Notes on Fictional Business

Do y’all have notes at work?


funny, but not what i mean

This is a thing. Like when you call the cable company, and you’re all, “My upstairs DVR doesn’t record channel 5,” and the guy says “Mrs. Mottern, we apologize for any inconvenience this has caused you and we will send you a new DVR overnight. You will receive your new DVR tomorrow. I’ve noted your account. Are you ready for the confirmation number?”

Cable Guy could be over there thinkin I’m an idiot bitch, and who the hell watches channel 5? — but he’s definitely not typing that in his notes.


Mr Hugh made an impromptu visit to the office for a thirty-five minute complaint about the weather. He believes we should work harder and faster to fix it. I informed Mr Hugh that the weather is equally important to us, and his best interests are also our best interests. I assured him we’re doing our very best to establish a clear path to sunshine. I showed him the lightning rods and cisterns we’ve installed as well as the sunglasses we’ve purchased for sunny days. I told him as soon as we’re in receipt of sunshine, I will send it out to him. After receiving his complimentary sunglasses, Mr Hugh was pleased and sends his best.



Woodchuck called to express appreciation for the sawdust we forwarded. He believes he could develop a greater relationship with our office. For our mutual benefit, he’s willing to chuck five, maybe even six logs at a time. He’d like a more exclusive agreement, and he has business cards.

Sent Symbiotic Relationship Contract and business cards to Woodchuck.



Jonas at Crooks n’ More called to inquire on the status of the fire and to offer his support in the burning. He asked what accelerants we’ve chosen. I informed him I’m not at liberty to discuss our choices. I suspect he will still bring his largest water hose.



Meeting with Ms Jones was strained. I scanned all of her pictures and asked her to sign our truthbook. I made a point of explaining we can only use original photos. She insists they are all hers, but nevertheless, she did remove the ones from magazines. I explained scrapbooking can take some time. She nodded along, but I think Ms Jones will require regular updates. I pointed out payment is due in full at the time of receipt, and went over the pricing. She was shocked at the expense of embossing and acid-free stickers and asked that we use staple guns and glitter glue instead. I assured her she will be pleased with the final product, regardless of cost. She signed our truthbook. I gave her some stationary and a fluffy blue pen as a token of our appreciation.



You see?

What is noted:

Per our September 24, 2016 request for orange juice, Maureen informed me she did, in fact, receive our oranges and juicer, but she didn’t know what to do with them. She said that the employee who knows what to do with them comes in on Wednesdays so she will mention the oranges and the juicer to her then. I told Maureen I would send shiny new oranges.

Sent Maureen shiny new oranges via Priority Mail


What I thought: 

I sent this bitch oranges four fuckin months ago and she’s just been sittin on her lazy ass, lettin them rot! She said a person with a brain will be in Wednesday and she will ask her if she knows how to juice. I stopped myself from asking if the brainy one has been in EVERY FUCKIN WEDNESDAY FOR THE LAST FOUR MONTHS?! Exactly how did Maureen get a job in the juicing department?!?

Sent Maureen MORE oranges!

I get paid to write nicely. I do not write nicely for free. Therefore, I blog.

Relatable or nah?


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Share Your World — February 20, 2017

When you cut something with scissors, do you move your jaw (as if you were about to chew)?
I don’t. But I did after I read the question.

Do you chew your pens and pencils?
I do not.

Are you a collector of anything?  If so what?
I officially collect Fiesta. We use it every day and like so many other things, my love for it grows more each day.


We kinda collect books here, too.
I have multitudes of fabric, paper/stationery/stickers, handmade art…
I’m also gathering what appears to be quite a collection of scarves and socks…
I’m not certain all collections are intentional. Some things seem to come to us, don’t they?
And we have to be careful when we say we collect something, because saying so implies we want more, and we’re often persnickety…

What size is your bed?
It is a queen.

Optional Bonus question:  What are you grateful for from last week, and what are you looking forward to in the week coming up?
Saturday was some kinda wonderful. On Saturday, we seldom left our bed. I took the dog out, I made coffee, but then I went back to lounge in bed. I took a bath and went back to bed. We went out and got sammiches and came home to EAT THEM IN OUR BED. We read and watched tv and movies all day and all night. Children and pets came and went depending, but it was truly a day of rest. Delicious.
We usta do that regularly. A long time ago. Like, three houses and two children ago.

I don’t know what the weather’s like in your area, but here, it’s sublime, and nowhere near wintery. Yesterday we hit the White Water Trails along Fall Creek.


I sweated, but couldn’t even bring myself to complain. I was too glad to be fully ambulatory and breathing through my nose. I always love those out-of-season days, don’t you? Like when you get a high of 70 in August? It always feels like a treat. Everyone was talking about the weather yesterday, especially the birds. This week it’s supposed to be unseasonably warm and I look forward to open windows and longer walks with Sadie.

Cee’s Share Your World is a weekly feature and all are welcome to join in and play along.

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What’s going on in your world?

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Light Through Yonder Mirror BREAKS

When we bought our house, lighting was a noticeable, but insignificant issue. Mainly, I didn’t like most of the light fixtures, but you know, those can be changed, and having light is good.

The first one to be fixed was the master bath. We no longer remember exactly, but we do think there were FIVE ONE-HUNDRED WATT BULBS in there. Pupillary torture. MY EYES! MY EYES!
Brushing teeth, washing face — am I getting sunburnt? Pee quickly, lest you get a migraine! Hadda shine up the potty like he was auditioning on Broadway.

In contrast, the main bathroom has a low-light overhead and low-light sconces. This, combined with the old leaded-glass mirror is pure magic. Gazing into it renders you younger, more beautiful —  and of course, that elicits a smile, which makes anyone look better.
I imagine everyone takes selfies in our bathroom.
All the women visitors love that mirror, because it declares each one the fairest of all.
yes, wash your hands, your beautiful hands, you’re a goddess and this water is the fountain of youth…
For a time, I was certain my family and pets came into the bathroom to worship my delicate beauty in the glow of the dimmer.


But then, later, I’d go into the master bath and scream in horror, having left my beauty in the main bath.


you can’t expose gremlins to bright light.

I had to face the truth of my weeping eyeliner wings and my lopsided eyebrows. I’d have to floss my gnarly, stained teeth, wash my red, crater-ridden face, and moisturize my spotted alligator hands.

Fortunately, there’s not enough room for The Mister to join me in there, so he never had to see the atrocity. I would slink into the bedroom, grateful for my husband’s undying affection. bless his heart, he doesn’t even know he makes love to a hideous monster with four shadowy, whiskery chins and only five lower lashes .

For some time, we tried to use whatever light came in and then finally, he replaced those bulbs with some soft twenty-watters and we were like, “Ah.”

Slowly, I grew ever more beautiful over time.
Age gracefully? Of course. Anyone can age gracefully… as the bulbs slowly burn-out.


And then The Mister put in the energy-saving bulbs that claim to be thirteen watts, but I know they are really TWO-HUNDRED WATT HALOGENS.

We can’t actually read the bulbs. We have to ask Moo to go in and read the bulbs.

“Stop! Two is plenty!” persephone be damned, i am frankenstein’s bride.



Monday came and it was time to put on the face that meets the other faces:

I put on my face, took my face off, put on my face again, and finally, went to the other bathroom for validation.
hm, i look like me. this is how i look, right?
I went back to the master bath, grimaced, turned the light off, and went to work.

I asked Mentor, “How do I look? How’s my make up? Do I look different or weird in any way?”
She studied me carefully and pronounced that I looked fine.
“Oh good,” I said, “The Mister changed the lighting in the bathroom and now I look like a forty-three-year-old mother of four.”

And we laughed and laughed!

Happy Friday Everyone!

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#ThursdayDoors — Two for the Blue & Green

House and garage in the shade…



Tiny house that wants all the light…


A tale of two houses. Trim and mood and attitude. What say you of the blue and green?

#ThursdayDoors is part of an inspired post series run by Norm Frampton. To see other doors of interest, or to share your own, click the link.

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The Crud

The Mister and I are sick with the crud. We know it’s the crud because we watched Sassy go through the crud last week and we probably got her crud not from affectionating her, but by collecting her cruddy tissues. We felt she was unnecessarily babyish and dramatic during the crud and we did affectionate her magnificently.

It began Saturday night when we had guests. I kept sayin a lot of dust got stirred up, cause we had cleaned the windows and opened them, and we’re an allergic bunch. But on Sunday, I woke up bizarrely cold with a throat that felt as if I had swallowed glass and I got worse throughout the day, not better. When you’re cold to the bone and your head weighs three hundred pounds, it’s hard to deny the crud.

The Mister chose to hibernate in the bedroom.
He put my quilt and pillows in the dryer for awhile and then I made a warm and toasty sofa bed, where I cocooned in the warmth. Medusa hair, tissues threaded up my nose, much snore, many pretty.
I felt unnecessarily babyish and dramatic. I thought I may have caught a man cold, ffs.

When we went to bed Sunday night, I hoped a dose of NyQuil and a good night’s sleep would right me, whereas he was all, “If I feel like this tomorrow, I cannot go to work tomorrow.” For a brief moment, I doubted the power of the La Fee Verte de NyQuil, but I wanted to believe. I had all the hope of a woman tissue-walrus.

Monday at seven, I woke Sassy up and went back to sleep, not waking again til ten. I cleaned all the crusties off my face, blew my nose 20 or so times, pulled on my ears, cleared my throat and then went back to lying down, because my head must surely have weighed two hundred pounds.
Finally, I sat up and shot a text to my boss. I read it five times to be sure it made sense. I kinda wanted to say I could maybe make it, if I drove the secondary roads, in my gray pajamas, smellin like Vick’s, no talking on the phone…I could prolly still get some things done…

Benson said I needed chicken soup. I did. I did need chicken soup. We needed chicken soup.
I had been naggin Moo for eatin all the Campbell’s, cause when I’m sick, ain’t nobody makin me chicken soup.
Well I had a chicken carcass in the freezer and a fresh buncha thighs in the fridge, so I set out to make chicken soup.
(When I wasn’t working and I had a regular fridge, I was pretty good at keeping stock ingredients and even stock itself. Now, not so much. My freezer is stupid because side-by-sides are stupid and their stupid freezers are the stupidest parts. But thank you for still working, Stupid Side-By-Side Fridge.)


Once I had the chicken simmering with its garlic and onion and herbs, I said to The Mister, “I am making chicken soup. Now will you go out to get carrots and celery and noodles?”
He gave me the look.
“You mean physically go out to the store and purchase them?”
“Never mind, I’ll go.”
More the look.
“I’ll go. It’s fine.”
i don’t think i should drive and you don’t even have hair or hafta put on a bra and i am cookin the soup, but whatever, i will do everything, it’s fiiine
I was too sick to fight properly.

I mustered energy to put my coat and boots on my gray pajama-clad body and The Mister asked, “You’re goin out like that?!?”
oh see, i’m not always beautiful afterall, eh?
“I’m siiiiick!”

He said to sit down.
I stood there, needing noodles.
“Sit down. I’ll go. Just sit down.”
“I –”
“Sit down. I said I’ll go.”
“I done asked you to go and you –”
“I said sit down, Woman! I’m the head of the household!”
“Oh you –”
“It says so in the bible!” he teased.
“I don’t take anything in the New Testament even remotely seriously.”
“It’s in the Old Testament.”
“No it’s not.”
“Yes it is!”
“No it’s not! It’s in Ephesians!”
“Fuckin Paul.”

When you are both so sick you can’t fight properly and your husband comes at you with a bible verse. JFC.

He took my scrawled list to the store and a bit later he text me.
“What kind of onions?”
that ain’t right. onions? i don’t need onions. i have a whole drawer of onions.
I called him. “The list should read carrots, celery, and noodles. I don’t know why I wrote onions. We don’t need onions.”
head full of snot, no room for brain

We FaceTimed for the cold meds. He was lookin for somethin blue or green or clear or pill; I’d bought DayQuil for Sassy, but I didn’t want to drink red dye because rashes.

Then he asked what kind of lozenges to get. In the background, a man sang out, “Riiicola!” and I said, on FaceTime, “I don’t care, I’ll suck on anything.”

Once he got home, I washed and chopped and added to the pot.


i like a lil soup with my pepper, okay?


The flowers he brought home have dyed stems, so the water turns pink!
Enough of the red dye, People! Enough!


that water tacky af

We ate our soup, took our medicine, snored our snores, snotted our tissues, and we even survived Tuesday, when we got dressed and took our one-hundred pound heads to work and prolly got some stuff done. Since I’m so romantic, on the way home, I stopped at the drug store and bought The Mister tissues to take to work today.

Now my head only weighs about fifty pounds, so that’s nice.

It’s Wednesday, did you find any One-Liners?


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We Don’t Do Valentines

Our friend Beefy posted this little thing on Facebook the other day, and my reply was, “This looks like a great way for The Mister and I to bicker with one another for 10-20 minutes! How romantic!”

In honor of Valentine’s Day, all couples: Make this your status for fun and answer honestly.

Who’s older?
Apparently he was in a big, fat hurry to get here and I played hard to get

Who was interested first?
Me, but then him and then me and then him, and well, that went on sometimes not at all and also for over a decade

How long have you been together? 
Depends on when you start counting, we’re gonna go with November 98

Happily, even

More sarcastic? 
Right, he’s more sarcastic

Who makes the most mess? 
We’re not messy, but he says me, cause cooking, and I say him, cause van

Who has more tattoos? 
Not a single tattoo between us

Better singer? 
I can sing, but he can SING

Hogs the remote?
I’m in charge of the bedroom remote and THAT’S THAT

Better driver? 
That’s right, ME, and I don’t even have a penis

Spends the most?
Without my spending, we would all wear old fatigues, sleep on piles of out-of-circulation Runner’s World magazines, and eat only when offered food or whatever. So yes, All The Spending Are Belong To Me.

“Who’s smarter?”
The Mister looked up at the ceiling, “It depends,” he said.
I said, “I am, because I don’t have to think about it.”

Most common sense?
He says he has more common sense because I think on a higher level. I think that’s poetry. *swoon*

What are your middle names? 
Michael and Allen
And a whole buncha people just went OH!

Whose siblings do you see most often?
His sibling, cause I don’t have any

Do you have any children together?
We also have children apart, because when you have children ONE TIME, you have them forever, no matter where they go

Did you go to the same school? 
Yes, for one year

Who is the most sensitive? 
He says him. According to Moo, I am the kind of sensitive for when they’re sick and he’s the kind of sensitive that gets butt-hurt.

Where do you eat out most as a couple? 
Los Rancheros
They have quesoeverything there

Where is the farthest you two have traveled together? 
We had to think about that one for awhile, but yes, we’re sure

Who has the worst temper? 
The girls didn’t think so, but he and I both know it’s me

Who does the cooking?
We love that.

Who is more social?
He makes all the friends

Who is the neat freak?
Neither of us, no matter what they say

Who is the most stubborn? 
Neither of us

Who hogs the bed? 
“I do not hog the bed!”
“Right. Sassy, how often do you hear Daddy tell me to PLEASE GO BACK TO MY OWN SIDE OF THE BED?”
“Never. And I’ve never heard him tell you to roll over, either.”
He does sometimes hog the bed

Who wakes up earlier? 
My waking up first is a bad omen

Where was your first date?
St. Elmos, on our wedding night

Who has the bigger family? 
I have a large family, but good gravy!

Do you get flowers often? 
I do!
I got flowers yesterday, because we are both sick. That’s fair, yeah?

Who does the laundry?
I’m the only one who can hear the laundry calling

Who’s better with the computers?
I know, right?

Who drives when you are together?
99.9% Him

Who picks where you go to dinner?



We did bicker a bit, but we mostly agreed. Celebrate love EVERY day, y’all!


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Share Your World — February 13, 2017

Do you sleep with your sheets tucked in or out?
Out, out, out!  I have to be able to wrap-up burrito-style or kick out a foot.


Have you stolen a street sign before?
No. In high school, I was in a van with other people who contemplated stealing a street sign. As it turns out, most people do not travel with the tools required to steal a street sign. Or so I was informed when they returned to the van without one.


Do you cut out coupons but then never use them?
I have. I don’t cut coupons anymore. I use an app and read the specials and whatnot, but I’m not into coupons, because I hardly buy any of the coupon products. The coupons seem always to be for products I don’t buy. I prefer the coupons the stores give, like $2 off a $10 purchase in dairy or $5 off entire purchase — I’ll use that stuff.


Do you have freckles?
I do. 


Optional Bonus question:  What are you grateful for from last week, and what are you looking forward to in the week coming up?
It was a long week for me. I don’t know why, but it seemed to go on forever. In the plus column, there were many snuggles, I had a good, long talk with my mother, date night was a joy, and I enjoyed having friends over. I am also grateful for Saturday’s unseasonably warm weather.
This week coming up bears a long weekend and I look forward to the extra time with my family.



Cee’s Share Your World is a weekly feature and all are welcome to join in and play along.

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What’s going on in your world?

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How Enlightening!

We went back to Marco’s and I took my glasses.

We were enjoying our shrimp cocktail when another couple was seated next to us.

Around 7:00, the lounge seems to fill up and really get hoppin.

I should tell you, there aren’t a lot of people our age at Marco’s. It’s an older crowd. I think there was one patron our age there, but maybe she was just full of collagen and Botox — who can tell these days?
(I don’t know what this means about us, that we hang out in ‘older people’ places, but we’re okay with it.)

Anyway, the gentleman sitting nearest me said, “I bet the pasta’s good,” and The Mister told him, “Yes, the pasta’s good,” and we all had a lil chat about it.

During our Maza plate, another couple joined that couple.

Then, as we ate our desserts, The Mister with his tiramisu and me with my spumoni…


The Mister busted-out with a laugh, slapped his knee, and pointed to the table next to ours.

There they were, the older people, with their cell phone flashlights aimed at the menu, illuminating it entirely. They pointed and read aloud to one another.


I was astonished by the sheer genius of their problem-solving technique.

The Mister asked me, “Why didn’t we think of that?!?”
I said, “Wisdom, Man. We don’t have their wisdom.”

The Mister had to tell them all about our recent lighting and vision struggle and commend them for their too-obvious-for-us solution.

I wanna be ‘old’ like that. Wise. Enlightening. Still dining with my love. Still ordering pasta.

Happy Friday Everyone!

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#ThursdayDoors — Red Again

I never tire of red doors.





#ThursdayDoors is part of an inspired post series run by Norm Frampton. To see other doors of interest, or to share your own, click the link.

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One-Liner Wednesday — The Hot Box

Moo said, “I couldn’t hear you calling because I was next to the hot box.”


Now we all call it the hot box.

One-Liner Wednesday is brought to you by LindaGHill


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Share Your World — February 6, 2017

Regarding your fridge, is it organized or a mess inside?
It’s fairly well-organized. It could be cleaner. Cleaning the refrigerator should be done more often than it is. I often make the kids do it or at least help, because cleaning it usually results in me using boiling water and a putty knife, absolutely baffled by what the hell happened…
One of my photo a day prompts was 11. inside my fridge, so I actually have a photo.
Behold, there’s a hole in the middle where the swate tay goes.


Do you prefer your food separated or mixed together?
I don’t mind if my foods touch. I don’t get crazy about mixing it either. When I was young, I used to be scolded for eating one serving at a time. I’m still like this, but I only pay attention to it in public. Last night, I ate all of my rice, then all of my pork, then all of my carrots and onions, and there was no one there to stop me! Mwahaha!

Do you prefer reading coffee table books (picture), biographies, fiction, non-fiction, educational?
I like fiction best, but I like biographies and a good coffee table book.


Close your eyes. Listen to your body. What part of your body is seeking attention? What is it telling you?
My body is happy. I had enough sleep. The girls had an appointment, so the alarm didn’t go off til 7:40. After that my body had a sausage biscuit and a Coke for breakfast, a sunny walk in the park with the dog, and if anything, it wants to go to work early before it loses its momentum!

Optional Bonus question:  What are you grateful for from last week, and what are you looking forward to in the week coming up?
While last week wasn’t particularly notable, the weekend was wonderful. Date night was fantastic, Sassy and Moo both earned gold medals at the string competition, and Sunday was deliciously restful.
This week, I am eager to host dinner with friends we’ve not seen yet this year.


Cee’s Share Your World is a weekly feature and all are welcome to join in and play along.

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What’s going on in your world?

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SoCS — Hair

Oh boy.
I don’t think I have time to write all about my hair. In fact, I know I don’t, because I had to get up stupid, crazy early on a friggin Saturday so I can take my talented, amazing children to an important string competition in BFE, which is what I call any place in Indiana where there are more churches than bars, where corners are littered with cows instead of empty liquor bottles, and I’m not sayin that’s a bad thing at all, but it is early and cold and it’s unfair that children expect parental support and involvement in the morning on a weekend because I am already tired from early morning rehearsals on schooldays.

I got an email about a concert this month and praise be to puppies, it’s in the evening. But I bet the rehearsals aren’t.

I remember when they banged on pots and pans, when they had toy instruments. That never started before 9am, plus, I could stay home in my sweats and drink coffee and smile at their racket.

My hair takes hours to dry on its own and I hate blowing out my hair like I hate morning. Rather than wake at 4am, I opted to wash my hair last night and let it dry while I slept. I knew I would look like this when I woke up. I also knew I would wear my trusty white sweater with the big snag. My sweater and my hair represent me — Don’t touch, I am one strand away from unraveling.


Stream of Consciousness Saturday ‘hair’ is brought to you by LindaGHill

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Throwin Down Homophobic Chicken for the Fam

I realize, as I have just titled this post, that you may not ‘get it’ due to the slang, but this text chat with Sassy was absolutely the funniest thing that happened all week.

I laughed so hard, I choked on my Tab, y’all.


My kids always get excited about food, whether I cook it or stop to pick it up, but SLAY BISH was a new high for me.


Happy Friday Everyone!


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#ThursdayDoors — Double Feature

Today Only! Two for the price of one!
Who are we kidding? I’m always a bargain when it comes to doors.

The Motterns and Master Boombastic spent Saturday night out on the town. Woo-hoo! We almost never do that. We do that even less often than we Woo-hoo!

Remember this place? The Murat?

(After my Murat post, my mother commented, “Your grandfather had a big hand in the tile work.” That’s neat, hm? I’ll investigate that sometime. Lotsa marble there.)

Some of you asked about The Murat’s interior, and that happens to be our first #ThursdayDoors venue.


We went for a Coen Brothers double feature in The Egyptian Room. We’d never been, and someone generously offered tickets, so we went.
They serve beer there.

We did not partake of the surely overpriced, obviously domestic swill.


But look! Interior shots!

It’s really dark in The Murat. My iPhone really likes light, but I tried…

Let’s focus on the lighting!

The premise of Movie Night at The Murat is that you file into the ballroom with your pillows and blankets and stuffies and snacks, set up a pickanick, plop a squat, and chill.


Kinda groovy.

How groovy it is depends on your tolerance for cold, hard floors. I was content for the first 30 minutes. I’d settled into spooning Moo and then some late arrival plopped her squat right in our little eye hole. After that, I was restless. Moo and I were wibble-wobbling all over one another and the floor got colder and harder. My tushie, which has substantial padding, began to ache about an hour in.

The Mister never got comfortable, not even a little bit.

Sassy and Master Boombastic had no complaints, because young love probably spent most of The Big Lebowski nose-booping and making googly eyes at one another.

Toward the end, I couldn’t find the point of this experience. Like, I’m glad we had the experience, and it’s good to try new things, but I wonder why people flock into the venue? There are tables and chairs for VIP seating. They cost more money, and they’re just chairs. Not like theatre seats. Not recliners. Not even as soft as slipper chairs. You can take your own chairs, but who wants to lug chairs around?

We did not stay for Oh Brother Where Art Thou? because The Mister hates the music from the movie even though he hasn’t seen the movie. And also, cause my tushie said NO.

I suggested someday soon, we’d invite Master Boombastic over to watch Oh Brother Where Art Thou? in our home.
Where The Mister can avoid it.
Where it is warm.
Where there is plush furniture.
Where we all have a clear line of vision.
Where the beer is Guinness or Matilda or Lambic Framboise.
Where parking is free and traffic is light, even on Saturday night.

So then, being the wild and crazy people we are, we drove to Broad Ripple, where traffic is worse.
I hadn’t been to Broad Ripple on a Saturday night since I was…young single drunk.
And why would we do such a thing?
Because Master Boombastic said there’s a place called Insomnia Cookies, where you can get fresh-baked cookies and ICE CREAM until some Joey-preferred-pre-dawn-hour of the morning.
Things like this go a long way toward makin me feel like this is a great time to be alive.


Yes, they deliver.
It smelled delicious, but I had eaten half a bag of Skinny Pop and maybe 10 handfuls of M&Ms, so I just didn’t have it in me. And also…they don’t have cones. I mighta been able to stomach a scoop of vanilla if only they’d had cones.

Moo didn’t have it in her, either, but everyone else was more than happy to eat the yummies.

Overall, it was a great way to be out: good company, great flick, and new doors.

#ThursdayDoors is part of an inspired post series run by Norm Frampton. To see other doors of interest, or to share your own, click the link.

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Marking Time With Words

Just Jot It January is always fun, but I do enjoy days off, so I’m not sad — rather, relieved. My stats, if you believe in that sorta thing, went up in January compared to some months, but May and August still saw more views even though I didn’t post every day. I think I’ve settled into a pattern where mostly the same people read me and I read mostly the same people, and I LIKE that.

Yesterday marked four whole years of Joeyfully Stated. I started this blog when we still lived in Georgia but also when I knew we’d be leaving. What a great big needed change that was! Facing so many unknowns, I needed this consistent space where I could ponder and rant. Of course, life goes on, change continues… Still I appreciate this outlet and this audience.
Y’all are good for my brain.

Thank you for reading, for liking and commenting, for sharing so much of yourselves, for dispensing your wisdom and offering your opinions, for your support and your kindness.


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Just Jotting Share Your World — January 30, 2017

What is the most incredible natural venue that you’ve ever seen in person?
That time I stood at the top of the West Virginia Welcome Center was incredible. It was spring and it was glorious. The sun was shining, the mountains were purple, the grass was green, and there were thousands of yellow daffodils in the valley. It was amazing and breathtaking. I still think it’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.

How many siblings do you have? What’s your birth order?
I’m an only.

If you were a shoe, what kind would you be and why?
I’d be a slip-on canvas shoe. Durable, washable, and comfy.

What is the strangest/weirdest thing you have ever eaten?
I dunno. The worm? Snails? Chocolate covered grasshoppers? Fish eyes? Aspic? That’s probably one of those relative things. Some people think sushi and oysters are weird.



Optional Bonus question:  What are you grateful for from last week, and what are you looking forward to in the week coming up?
I’m grateful for my family and for a warm and cozy home. I am glad it’s been cold and we have snow, but also glad I haven’t had to drive much in it.
I’m grateful my anxiety has calmed down some, and am happy to tell you I haven’t needed a single Band-Aid on my cuticles for five whole days.
This week I am looking forward to Sunday, when I have scheduled a full day of looking hectic, going absolutely nowhere, and doing nothing of importance.



LindaGHill’s Just Jot It JanuaryCee’s Share Your World — All are welcome to join in and play along.

What’s going on in your world?

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Who Would You Take to Hell?

I was in Hell. Apparently, Hell is a desert sorta place where the starless sky is black and the ground is red clay. Notably, the paths are well-worn. I was lost in Hell, misplaced from my designated area, and my mother was trying to help me. The hot, dry winds were strong. Tumbleweeds blew by, weighty animal skeletons lifted briefly. The directional signs spun like a bad compass and I kept saying, “We have got to get away from this noise.”

There are violins in Hell. Hundreds of squeaky, screeching out-of-tune violins. Also, I thought I saw The Wicked Witch of the West bicycle by.

The Mister woke me, pat-pat, mumble-mumble.

I took my earplugs out. “Are you going with me or not?” he barked.
“There are violins.”
“Yes. There are violins.”

I sat up in my bed, tried to piece together my reality.

The Mister stomped through the hall. He turned on Moo’s light, “Get up.”
“Where are we going?”

I thought oh fuck no, hell is no place for children. i didn’t see any water, no milk, only dead cows, and i’m not really awake, am i? see, this is what happens when you fall in love. you be all, “i will follow you to the ends of the earth.” you spent seven years in georgia and now ya gotta go to hell. fuck all.

He flipped Sassy’s light on, “Get up.”

Then The Mister stood in the hallway, his hands on his hips, and bellowed, “We are leaving at 11:30. Anyone who isn’t ready to leave at 11:30 will have to deal with me, and you don’t wanna deal with me.”

okay, that’s real, i’m awake.
I sat up.

He came back into the bedroom.
“Did you make coffee, Drill Instructor?”
>sad face<
Marines don’t give a rat’s ass about sad faces.

He paced the hallway.
Moo closed her door.

I felt around my head to see how hard the winds of Hell had been on my hair.

Then he yelled, “Get up!”
I jerked.
Sassy hollered back, “I’m just stretching!”
“Yeah, stretchin back into snuggle mode.”

My subconscious took my mother to Hell to comfort me, but in a live exercise, I’d rather take The Mister.

This is my Jot.


Who would you want in Hell?

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Just Jottin SoCS — Would that I Could

She said the prompt is ‘wood/ would’ and I thought woodchuck would. How bout you?

I don’t know anything about woodchucks.

I do know I slept well and there’s coffee and if I needed to chuck wood, I reckon I could muster the energy, but I probably wouldn’t, because I love all the wood in the house. The wood outside the house is another story. Fallen branches litter the lawn. It’s time to play pick-up-sticks again and nobody wants to. Even our dog doesn’t like sticks. She didn’t like toys until I got down on the floor and played bow with her. She didn’t like raw carrots until she saw me eating one.

Apparently, if you stand in the kitchen and chomp on a raw carrot, people can’t help themselves and say, “What’s up, Doc?”

If carrots fell of all the trees in our lot, I feel certain I’d be more motivated to pick them up. I suppose I could teach my dog to collect branches by crawling around on the lawn, picking up the sticks with my own mouth, but I won’t. Ya gotta draw a line somewhere.

Stream of Consciousness and Just Jot It January are brought to you by LindaGHill

What’s in your lawn midwinter?


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Love Wears Bifocals

Finally, after all the holidays and back-to-schoolness, we resumed date night. I searched for places more or less on our way home. I found a lil Italian-American place called Marco’s. When I saw the menu had so many things we like, I knew we’d have to go at least a dozen times. I made a reservation for 6:00 in the lounge.

I passed The Mister on my way down Keystone Avenue because he drives like a grandpa. Yeah, I know he’s a grandpa, but he drives like a grandpa from 1932, when cars didn’t even go fast. He calls me Marietta Andretti. I can’t tell if it’s with pride or jealousy, because when he drives, my job is to sit there and look pretty and when I drive, his job is to coach me to the finish line.

Once The Mister puttered into the Marco’s lot we were seated in the rounded curve of a corner booth, all candlelit and cozy. I said we could order the bruschetta, the maza plate, spinach & artichoke dip, stuffed mushrooms, crab cakes, or baked brie — he’d have to choose one. He chose the stuffed mushrooms, and they were delicious. We didn’t eat them all.
We both had the Caesar salad, also wonderful, more acid than pepper, and great parm. We neither one ate all of that, either.

The Mister needed a drink refill.
“I can’t believe I need another Coke before you do!”
“I drank a lot of water today.”
“I didn’t. I had Mountain Dew for breakfast and a DoubleShot at lunch.”
Caffeine overload doesn’t happen to him.

I ordered the spaghetti and meatballs and I have no regrets. GOOD meatballs are hard to come by. nom nom nom

The Mister did as he is wont to do. He ordered pasta and seafood in a white sauce. That’s his go-to dish. Then he picks out all the broccoli. I don’t know. He eats broccoli at home.
We chatted and laughed at picked at our meals.
Boxes? Yes, please.

Our waiter was Chad and we both enjoyed him. I liked him more after dessert. When I told him I wanted dessert, he said there were no pictures, I’d have to listen to him and then process it all and let him know.
Y’all, I liked the sound of every single dessert, too, and that’s sayin somethin. Creme brulee and tiramisu and cheesecake — there were more — those were the highlights.
I asked him about the tiramisu, how I do.
“Is it like someone’s gramma made it in a big ol pan or is this some artsy-craftsy, fancy-schmancy tiramisu?” i fuckin hate that pretentious shit.
He said it definitely wasn’t fancy, he’d put the finishing touches on it himself.
“Yes please.”
“ESPRESSO!” The Mister shouted. He turned to me, “I need more!”
I cackled.

And do you know when Chad brought my tiramisu, my husband began eating it?!? Big steady forkfuls. Like how he bites and chews chocolate. Kills me.
“Stop it! You don’t even love tiramisu!”
“I’m not crazy about it.”
“Well stop it! I am!”
so good for joeys. mmm savor. mmm yesss
When I’d had my fill, I let him finish my dessert.

Then Chad brought the check.

And this is where it gets funny for people of a certain age.
The Mister held the check closer and farther, squinting, blinking, and turning his head this way and that.
“Baby, I can’t read this. I’ve got my glasses on and I can’t read it.”
“Oh,” I took it and looked at the blur of digits, “Hmm.”
I left my glasses in my car, for driving home at night. If I held the check far enough away to make up for my lack of glasses, there wasn’t enough light from the candle to read it. If I held it nearer the candle, it was too close to read. so romantical

Lead: Not because romantic, but because blind

I had to move the candle farther from me and extend my arm to bring the digits into the sweet spot. I am a klutz and I assure you this was a real feat for me. I didn’t even knock over my drink or set my sleeve afire.
“That doesn’t sound right. Are you sure that’s not 88?”

We chatted and laughed s’more.
Then came time to sign the receipt. He was still stuck on how surely that was $88, but I repeated, “$68.58.”

He began to math.
I said, “You give him $15.”
He gave me that look. He always gives me that look, because he’s never waited tables, but he always leaves what I tell him to leave. but baby, it’s chad. we love chad.
He wrote it out and began to add.
I could barely read it but I checked his math, because I can’t math and he works in finance.
“Good job, Baby.”


We’ll definitely go back to Marco’s and I will definitely wear my glasses.


This Just Jot it January post is brought to you by LindaGHill, aging, and Happy Friday Everyone!



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#ThursdayDoors — This Mama’s a Night Owl

We slept too late on Sunday. I mean to tell you we woke up well past lunchtime. I sat up first, never a good sign, and asked The Mister, “What time you reckon it is?”
“Mmm 11:30.”
I turned my phone on and gasped, “It’s 1:30!”

Later, much later, the girls and I went out for a lil doorscursion and some shopping.

I pass this joint all the time. I’ve heard it’s cheerful and tasty. Never been in.



I think when you see the hours, you’ll understand why.



I bout never dine out during breakfast hours.
For me to drag my ass out of bed for breakfast, it pretty much takes ten kinds of fruit and bread served with floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking dolphins — and to be honest, even that was more about the kids.
Breakfast foods taste just fine for both lunch and dinner, thank you very much.




Still, it’s a cute place, maybe cuter in the summer — but I’ll never know, because who wants to walk around when it’s hot, let alone eat outside?
I’ll tell you who, people who wake up before the sun, jog along the Monon Trail, and say things like, “Let’s be really naughty and get some turkey bacon!”

Not my people.

My people are like, “Ooh, it’s sweater weather (48F), let’s get out and take pictures of doors!” … and then go home to goat cheese pizza and beer.

There was no traffic on the Monon Trail Sunday evening.

#ThursdayDoors is part of an inspired post series run by Norm Frampton. To see other doors of interest, or to share your own, click the link.

This is my Jot. It’s not extraordinary.

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One-Liner Wednesday — Military Mental Health Screenings



“You’re crazy,” I told The Mister.
“No I’m not, I’ve been tested,” he quipped.
“No you haven’t,” I corrected him, “They asked if you wanted to harm yourself or others AND YOU LIED.”

He laughed and laughed, and I told him, “That’s my One-Liner Wednesday, right there.”

One-Liner Wednesday and Just Jot it January are brought to you by LindaGHill

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Funeral Hat

I began this post last fall, and I don’t know when or if I would have posted it, had I not read Prajakta’s post along the same lines.
Just Jot It January brings a lot of inspiration. Today’s prompt is ‘elusive’ and I often elude the prompt. You can find elusive here, but it’s not blatant.


A long time ago, I guess 17 years and some months ago, I took some girly stuff over to my MIL’s house for her dress-up box. She’s one of those mamaws who likes having a miniature preschool for the kids at her house.

There were a lot of hats, and we had fun trying them on.
Except the funeral hat.
You know the sort, black straw with the netting veil you can roll down?

I took it off. Something about having it on made me feel uneasy. As I took it off, I said, “Shouldn’t wear a funeral hat when you’re not at a funeral.”

My MIL hollered up the stairs that my mother was on the phone. Not since I’d been a schoolgirl had my mother called over there. She called to tell me my grandmother died.

My grandmother had been in a car accident in Florida days before. Because of her age, they kept watch over her at the hospital, making sure everything was right as rain before releasing her.
She was due to go home.
Family had just left, she’d been laughing and having a great time visiting. When they left, an aneurysm took her home instead.

Was I sad? Yes.
Was there anything I could do? No.
I went on.

My grandmother gave me all her stories, the best summers of my childhood, and taught me many worthy skills. I was lucky to have one grandmother who loved me so much, and I had two.

Neither death nor sickness prompt typical, normal, expected responses from me.
I am not sure WHY.
I have always been this way.
I will tell you I’m sorry and take in your grief, but I will remain detached and helpless because I am aware that helpless is the key word. There is likely nothing I can do or say to assuage your anguish. There isn’t anything you can do or say to assuage mine. I know this because I have lived.

I don’t have personal issues with my lack of expression, but rather, other people do not like this about me.
Now and again, I’m hit with the mention or insinuation that I am cold or unfeeling, but I am not.
I don’t openly respond the same way most people do. When people are struggling to live, or have passed, I feel sad. I also feel emotionally unavailable to others.

I generally feel emotionally unavailable to others. My feelings, my sadness, my struggles — they’re mine. I’ve been strong for a long, long time. Survivor strong, independent strong, military spouse strong.

I am easily moved and well-up at least once a day, given even the slightest provocation. I can handle all the feelings. I feel emotions unexpressed. I can take it all, but very few people can handle my vulnerability.
Yes, I do have trust issues and abandonment issues, but I don’t think it’s a broken thing, I think it’s a type of person thing. Introverted, high-energy, empathic: Here for others. Need others rarely. DO NOT MIND.


You think I’m not a private person because I have a public blog and I’ll tell you all kinds of things, AND HOW! and so candidly! But honestly, I tell you all the time that 12 people know my life and I mean that. I also tell you just because something isn’t on the blog doesn’t mean it’s not happening.

I seldom blog about anything painful. Are you kidding? When I complain about anything, even the most trivial thing, there’s always one asshat in the group who tells me I’m not entitled to complain about my perfect life, directing me to all the ways in which they hurt. How little one must see, hear, feel, live, to think that so many other humans are without suffering. How self-absorbed they must be to think they have the monopoly on pain.

Tell me, do you need me to follow the prescribed grief rulebook, don a mask, and act like I’m grieving, or can you understand that for me, grief is personal?


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Just Jotting Share Your World — January 23, 2017

Do you prefer juice or fruit?

Did you grow up in a small or big town? Did you like it?
Mostly I grew up in the city, and I loved it.

If you were to paint a picture of your childhood, what colors would you use?
Blue, green, and yellow, for sky, grass, and sunshine

Ways to Relax List: Make a list of what relaxes you and helps you feel calm.
Staring at my trees
My pets
Herbal tea
My bed
The Mister
Foot rubs

Optional Bonus question:  What are you grateful for from last week, and what are you looking forward to in the week coming up?
Despite high anxiety levels and vertigo, I had a good week overall. I was ever so grateful for Friday. Friday was the best and date night was great! I’m grateful for sweater weather, open windows, and sleeping in, and for snuggles and doorscursion.
I am both grateful and looking forward to how I made cottage pie, chicken pot pie, and chili for this week — and it’s all just waiting to be reheated on the right night.
I’m looking forward to the arrival of my new Fiesta dishes — more Ivory, Sage, and Paprika for me, hurrah!

LindaGHill’s Just Jot It JanuaryCee’s Share Your World — All are welcome to join in and play along.

What’s going on in your world?


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I feel plenty of contempt. Daily. Rummaging through my pages of contempt is messy, and y’all know I like things tidy.
When contempt becomes entertaining, or at least ironic, I hold it up to the light and let it cast written shadows on the walls. Like pretty paperweights, hope, gratitude, and humility can constrain a great deal of contempt.



Just Jot It January ‘contempt’ is brought to you by LindaGHill

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Jottin SoCS — Glass

I’m not a fan of glass.
When I think about glass I think about what a klutz I am and how hard it is to clean without a single smudge or smear left behind. Car windows, mirrors, those damned glass tables my mother gave me years ago.

Lovely, little, low side tables, one panel of glass atop, one below. Pain In The Glass pretty tables, they are. The only way a creature such as myself can get them really, truly dazzlingly clean is to take the 20 x 20 glass inserts out and carefully tote them to the sink and wash them ever so carefully with dish soap and carefully, using a towel to grasp the edges, lean them against a wall lined with towels until they dry, and then with gloved hands, carefully place them back in the frame. My nerves. Oh my nerves.

When we moved here, I said FUCK IT and began using them outside. A watering can, an old rag, and a bit of cleaner. Streaks? Who cares? Clean enough for outside. Fine enough to set down your glass.

I gave one to the boy one a few weeks ago. I hope he enjoys cleaning it. Family Tradition.

Just Jot It January and Stream of Consciousness Saturday ‘glass’ are brought to you by LindaGHill

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She’s No Angel

When I lived in base housing in Georgia, my across-the-street neighbor, well, neighbor #1 — Four families came and went from that house while I stayed my sad ass in the same damn house for seven years, all fire-ant bit and red-faced and homesick…

Anyway, where was I? Oh yes, across-the-street neighbor #1. Y’all, her husband was critically injured and had to be flown from his combat zone for treatment. She needed to be with her husband.

I offered to water the plants. And to take her older female dog, Angel, a harlequin Great Dane. I have always liked big dogs, and I had always liked Angel.

Because of the crisis situation, it was mentioned to me that when Angel mated with the male, I would get a free puppy. Pick o’ the litter. One should always be open to the idea of free puppies. Aw.

Or so I thought.

It’s like how you think you already know how to parent because you’re an auntie who’s babysat and taught kindergarten. False.

I knew a lot about dogs, but peopling a dog that nears you in weight and comes surprisingly close to the problem-solving ability of a kindergartner is not a job for every people.

The first morning I had Angel, she pushed her cold, wet snout against my hand and gave me the look. I took her out. The second morning, I think she made herself a bowl of cereal and watched cartoons, because she did not wake me. I woke up to …
Do y’all know how much pee comes out of a Great Dane?!?
I do.
Barbie’s wading pool, right next to my dining room table.

Do you know how much Great Danes eat?!?
You know what comes in must go out.
You cannot leave it there, in the hot Georgia sun, for more than a minute.


Two words: Hair splinters.
Those hurt like hell! I mean to tell you, the woes of hair splinters are not folklore shared by hairdressers. They are seriously owie.


Still, my neighbor needed me — military spouses are the only family you have when you move 800 miles away from home. You do things like that. You do your part. Besides, I really did like Angel.

I did not complain to my neighbor. Everything fine. I lied politely, “She likes to go out at 7. It’s fine.” Y’all know I hate any single digit in the am unless I’m about to go to bed, but my neighbor had bigger fish to fry.
Meanwhile, the male was kept by my other across-the-street neighbor and he was chewin up her pergola posts and peein on the floor quite a bit and drivin the house Schnauzer crazy, so who was I to complain about hair splinters and morning pee-pee time?





So then I found out she could jump the fence. We had a nice ritual, or so I thought. I’d drive out and do errands and she’d stay in the back yard. If she was a good girl, wasn’t she always? I’d give her a pig’s ear when I got back.
We went on this way for weeks.
“Who’s a good girl? Good Girl, Angel!” and a pig’s ear.



She wasn’t as good as she was smart.
Don’t let them tell you all Great Danes are big goofy dopes — they’re not.

I opened the door and I gave her the look. Her tail stopped waggin. She sat down and looked at her feet. The jig was up. No pig’s ear. Tsk.

This became a problem. Perhaps it was because I’d let her know I’d caught on, perhaps she needed to test me. Regardless, every time she went out, she leapt the fence. Aren’t dogs beautiful when they run full-out? Beautiful. As God intended, perhaps, but not as the US Army allows.
With only two legs I was unable to ‘catch’ Angel and the MPs came over for a nice chat.
I couldn’t keep her.

I don’t remember who fostered her after that. I struggled with the guilt for a time, and I never did get a free puppy. Not wanting one was an important lesson to learn. Big dog, sure. Really big dog, no. And fluffy-hair-splinter-less dogs only. And no puppies. I done potty-trained enough creatures.

This Just Jot It January post was inspired by Lorrie at Splendippity, who has shared her life with giant dog breeds.


Happy Friday Everyone!

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#ThursdayDoors — Signs

I love a pretty gate, I do.
You know what really burns my biscuits? Ugly signage.

I know signs are important, city life and all that, but still.
I’m sure somewhere, there’s a graphic artist who’s like, “But I could make the signs much more attractive…”


Please note, there is a vehicle in the Tow Away Zone. And that it is completely ruining my shot. Also, check out the rubbish bins behind the gate.


I am amazed that anyone here needs to be informed as such. I maybe can deal with the water dripping part, BUT! Imagine you’re from someplace roasty-toasty and you move to Indianapolis. Is it even possible you’d ever turn your heat off?!?

And here are some mailboxes, which are certainly doors. I like mailboxes. I always get the mailboxes.


#ThursdayDoors is part of an inspired post series run by Norm Frampton. To see other doors of interest, or to share your own, click the link.

This is my jot for Just Jot it January ‘rubbish’.

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One-Liner Wednesday — Hehe! Thank you!

Excited to find the mailman late to collect from the post box, delighted to stay in my car when it was nine degrees, I rolled my window down and asked him, “Can you take this, too?”
He smiled, “Ma’am, this is The United States Post Office. We take mail.”


One-Liner Wednesday and Just Jot it January are brought to you by LindaGHill

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Jotting Complaint

When I first read the prompt, I thought it was compliant and I went in a direction I don’t take my blog. I’m at my most willing compliant about 20 seconds after I sass The Mister, “You’re not the boss of me.”



But the prompt is Complaint.

Obviously this means I should list my complaints. Complaint singular is impossible.

Tuesdays are stupid.

I miss my husband. Yes, already.

The plumber is here this morning. I’m glad the plumber is here, but I have flashbacks to the kajillion-dollar hole in my yard and it makes me nervous.
Whenever I think about how annoyed I am with the upkeep of my house, I think about how much I love my house. When I think about how annoyed I am with a plumbing problem, I think about how nice it is I don’t have to walk back and forth to Fall Creek with buckets.

I’m a little cold, but grateful the furnace is runnin.

Okay, I’m not into complaining right now. I’m like my trees are swaying so pretty and this coffee is so delicious and this sweater is so comfy and my dog is so precious and this throw is so cozy — I have already entered into the land of gratitude.

Now, at 7am, I had a lot more to complain about. At 7am, the alarm went off. I was cold and hungry and tired, oh so tired. My bed was empty of man and replete with needy furbabies. There were dream-residual maracas and horses in my head. I had to sign reading logs and put on clothes and Moo couldn’t find her boots and my hair kept fallin over my face and I had to make coffee and summon my nice voice for the telephone.

mornin   jjj-2017

I managed.

Just Jot it January is brought to you by LindaGHill

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Just Jotting Share Your World — January 16, 2017

1. Do you sleep with your closet doors open or closed?

2. Do you take the shampoo and conditioner bottles from hotels?

3. What is your usual bedtime?

4. Do you like to use post-it notes?
SO much

5. When was the last time you wrote a letter to someone on paper?
December 19, 2016

6. Any phobias?
Yes, but I save those for therapy.

7. How tall are you?
About 5’4


Optional Bonus question:  What are you grateful for from last week, and what are you looking forward to in the week coming up?
It may seem I’m dipping into the shallow end this week, but everyone went back to school and it was incredibly busy and rough. I’m grateful the weekend came, for online shopping, my car that warms up quickly, my job, hot baths, and that there was no ‘ice storm’ this weekend.
This week I am looking forward to date night.

LindaGHill’s Just Jot It JanuaryCee’s Share Your World — All are welcome to join in and play along.

What’s going on in your world?

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Thirty Years Tomorrow

I met Drew because she sat in front of me in social studies, Mottern, Packard, alphabetical order and all that. I knew her as the pretty girl with the fluffy blonde hair. She dressed like a catalogue and she had a perm. Every day before class, she’d mist her hair and pic it out all fluffy like.

One day, she turned around and told me her friend Jenny Jones wanted to kick my ass.
Since I was new, and barely knew anyone, I asked, “Who?”
“Jenny Jones.”
“I don’t know who that is. Why would she want to kick my ass?”
“For me. Because you’re writing notes to my boyfriend.”
“Who is your boyfriend?”
“Daniel James.”
“I don’t know who Daniel James is, either.”
“Well she’s going to kick your ass.”

This went on for some time. Months, I think.

Sometimes this had variations.

“You still don’t know who Jenny Jones is? How can you not know who Jenny Jones is? Everybody knows Jenny Jones. Her locker is right next to yours.”
“Some boy with a complicated handshake has the locker next to mine.”
“That’s Adam. On the other side.”
“Never seen her, I guess.”


“Daniel James! Brown hair, brown eyes? Hangs out with John Doe and Joe Schmoe?”

I had not a scooby.

Y’all, for all the awkward I am now, I guarantee you that in 7th grade, I was ten times as awkward. Over the previous summer, my life had been turned upside down by my custody situation. To make matters worse, I’d moved into a surreal land where girls of my own age dressed like my mother, did their hair with implements and products, and wore full faces of make up — whereas I had only recently stopped playin with Barbies and cut off my braids. In full-on puberty, my hair grew suddenly darker, thicker, and coarser. This was quite a shock against my paper white chubby cheeks and somehow, I still had knobby knees. I had two friends, the girl at the last bus stop, who was kind enough to sit with me, and the son of our neighborhood Avon Lady. I was unarguably nerdy and awkward as fuck.

Eventually, I got a description of Jenny Jones. She looked a lot like me, but she was of course, tanner, prettier, and cooler. I feared every short, pretty, tan brunette in the school. Do you know how many girls that was? Me neither. But I graduated in a class of 327. I’m sure I passed more than 50 a day.

On January 16, 1987, Drew turned around and smiled at me.
“Are you actually being nice, or is this the day Jenny Jones is gonna kick my ass?” I asked her.

She was just being nice. She’d broken up with Daniel James. (I wouldn’t know who that was for almost another year.)
Drew invited me to attend a bowling party with her church youth group.
My mother let me go.

It changed my life. My entire life.


Tomorrow marks 30 years. Thirty years and some days since Drew turned around to smile and be nice, thirty years since the bowling party, thirty years since I met my husband when I climbed into the backseat of a car and sat on his lap.

Eventually, I dated Adam, the boy with the handshake.
The girl at the last bus stop was one of my dearest friends for years.
Daniel James passed away some years ago.
Professionally, I talk to Jenny Jones now and again, and she never threatens to kick my ass.
But Drew has influenced every aspect of my life since 1987.

January 16th is one of my favorite days on the calendar.


This Just Jot it January post is brought to you by LindaGHill

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Jottin SoCS — P

P she wrote, and I thought of P Control by Prince and the astounding number of people who can’t say the P word without squirming or stuttering.
But I’m not jottin about that.


Perhaps it’s a good time to write about what a Friday I had. It began painfully, as I had to drop the girls off EARLY. The rest of the morning moved at a snail’s pace. I was scheduled for a performance review yesterday and although I feel positive about my performance, I also have anxiety disorder, so I had to alternate panicking, chewing on my cuticles, and remembering to breathe, pretty much in that order. That made for a long morning.

I accidentally set off our alarm, which did not help. Neither did the extra coffee. If you drink enough decaf, you eventually get caffeinated and oh, the peeing.

But then, I went to work and I had my performance review, which was all peachy and prosperous and I was pleased. Perfectly euphoric, really. Before you know it, it was past time to depart.

We went out for celebratory dinner. I had a delicious cocktail, French onion soup, a Caesar salad, and I almost consumed an entire four-ounce filet.
The Mister had already paid the check when Sassy reminded me they have creme brûlée, so yes, we did reorder.

It was so good.


If only every day could end with creme brûlée.

Stream of Consciousness Saturday ‘P’ and Just Jot it January are brought to you by LindaGHill

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Kid Math: It Doesn’t Even Matter

Long ago, in what seems like a distant galaxy (our apartment) I had The Towhead Twins, Bubba and Sissy. Most weekdays, I also had my nephew and another child his age.

When you have two kids, more children are actually helpful. For some time, the children don’t fight with one another, and everyone is happy. After some time, any amount of children, who are people after all, start to get on each other’s nerves and then havoc is wreaked.
*It’s important to note that this works best when the additional are not your own.*
Other people’s children mind better. I don’t care who you are, this is the truth. If your personal truth is different then you are a liar liar pants on fire and you cannot come to my birthday.


After three, it doesn’t even matter anymore.

Four, five, six, umpteen, no difference. If they’re yours it gets more expensive and crowded and your time belongs to you less and less, but barring any unusual dynamics, any amount of children over three is basically the same as three. (Most people read that as more than two = too many.) People who have two children think people with four children are crazy and people with four children think people with eight children are people who have more children.


I know some people don’t like kids at all and that’s cool, I didn’t have them for you, anyone who’s got ‘too many’ children will tell you, it’s not that different.

Lots of boys = more loud booms and injuries
Lots of girls = more squealing and crying

Later, we added The Irish Twins, Sassy and Moo, to The Towhead Twins and then there were four. My husband can’t even hear high-pitched noises anymore.



There was a time in my life when my kids were all kids and they all lived in one house with cats and dog and goldfish and my house was the place to be. I would happily receive additional children, “Oh yes, it’s fine. Just let him stay here. No problem at all. Sure. Anytime.”
The people on the other side of the door would be like, “Are you sure you’re sure?” and “That seems like a lot.”
Because when you have one child, a peek into a household like mine resembles a nightmare.
“Does it? Does it seem like a lot?”

It’s not like I would know.


The only REAL, non-imagined problem with having four kids is that no one, not anyone in the world, will babysit all your children at once for free. If you’re lucky enough to befriend other people who have more than two children, then you can sometimes barter and trade. No one offers. No one says, “I would be delighted to take full responsibility for your four children so that you can dine in peace and fuck loudly.” Even grandparents don’t offer. You have to ask them, and then they exchange glances, and sometimes they can, for x amount of time, and you must decide whether you’d rather dine in peace or fuck loudly which takes about two seconds.
So, you know, if you have four children, you have the joy of four children, and the joy of free babysitting is denied to you, because you can’t have EVERYTHING or whatever.

Now my house isn’t as often the place to be. They’re teens now, so two is fiiiine, thanks.


But Moo still goes to homes where her friends are the oldest.
The other day, I dropped her off at Shay’s house and I thanked Shay’s mother for letting Shay spend the morning with Moo, keeping her company while everyone else was out. She said, “No problem. Anytime.” As she said it, she was sticking the Labrador in the chest with her knee because he wanted to lick me forever, two children were dancing and singing to a video on the tv, and a diapered child ran in to announce super important gibberish.
“Anytime something like that comes up, just bring her here, or I’ll bring Shay there.”
I asked if she was sure.

And you know what she said? “Absolutely. It doesn’t even matter.”

And we laughed and laughed.

That’s kid math.

Happy Friday Everyone!

Just Jot it January is brought to you by LindaGHill


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#ThursdayDoors — The Murat

Confession: This is less about doors than most of my doors posts.  I walked around the enitre building, but I never zoomed in on the doors. The doors are not spectacular, but the building is.



It was a gray December day. Not cold to me, but gray, and so not the best day for photo snaps. I must take my opportunities for doorscursions as they come.



Let’s get those pesky doors out of the way.

And the details.


Views of the building, highly reliant on both the placement of the sun and my ability to use image enhancement.


And this, my favorite side. Who doesn’t love some trompe l’oeil?


The Murat shares the same Moorish Revival style as the Fox Theater in Atlanta, as Norm featured here.

The Murat Theatre was opened on February 28, 1910. The building was designed by Indianapolis architect Oscar D. Bohlen of the firm D. A. Bohlen & Son. It is predominantly Moorish-Oriental in style, and originally had 1,950 seats. A major renovation undertaken in 1996 increased the seating capacity to 2,476. In its early years, the Murat Theatre was leased by the Shubert organization, and it later served as the venue for the Indianapolis Symphony Orchestra. From the late 1940s until the early 1960s, it was the only house in Indianapolis capable of hosting the touring companies of major Broadway stage productions. The building is still owned by the Shriners, but the Murat Theatre is now operated under a long-term lease by Live Nation.

I’ve been there a few times, but the one I really remember is when The Mister and I saw Tori Amos sometime in the late 90s.

#ThursdayDoors is part of an inspired post series run by Norm Frampton. To see other doors of interest, or to share your own, click the link.

This post is my daily jot for JusJotJan.


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One-Liner Wednesday — Footbollocks

Me to Sassy: I love football. I wish football was on all day, every day, just like Will & Grace marathons.
Sassy nodded and smiled.
Moo: I hope you’re sarcasming, because I’ve had enough of football!

Just Jot It January and One-Liner Wednesday are brought to you by LindaGHill

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Just Jot It January — Danger!

I got caught up in John Holton’s excellent post on the Warning prompt last week, told him my washer and dryer warn me about cooking oils. He said he’d like to see a picture, so I took one.


I didn’t make a special trip when it was all empty and whatnot — that takes a miracle.

Anyway, my laundry machines warn me about cooking oils, which I find mildly funny. Not like HAHAHA DRYER FIRE funny, but I get plenty of cooking oil on my aprons and I don’t stand outside with a washboard and a bar of Fels-Naptha like it’s 1917. I think about how The Mister usta come home from the motorpool with his fatigues all oily and greasy and I washed them in warm water before I washed them a second time with soap and baking soda, and I did, in fact, put them in the dryer for a short spell before hanging them.

It’s a warning I don’t heed.

How bout you?

Just Jot it January ‘danger’ is brought to you by LindaGHill


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Just Jotting Share Your World — January 8, 2017

If you lost a bet and had to dye your hair a color of the rainbow for a week, what color would it be?
That would never, ever happen. I’m not big on sayin never, but that would never, ever happen. My hair is medium golden brown or medium golden brown with gray. I freak out if my hair comes out a little too dark or a little too red or if my highlights are too light, so there is no way I would be walkin around with any rainbow shade atop my head, not even for a week. I have serious hair control issues.

If you could choose one word to focus on for 2017, what would it be?
Hah! Ally Bean just brought this up last week and I said mine would be BREATHE for about the last six years. Breathing deeply for more than 20 minutes a day is a permanent goal. A lot of people with anxiety disorder breathe like we’re on the verge of hyperventilation and we don’t even notice it. When I notice it, I tell myself to BREATHE.

What was one thing you learned last year that you added to your life?
Earplugs are fantastic. They were awkward at first, but I sleep so much more.

If life was ‘just a bowl of cherries’… which fruit other than a cherry would you be..?
Last time I went with pineapple, and I think I’ll stick with that, but cherries are still my favorite.



Optional Bonus question:  What are you grateful for from last week, and what are you looking forward to in the week coming up?
Last week, I find I am most grateful for The Mister, for friends who ask the hard questions, and for my health.
This week coming up, I’m looking forward to our new schedule. With my family back in school again, the holidays really are over and some consistency should return.


LindaGHill’s Just Jot It JanuaryCee’s Share Your World — All are welcome to join in and play along.

What’s going on in your world?

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Just Jot It January — Mongrel

As far as I can tell, my household is full of mongrels. Most of us are vaguely Northern European with our pale skin and long noses. Moo’s got that skin though — that skin that tans in the shade and browns in the sun. She got it from my mother, and whether it’s Seminole or Melungeon, she’s got it. My hair in its natural state does not scream white girl so much as it screams Mediterranean ancestry.

We barely outnumber the four-legged mongrels.

Clara’s mother was Siamese. Cletus is part dog. Catticus, I suppose, could have been a part-ocelot, part-street urchin when we took him in.
The dog, well, she’s muttastic. Her mother was a German Shepherd, but according to commenting gawkers, her father was part Chow? part Dachshund? part Golden?


Just Jot It January ‘mongrel’ is brought to you by LindaGHill

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Jottin SoCS — Coat

Dreadful day to put a coat on.
Lovely day to sit in my throw and drink my coffee and listen to music and play on my computer.
Sun shinin, sky blue, snow on the ground.
Yeah, it’s only eleven degrees but the wind’s barely movin.

For most of us, temperatures are relative.
I consider it cold when it’s below 20F. Below 20F, I’ll definitely put a coat in my car when I leave. Wear it? Meh. Depends on what I’m doin.

I was asked about this recently.
“You didn’t wear a coat today?!”
“No, I wore a big sweater though.”
“Oh, so you’re like, REALLY a cold weather person.”
“Yes, I really am.”

A day like this, sun shinin, sky blue, not much wind — well if it’s like that over 65F, I might well complain it’s too hot.

Just Jot It January and Stream of Consciousness Saturday ‘coat’ are brought to you by the magnanimous LindaGHill


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Sammich Strife

Being a total comfort creature of habit, my weekly lunches don’t vary much. Either I stop for nuggets and a yogurt at homophobic chicken, I stop at Pandaspress for black pepper chicken, or I eat yogurt and fruit and stuff.

Last week, I was on my way to nuggets when I realized I had to poop with such an urgent intensity that I could not drive another block north, so I stopped at Panera. I’m not a fan. I’ve eaten there maybe five times in ten years. But y’all, I had to stop there! Had to! Mercy, I was grateful for that restroom!

The line was merely one lady long when I left the restroom. oh what the hell, do somethin different, joey, you’re already here, may as well. So I got behind the lady and we waited for the cashier to return.
In the meantime, a man carried a toddler child to the lady, “She’s makin me crazy. You go back and sit with her and I’ll order.”
“Just leave her with me.”
The child reached for the lady, locked her legs around her waist and they shared love-yous. I already wanted to give that man a good what for, but it got worse.

Apparently, he’d never looked at their menu.
> Cue the music <

A whole new woooorld…


Much oohing and aahing. He started asking the lady questions about the food. I clock-watched (:40) and I wanted to hit him.

The lady said to him, “I’m ordering chicken avocado. I always get you chicken avocado. You like chicken avocado.”
But he was so overwhelmed with the menu, he would never settle for chicken avocado.

Finally the cashier returned (:42.)
The lady ordered and the man began.
“What’s a baguette?” he asked.
I thought the lady might hit him. She turned to him, eyes wide, and without blinking, flatly stated, “Bread.”
“Why would I want bread with a sandwich?”
because it’s panera, you dolt! you’re at panera! it’s all about bread! pan is right in the fucking name!
He asked the cashier a series of questions, changed his order more than once. I clocked-watched (:46) i coulda shit my pants, gone home, showered, and come back by now! just listen to your wife and let her order you the chicken avocado, man!
I had a right mind to tell him he was makin both of us crazy and to go sit down.

“I don’t know,” he turned to the lady, “Would I like it warmed?”
oh for fuck’s sake.


It was my turn (:49) but the cashier had gone away again.

Finally, I ordered.
Roasted turkey raised without antibiotics, Vermont white cheddar, fresh apple and cabbage slaw, arugula and mustard horseradish sauce on Cranberry Walnut Bread.

Sounds nutritious, doesn’t it?
It’s ridiculously good. It’s especially good when you eat the other half the next day. It’s the kinda good where when stuff slides out, you pick up every speck and eat it.
My plan this week was to leave early enough to stand in line at Panera and order two of those sandwiches, so I could eat a half every day of the week.
But it gets better!
They have rapid pick-up. You order, you drive over and voilà! So that’s what I did on Tuesday. I rapid ordered online for all week’s sammiches.

Oh Sammich, I love you!


Sadly, I was surprisingly hungry yesterday, ate the whole damn thing AND the pickle. Now I’m back to yogurt and raspberries. But I’ll go back, I’ll totally go back, because I’ve fallen in love with a sandwich.

Happy Friday Everyone!


Just Jot It January brought to you by LindaGHill


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#ThursdayDoors — Sliders

I’ve been collecting these.
Look it, me in my missionary garb, and The Mister ten steps ahead


Flaws in photos sure are pretty.


Traditional, typical


Repeat from Spencer


Fab orange


Industrial shadow


#ThursdayDoors is part of an inspired post series run by Norm Frampton. To see other doors of interest, or to share your own, click the link.

This is me jotting about doors for JusJotJan as well.

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One-Liner Wednesday — Growing Up

“What grade are you in now?” the dentist asked me twice a year, every year.
He didn’t even pause when I replied, “Sixteenth.”
“Growing up so fast!” He’d always say.

A year after I’d finished college, when he asked me “What grade are you in now?” I decided to get a new dentist.
After all, I was growing up so fast.




One-Liner Wednesdays and Just Jot It January are brought to you by LindaGHill

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It Was Not The Gift of The Magi

(I don’t know what you’ve read but as an English major I am forever required to allude.)

Early in the holiday season, The Mister sent me a link to a groovy watch he thought Bubba would like.

I said, “Ooh!” and clicked the link.
But when I thought about it, I remembered Bubba showin me a watch he wanted to buy, prolly a summer ago, and noted that he also had a pocketwatch for his steampunk cos play…I read the reviews on the watch, and they weren’t all that impressive. I expressed all this to The Mister and he said, “Well then don’t buy it for him.”



On Black Friday, I was shopping online from the warmth of my throw, and was like, “LOOK AT ALL THIS TOTALLY COOL STUFF YOU CAN BUY FOR EVERYONE!” I saw this drone thingy, and told The Mister, “I wanna buy your dad this remote control drone thing.”

He gave me the look.
“What? Why not? No one ever buy Papaw anything fun. Be all, ‘Here’s another book, another handsome shirt,’ Maybe Papaw lika have somethin fun!”
He gave me the look again.


Then about a week later when FIL was here for Moo’s birthday, I asked him, “How come y’all never send us lists of ideas for things to buy you at Christmas? Y’ever want somethin fun?”
And verily, Papaw replied unto me, “A little drone. Somethin to help me get the feel of it.”
And then I turned to my husband with the crazy eyes and said, “Didja hear that, Baby? Papaw would like a lil drone for Christmas!”


That same night, Bubba was sittin next to The Mister and stopped his scroll to ask, “Ooh, what’s that?”
“It’s the Tesla watch by Think Geek.”
I turned my crazy eyes to Bubba, “Are you fuckin serious?”
“Uh, yeah…”

So I ordered the drone and the watch and don’t you know, when I went back to order those items, neither were on sale anymore? Next time either of us is inspired, I’ll just buy the damn thing.

It was not “The Gift of the Magi” but it sure was the situational irony of somethin.


I’m Just Jotting through January, brought to you by LindaGHill

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Just Jotting Share Your World — January 2, 2017

Would you prefer to receive a unicycle, bicycle, tricycle or motorcycle?
Perhaps if I lived in an alternate reality where drivers show great respect for life, I would enjoy riding a bicycle.

What is one thing you’d like to accomplish this year?
I’m not goal-oriented like that, not even a little bit.

What was one of the highlights of 2016 for you?
I got to see my mother over the summer.

Would you prefer to fly a kite or fly in a hot air balloon?
Ugh. Gun to my head, I’d choose to fly a kite, but at my own peril. Kites and I don’t have a good track record. Last time I flew one, it did not try to kill me, but I remain wary of kites.


Optional Bonus question:  What are you grateful for from last week, and what are you looking forward to in the week coming up?
Last week was mostly eventful and happy. The Mister’s been home in the evenings, so we’ve had a lot more family time and that’s precious. I got to visit with people I don’t get to see all that often, I got a new soft pink sweater, I fell in love with a sandwich — overall, it was a good week.
This week coming up looks good too, but in a slow, peaceful way.


LindaGHill’s Just Jot JanuaryCee’s Share Your World — All are welcome to join in and play along.

What’s going on in your world?

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Deadline, Heh

I am one of those people who will post every day in January, because, well, I always have. I usually do what Linda tells me to because it’s a lot easier than using my own imagination. I don’t plan to use all her prompts though, like today is spider and I got nothin but veins.


Today, I’ll just jot about how I’m having a lovely long weekend, apart from the thing where I don’t know what day or date it is or whatever. You know how that happens? Like, you spend all day thinkin it’s Saturday when it’s Friday and then you don’t know what day to wash the sheets, or put the bins out, or “Why are they closed, it’s only 6 o’clock?” I’ve got a dire case of whatever that’s called, because I haven’t been straight about the date or day since Thursday, and I hadn’t even been drinkin then, so I hope… *looks at calendar* It’s still Sunday?!? How long has it been Sunday? I hope Tuesday feels like Tuesday the 3rd because I know I’ll be strugglin not to type 2016 on everything as it is. Typing dates correctly is crucial, lest you schedule your boss for a meeting in 2106 when you know damn good and well that’s beyond the deadline. “Deadline,” she punned.

Just Jot it January is hosted by the ever-popular LindaGHill

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#ThursdayDoors — Gifts

My friends give me door photos.

I think it’s neat when people are looking at interesting doors and thinking of me. Since it’s the season for love and giving, and I feel all squishy inside, it seems like the right time to share.


From Beth



From Skipah




From True



I had more… I didn’t organize my doors until June, when I realized I could actually use these door gifts in a post. Thoughtful offerings, don’tcha think?

#ThursdayDoors is part of an inspired post series run by Norm Frampton. To see other doors of interest, or to share your own, click the link.

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One-Liner Wednesday — Well, He IS 23, so…

Sassy and Moo think Bubba is our favorite child because, I quote, “You treat him differently,” and “You treat him like an adult.”


One-Liner Wednesday is brought to you by LindaGHill

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Share Your World #52

What’s your favorite ice-cream flavor?
Um, ice cream.
I’m particularly fond of spumoni, chocolate peanut butter, dulce de leche, Cherry Garcia, Chunky Monkey, cookies and cream, pistachio, pineapple coconut, butter pecan, rocky road, anything with bourbon or rum, chocolate covered strawberry…I really, really love ice cream, and frozen custard, and gelato, and sherbet, and fro-yo.

If you were to treat yourself to the “finer things” what would you treat yourself to?
Well I think it depends on which aspect. I have expensive taste in a lot of things, but I’m not fancy. Something extravagant that I might enjoy… Ooh, I’d love to have my old foot reflexology lady come and do my feet every night at bedtime. Yesss. And then lock up the house when she leaves. Yesss. That would be fiiiiine.

Have you ever been drunk?
Yes, but not today.

Complete this sentence: My favorite supposedly guilty pleasure is… TV passé before bed. I love watching old shows. It’s like how I cycle through breakfast cereals. I never get sick of Friends, Frasier, Will & Grace, Arrested Development, Wings, Just Shoot Me, How I Met Your Mother, News Radio, Night Court, Murphy Brown, Golden Girls, MASH — there are a lot more. Sometimes I’ll even throw a light drama series in there, like Castle, but mostly sit-coms. I got really super excited when I recently noted how many more old tv shows are streaming. The Mister and I watched some Newhart and the actual old Bob Newhart Show is available, and well, that’s my guilty pleasure.

Optional Bonus question:  What are you grateful for from last week, and what are you looking forward to in the week coming up?
Too many blessings to count. I’m grateful for too many blessings to count.


This week coming up, I’m looking forward to …hmm, I guess I’m looking forward to the weekend. We’ll have a get together at The Palace of Rules, celebrate the new year, eat more yummy foods, and enjoy an extra day off.

Cee’s Share Your World is a weekly feature and all are welcome to join in and play along.

041514-sywbanner (1)

What’s going on in your world?


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Just a Few More Hours

This being Friday, and the last day I work for a while, you’d think I’da leapt (Can I get a definitive on leapt/lept/leaped? I prefer leapt.) outta bed and jauntily prepared for my day, but it was not like that at all.

Are y’all so tired?

I finally made a menu. I stood in the kitchen with my kids, tryin to remember every single ingredient for every single thing, and what all we were out of…made a list, and I think, honest to goodness, it had never occurred to the three of them that this was a job, a task, to think of things to feed them.
Sassy asked me somethin about why I had to cook so much or why I needed food for Monday and I was like, “It’s my job.”
Bubba asked how much money he should allocate to groceries when he’s on his own at grad school and Sassy was like, “I don’t know what I’m gonna eat when I grow up…” and I was like, “No, nine sticks of butter is probably not enough and no, that’s not enough flour, and Daddy hates it when you send him out for flour on Christmas Eve.”
“Daddy hates it when you send him out for anything, ever.”
Ya think? 

Like I enjoy it?!?

Even though we hated it, Sassy and I were at Meijer for two hours last night, buying hella milk for Bubba and Moo and potatoes like whoa. All the potatoes won’t even fit in the bigass drawer, y’all. And if they think Imma peel all those potatoes all by myself…
Have sprinkles always cost so much? Seriously, I thought they were mis-marked.
We made it to the baking aisle before we had to pee.
Went back to the baking aisle to find they were out of anise extract, but forgot the flour and the baking chocolate.
We talked about sitting down in the pasta aisle. Just taking a little rest, but on we went to get peas.
We discussed that maybe hatred of shopping was a maternal family defect and we wished we could be the kind of women who enjoy shopping.
Sassy said she thinks I do way lots more than Daddy, and I was like, “Yeah, but he makes all the money.”
She said, “You make some money.”
I didn’t want to get into a discussion on partnership and asking her if she wanted to grow up on Hamburger Helper and pbj because I sure as hell don’t wanna live on my income alone or work 7-5:30 or assemble fucking bookshelves or carry all the heavy things…
Not gonna get into how Daddy as a single parent had expired eggs under expired eggs in his kitchen that had a yellow floor until I cleaned it. With equal shock, he’d tell you single me didn’t own a television.
Clearly we are each better equipped for certain things.
Got the really important stuff like ninety pounds of cheese and if they think I’m gonna slice and shred all that cheese by myself…
Looked at the list and had to go back to the baking aisle for the baking chocolate.
And they had no boxes. For the love of Pandora, not a single box to put gifts in. Half of Bubba’s presents are in bags. Ugh.
But I managed to get MINT and LIMES for the RUM.

As we loaded up the trunk of Bonnie Blue, I did stop to remember how incredibly fortunate I am, we are, to be tired from spending money on things that are celebratory. Some Christmastimes I was equally stressed and also, a broke-ass bitch, so you know, this is better. Although I was younger then and I think younger me had more energy.

Today on his lunch, The Mister is out buying the giant bag of dog food, which was assigned to him last night, but also, he has to make up for all that Meijer and I lack, like anise extract, pretzel twists, and flour.

But in a few hours, all the ingredients will be here and we will all be done with obligation and procurement and schedules.
Maybe tomorrow, after I’ve had more sleep and even more sex and a few cocktails, I’ll take a break from singing and dancing around my kitchen, and write you all a happy lil thing.

Right now, I gotta drag myself out there to work. It’s not the work I mind. I like the work. But my girls don’t want me to go, they want me home to snuggle and pet them. The pets, too.

I hate the going, and the anticipation of JOY upon my return. I want joy now.
Joy is waving to me. Taunting me.

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#ThursdayDoors — Simply Having a Wonderful…

One of my favorite things to do this time of year is head to the circle and see the big tree. I have posted about this before because it’s a tradition. For me. I don’t think anyone else gives a damn about it, but it makes me giddy!

It’s not an actual tree. It’s 4000+ lights strung to the top of the Soldiers and Sailors Monument.



Other buildings are decorated, of course, and the trees are all aglow with twinkly lights, and there are horses clickety-clacking along with carriages, and the whole scene pleases me no end.

While I was there, I snapped two doors on the fly.




The revenue from our twinkly lights allows IPL (Indianapolis Power & Light) to light up this pretty thing.


Parkly!   I just, Ooooh! Gah, I love twinkly lights!

And then I have a coupla doors not at all near Monument Circle, but still dressed-up for the holidays.

Cute, me thinks.

#ThursdayDoors is part of an inspired post series run by Norm Frampton. To see other doors of interest, or to share your own, click the link.

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