked more late, because work is preferred to anxious driving in rush hour, with poor visibility and the floody right lanes. The Mister thought he would help out, and tried to order quesoeverything takeout. Well the phone at the restaurant wasn’t working so he went to the place and it appears to be closed. Twenty-five years of nom, all gone? We are fairly devastated. So he went to the … more…  the … less… our place was kind of an authentic dive and the other place is sorta … it’s not a dive, it’s… standard, common, pedestrian, predictable, cliche, even. It’s not dark, there’s no tacky bad art. The tables aren’t old as me and they don’t serve drinks in red pebbled plastic tumblers. The food doesn’t arrive remarkably fast, even for takeout. It’s not our place. We ate some of it, but it’s just not our place. Bleh, there was no comfort in that food. My mother is reportedly in a great deal of pain but she’s OK and we’ll know more after her appointment tomorrow.

I have got to go put on some jammies, eat a Dreamsicle, and sleep my face.
I’m reluctantly pinning a lot, ALAWT, of hope on Tuesday.

 

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It Was the Easiest Thing to Do

“And we never failed to fail, it was the easiest thing to do.”

I heard this song in a show last weekend and since then, I’ve been playing it and humming it and singing it all the damn time, which is starting to drive my husband a little bit insane.

I was trying to figure out why I’m obsessing. Obsessives are good at obsessing about why we’re obsessing.

Music is usually a good way to identify relevant moods and emotions and meaningful memories that go with it. I got nothin. I got a lot, but not a pinpoint on why this song, why now.

It’s Crosby, Stills, & Nash, which would have been played at my mother’s house, but not at my father’s house, so I wondered what on earth I was doing in 1982, on those weekends at my mother’s and I thought really, really hard and came up with a lot of nice memories, but it was real life, so like this:

I was into Strawberry Shortcake dolls who lived in a gazebo in Barbie’s back yard. I also had a Strawberry Shortcake birthday cake, but it was artificially colored like whoa, bringing about the first time I threw up alone. And strangely, after that, I threw up by myself until I was 29, until I had morning sickness and my mother-in-law came in to rub my back, and I realized it was weird when people stopped accompanying me to vomit and strange when people began to accompany me while I vomited. Life is like that. It doesn’t matter, cause vomit.

I was into the books of Beverly Cleary. My mother bought them all. I read them all.

I had the Crayola Color Caddy, a lazy susan contraption for containing all of one’s crayons, markers, and colored pencils, intended to facilitate a neat and careful transfer of one color for another, which, as it turns out, stifled my creativity, as I preferred to pull as I went into art chaos, and then to put it all away after. I am still like this. My creativity is in the mess. Can’t be messy before or after, but in the middle, I am painted, covered in flour, wearing string, sitting in the paper, whathaveyou.

I had these adorable corduroy overalls with a pink penguin turtleneck and when things don’t fit you anymore when you’re nine, it’s because after the turtleneck became a midriff, your mother said that was okay because the overalls covered your tummy, but you grew up even more and one day, the overalls sliced your whohah in half and you got the sad. The first of many bodily betrayals, amirite, ladies?

As for the song’s meaning, well, I don’t sail, fraid of sea monsters for one, get the vertigo, too pale to enjoy the sun…trade routes would be a big NOPE for me.
And it’s a ballad! I don’t really DO ballads. Romance is so ooey gooey and sticky and sappy. Crescendo into how romance is human fly paper and can trap a bitch for 20 years. I’m not complaining, just amazed.

Do you know The Mister and I used to sing the NightLight Love Songs of WENS 97.3 in the backseat of his parents’ car when we were teens? Ballads, y’all. Sad bastard music. Which contradicts his aversion to my obsession. You’d think he’d like it.

So I dunno. Let’s listen again though, cause it’s so damn good.

Has this happened to you? Did you figure out why? Any insights here? I have failed, which was the easiest thing to do.

Happy Friday Everyone! (My apologies for the earworm.)

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Busy Countin Blessings

I’m not sayin I’ve been busy, I’m just sayin — Last night I had a dream that my dog was bleedin to death and there was nothin I could do. I was helpless. Only a matter of time. Her death was imminent. And yet — In my dream, as I lay beside her, I was impatiently thinkin I don’t have time to hold my dog while she bleeds out — I got too much shit to do.

Lemme just take a moment to count my blessings.
I am home, bathed, fed, comfortably adorned in pajama pants and a sweatshirt, sittin on my sofa. And there’s this:

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She’s fine.

Y’all been busy? Countin yer blessings?

 

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Lunch on the Rocks

You know how people say, “I’ll sleep when I’m dead?” Yeah, I’ll retire when I’m dead. And then, after I’ve been given the answers to all my questions and have been shown where the ice cream parlor is, I’m sure I’ll take an afterlife job. I dunno, maybe teaching young eager souls, growing supernatural flowers in a weedless garden, or mediating land disputes between lap giraffes and miniature sheep. It’s really anyone’s best guess, but I guarantee you, I’ll be busy not makin monies.

Anyway, my point is I generally don’t think about retirement. I generally think about how to do all, all, all the things.

Except, recently I thought about retirement. Lemme tell you why.

I met Benson for lunch.

When I arrived at Texas Margaritas, Benson, hep cat that he is, was already seated.

 

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righteous red converse on his feet

 

He had not been at work, on the phone with the big corporation and their infernal muzak, running the gamut of the five incompetent people one must explain to before reaching that sixth magical person who is smart enough to understand the discrepancy.

While I was doing that, Benson was ordering some chips and salsa and a margarita.

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blurry and hungry

 

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deliciously blurry

By the time I was peeking into my shrimp quesadilla, he was ordering his second margarita. I ordered a Mr Pibb. And I loved it. I did. But it was not a margarita, because I am not retired. And given how blurry my pictures are, I really didn’t need the caffeine and I prolly could have benefited from a margarita because I’m spazzy and frenetic enough. When my Pibb was all gone, I drank my water like a good workhorse should.

Cause it was not a weekend. It was not vacation. For me. For Benson, it’s all weekend vacation margarita time, and so I envied him just a teeny tiny bit because margaritas are delicious.

Y’all, I dunno what I’m doin this weekend, but Imma try to wear my Converse and drink margaritas. If you’re able, I highly recommend you do the same.

Happy Friday Everyone!

Posted in Uncategorized | 57 Comments

SoCS – Foiled

More than a moon ago, Sassy treated me to a pedicure.

She was feeling generous and doting to Mimom, so we got ‘gels’ on our toes.
My goodness, they were so shiny. I marveled at them a month later, so shiny, no chips. That was in the shower. In the harsh sunlight, looked a lil worse for wear, and I thought I should probably add toes to my Sunday Night Beauty Control Ritual.

Sundays passed. I’m a busy woman.

Sassy had an event to go to, and she had this elegant dress with the beading and the cut-outs and the shine of chiffon. Sort of a berry-garnet kinda color. With which she wore silver and rhinestone sandals, all so ladylike and lovely — down to her BRIGHT CRAYOLA YELLOW toenails. Because, gel polish does not swipe off with acetone like other polish.

I DID NOT KNOW THIS.

Some Googling later, I was at my child’s feet with foil and acetone and cotton, per the YouTube tutorial. Fail. Nope. No go. Off she went to dance, gorgeous from her head to her metatarsals.

So last weekend, we got up EARLY on a bleedin Saturday, to get into the salon and fix our toenails. Ugh. We went to a nearby place which will probably be my place now. (We’ve been to many places since we moved ‘home’ and we no likey any til now.)

The salon ladies put us in the motion sickness chairs massage recliners and liberally poured the acetone over our toesies and covered them with enough cotton to dam a creek. Then they drowned the cotton in more acetone, wrapped our feet in foil, and left us there to watch a series of cooking shows where people were not Italian. We shared tongue-clucks and snarled lips. The ladies came back and unwrapped our foils, revealing cracked, melted gels and the ashiest feet you’ve ever seen. Then they blasted us with a Dremel tool and lubricated our skin. NO GEL. At one point, I turned to Sassy to exclaim about the horror of mixing whipped cream cheese with jarred gravy and she was not there and I shouted, “Where’s the baby?!” how I do.
This made the salon ladies laugh, because probably all moms of every language and culture know the blanched panic face and darting eyes expression of “Where’s the baby?!” I’m sure it’s universal.
Fortunately, the baby was already seated at a dryer.

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Stream of Consciousness Saturday — SoCS ‘wrap/rap’ is brought to you by LindaGHill

Posted in Random Musings | Tagged , | 40 Comments

My Utter Dismay

I’ve been working at my job now for … near seventeen months. My job is splendid. The people I work with are wonderful and the people I work for are good, honest, and best of all, interesting — dare I say amusing? I lurves me job.

Anyway.

You know how you work alongside people for near seventeen months and you feel like you’ve got a good sense of who they are and what they’re all about?

You think you know a person.

You know your boss is a woman of action. You love how she takes charge and commands attention. She regales you with stories and inspires you with her phrasing. She’s forthright. You admire her and are grateful she hired you because every day she increases your knowledge and challenges you.

You think you know a person.

She’s a mom to humans and animals. She likes strong indents. She prefers hot chocolate to coffee. She’s got impeccable taste in shoes. She takes photos of doors in Paris.

See, you like her now, too, don’tcha?

Cause you think you know a person.

And then she tells you she’s a Patriots fan.

I give almost zero fucks about football. Except that.

And so, what can I say?

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Happy Friday Everyone!

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