#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…”

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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.

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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.

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#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.”

*achem*

 

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.

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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?
Closed

2. Do you take the shampoo and conditioner bottles from hotels?
No.

3. What is your usual bedtime?
11-12

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

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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.”
“Okay.”

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.”

OR

“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.

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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.

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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.

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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.

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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.

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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.

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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.

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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

jjj-2017

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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.

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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.

 

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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?

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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.

jjj-2017

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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.

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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.

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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?

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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…

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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.

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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!

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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!

jjj-2017

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

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Flaws in photos sure are pretty.

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Traditional, typical

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Repeat from Spencer

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Fab orange

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Industrial shadow

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#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.
jjj-2017

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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.

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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.”

 
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On Black Friday, I was shopping online from the warmth of my throw, and Amazon.com 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.”

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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.
Whatever.

 

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.”
“Nice!”
I turned my crazy eyes to Bubba, “Are you fuckin serious?”
“What?”
“YOU LIKE THAT WATCH?”
“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.

jjj-2017

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.

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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.

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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

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From Skipah

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From True

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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.”

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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.

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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.

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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…
I BOUGHT MORE RUM.
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…

So!
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.

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OOH!

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.

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

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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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Can We All Agree on Twinkly Lights, or Nah?

The reason for my season is basic astronomy, although your reason may be equally valid and special, who am I to say?

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It’s Yule now. Have a blessed one. Light your candles and burn your wood and fire up your stove for somethin yummy. Love and light, love and light, love and light…

It’s not reactionary or revolutionary, it’s just a good day to honor light and warmth because it’s the shortest day of the year.

 

It’s also the time of year when people like to search their hearts and share their religious fervor by blasting everyone with “Jesus is the Reason for the Season!” which is exactly the sorta thing that sends me into red flag mode, but I’m not at war with Christmas so I don’t summon Odin to horse-trample those people, I simply nod and smile, because that’s the safe thing to do when you’re dealing with people who send you into red flag mode.

Jesus is the reason for many a people’s season. Groovy.

I’ll have you know that I am friends with plenty of Christians. Why, some of my best friends are Christians *she writes cheekily* and we’re friends because we’re the sort of people who possess the depth required to look at one another lovingly while thinking, “That stuff you believe is so incredibly ridiculous.”

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Believing in stuff you can’t prove is ridiculous.
I too believe in ridiculous stuff.
We all believe in ridiculous stuff.
Except atheists. They’re all, “Everyone is so ridiculous.”

I do not care what you believe or worship or how you celebrate, I only care if you need me to follow the rules of your particular deity, which is why other religions are less worrisome for me than Christianity, because too many Christians like to legislate their beliefs and they all the time be like, “We shall be disciples of Christ and bring more people into the faith,” and I’m like, “Everyone in America has heard of Jesus” and I give them money for mission trips so they can travel to a foreign land and give my ticket to their heaven to someone else (while also providing clean water.)

It’s hard to love people who tell ya you’re gonna burn in Hell for eternity, okay? I do it anyway, because I’m such a loving person, but it’s not easy. Especially at Christmastime. I’m a big fan of Christmas hymns. I know all the words and when I sing them there isn’t anything about being hateful, intolerant, or self-righteous.

At most, the religious outrage of my Jewish friends has been, “Barbecue pork on challah!?”
For I am the kind of person who on Christmas Day will eat barbecue pork on challah while sitting next to my Buddhas under my hamsa while O Holy Night plays. I’m certain that’s good chi, right there.

Nonsense is part of who I am. I realize my nonsense may offend some people, and I’m okay with that, too. It’s not a matter of try to or try not to offend — these things don’t matter to me. What does matter is that the readers of this blog are my kind of people.
My kinda people understand that this is not, and will never be Nice Lady Blog.
My kinda people are those who can read this post and understand it is not an attack on all beliefs outside my own. (That’s prolly everyone.)
My kinda people enjoy self-expression and consumption of personal truth. My kinda people enjoy agreeing, especially commiserating, but they also enjoy exploring differences in perspective.

Par Example:
I like winter, you like summer.
I like old things, you like new things.
I like twinkly lights, you like … you don’t like twinkly lights? OH MY STARS HOW CAN YOU NOT LIKE TWINKLY LIGHTS?! WHAT KINDA FREAK ARE YOU?!? I CANNOT BELIEVE I HAVE BEEN READING YOU ALL THIS TIME! DON’T YOU KNOW TWINKLY LIGHTS ARE EVERYTHING?
Yes, it has been brought to my knowledge that for thousands of years people have celebrated light differently this time of year and I have always pretended to be tolerant of their religion and culture BUT I CARE ABOUT YOU AND YOU’RE ONLY FOOLING YOURSELF BECAUSE I KNOW YOU’RE GOING TO BE FRIED UP LIKE A SAVORY LATKE IF YOU DON’T LIKE TWINKLY LIGHTS!

See? Totally ridiculous.

*My apologies if any of you are believers of twinkly lights as gods. I’m sure not all of you are like that.
What’s the reason for your season, y’all? You like twinkly lights, right?

Posted in Random Musings | 64 Comments

The Anxiety Manifestation

Everything was so much easier to ignore when I was sick. I’d think, lawd, it’s the plague, i’m dyin… but I’d tell myself “It’s just anxiety, Joey.”

GUESS WHAT?

It’s still anxiety.
Anxiety has come in the form of I don’t wanna.

My rapid breathing, I don’t wanna.
My racing heart, I don’t wanna.
My tingling and numbness, I don’t wanna.
My banded head, I don’t wanna.

I have anxiety every time I leave my house because I have anxiety disorder. Rarely, I have a legit reason for anxiety, like icy roads or “Dammit, who has my tights?!” But I have it every single day and I go anyway, because once I get in the car, that anxiety is done, and then I only have driving anxiety. I don’t have anxiety at work, because my brain has other things to do there. Now and again I’ll have dread about a particular phone call I’ve had to make every day for 2 months, but someone finally shot that albatross yesterday, so that’s nice. Anyway, I have anxiety every day and while I grab my stuff and close the crate and put on my shoes, I actually say, “I hate this time of day,” as I shake and sigh, but I go cause I know I’ll be okay when I get there.

I don’t wanna go out there today.

I don’t wanna leave my cat. Look at her. She needs me.

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I don’t wanna go to the post office. If I don’t, my mother will not receive her package by the weekend, and I gotta say, as slow as her mail runs, and as early as her community closes, I don’t have much faith anyway, because I have stood in line at the post on umpteen occasions only to be disappointed. I drove by the post office last night and there wasn’t any room to park, which made sense once I saw the line to the double doors. I couldn’t stop, cause I had to watch my girls orchestra in concert and we all know anxiety hates to be late and it can’t bear mommy guilt.

I don’t wanna get dressed. Hmm, a bra, a blouse, and slacks and shoes OR this 100% cotton shirt that’s three sizes too big??? How’s that for a choice?

I don’t wanna do my hair. The face spiders were fierce last night and I do believe the only thing I can do is burn the nest down to twigs with the straightening iron.

 

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(That photo is special for janet)

I don’t wanna drive. People are on vacation now and they think it’s perfectly acceptable to come out of their houses in the afternoon and bustle about, when everyone knows only truckers, retired people, and mommies are supposed to be out and about in the afternoon. If you can imagine these people like to drive on the same roads I do, eat at the same places I do, and THEY ALL GO TO THE POST OFFICE, apparently.

I could work. I am basically drowning in work. I have one of those jobs where when you leave, your work waits for you… nay, the files actually reproduce when they’re unattended. Thanksgiving weekend, a day off, I can hear them giggling and making smooching sounds when I leave. So work would be fiiine (with crazy hair and pajamas and via the teleportation device) if the work would simply stop and let me catch up a bit, hm?

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I don’t wanna buy things to cook on the weekend. Everyone should just eat cookies and Hey! frozen goat cheese pizzas!…well, okay, I could probably heat up rolls, or Sassy could, but I’m the mama and that makes me the food dispenser. Honestly, most nights, I don’t mind dispensing the food, but I hate shopping for it. All morning I have willed a small pig to come ring the doorbell and die on the porch, but all I got was the UPS man and he looked plenty healthy.

But I don’t wanna stay home, see, cause at home there’s stuff to do and I don’t wanna. Throw pillows thrown all over the living room (it’s right in their name) linens in the dryer, spots on the sink, leaves by the back door, pine needles by the front door. I don’t wanna.

I don’t wanna wrap any more presents.

I wanna escape adulthood and go back to some December Tuesday in the 80s where we sucked on candy canes at story time until our teeth were red, when we made glitter cards for our parents and played multiplication bingo and foursquare.

Drinking also sounds good.

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Do people drink mojitos in the winter? Is that gauche? Is it gauche like regifting something expensive, or gauche like leaving the Christmas lights up til May?

Do you wanna or don’t wanna? 
Either way, I gotta and I’m leavin early.

 

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Share Your World #51

What is your favorite holiday?
Fourth of July

What types of food is associated with your holiday?
Cook-out food: anything from the grill, corn on the cob, baked beans, cold salads, watermelon, light fruit desserts, pies

Do you travel for your holiday?
Yes, we make the journey downtown — takes about 15-20 minutes

Is it a religious or spiritual holiday?
No.

Is there a gift exchange?
No.

How long does the celebration last?
A weekend usually, or whenever our neighbors run out of fireworks

Bonus Question: What are you grateful for from last week, and what are you looking forward to in the week coming up?
I am grateful for family, pets, friends, our home, my job. I am fortunate. I have plenty to be thankful for on any given day. I am feeling much better, rarely coughing, and my voice is almost normal again. I am grateful for Mucinex. I am so glad I live where there’s snow on the ground and heat in the house. You know what else I’m grateful for? Hot baths, hot coffees, hot man in my bed.

 

This week coming up has the winter solstice, an orchestra concert, and a three-day weekend chockablock full of JOY. Five of us will happily hole-up to lavish one another with love and laughter, but more importantly, we’ll enjoy the unadulterated avoidance of the outside world.

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 — Meddling Map App

I put the Google Maps app on my phone. I think. I think that’s what it is. I dunno, The Mister told me to do it. Let’s blame The Mister, that sounds good.

So this creepy thing on my phone, it knows stuff.
I don’t mean it knows what I want it to know, like THE WAY TO GRANDMA’S HOUSE! ffs.
I mean it knows where I am and it tries to boss me around! All the time!

When I get in my car to leave work, it’s all:

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And I’m like, “Nice try, but I need to go down Keystone to Target to buy a gift for Katie because my daughters have befriended every Sagittarius girlchild in the city and they’re always having parties.”

The map app doesn’t know that. It doesn’t know its opinion is moot.

It doesn’t know I want to go to the vet’s office, or when I want to stop for homophobic chicken nuggets or Pandaspress, or if I’ve gotta go to the post office on the way home. It doesn’t care that I like to drive through the hills with the trees on the way to the library, or that I prefer the Starbucks on 56th, or that taking 30th is the only way to avoid school zones.

Let’s be clear, it wants me to take I-465 EVERYWHERE ALL THE TIME, and I have begun to suspect that it’s less of a navigation tool and more of a marketing tool for 465.

SoCS ‘moot’ is brought to you by LindaGHill

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Is Friday Still Happy, Even When It’s Not So Funny?

I played the fool this week. I didn’t know I was cast in the role because I did not audition.

The Universe took a swig of bourbon and smiled impishly before leaning forward to declare, “I have written a stunning surreal play in which Joey is the unwitting star.”
Everyone applauded because everyone likes to be entertained.
The Universe pulled a manuscript from a tattered canvas bag and passed it around the room.
The fates and the fairies and the muses and all my guardian angels read the overview with captivated delight and they were like, “Ooh! How exciting! That Joey, she’s perfect for the role! She’s got such a sweet face, you never expect such moxie!”
And The Universe was all, “I know, right? But guess what?”
“What?”
“I’ve given her laryngitis.”
“OH EM GEE, you’re brilliant!”

So The Universe made some popcorn and everyone settled in to see how it would go.

 

The curtain opens to a snow-covered section of the city.

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The audience is enraptured as Joey faces the conflicts delivering the dreaded existential angst that all humans must suffer. The audience watches as she gets ignored, overlooked, criticized, cut-off in conversation, mansplained to. She repeats herself. She repeats herself. People misunderstand her. She misunderstands others. The shake machine is out of order. An SUV almost crashes into her car. The cough syrup has Red 40 in it. The button on her sleeve pops off. There are pickles on her fish sandwich. A mysterious stain appears on her gray tunic. She waits in lines. Her pear is bruised, the raspberries grow mold too soon, and the sausage has expired. Every day an alarm wakes her. She is flipped off by a small stranger child and resists returning the favor. She uses too many spoons to shovel the drive and clean off her car. She stubs her cold toe and cracks her toenail. She has to put gas in her car even though she’s forgotten her gloves. There are disagreements. Good news and bad news are both reported. She is placed in socially awkward situations and has strained conversations in public. Plans are broken. She is wrong and must apologize. She holds doors for people who do not say thank you. She slips and falls on ice. She is all dolled-up for nothing. The furnace goes out. People are late. People are early. People disappoint her. True tragedies range from people calling her before noon to people on the internet typing rude things.

Slowly, Joey regains her voice and finds she has more to say than usual.

Sure, Joey’s had a rough week, but the play could have just as easily been about all the things that went right and all the unexpected pleasures. The scenes that were scripted with happiness and good fortune far exceeded the negative ones, but those aren’t the ones highlighted — those aren’t the ones the audience is shown.
What if you’re the audience of your own play? Which perspective are you showin?

This play is an amalgamation of post-modern themes wherein our heroine panics and complains at the chasms between herself and others, yet she simultaneously longs for or alternates between wanting to be more connected or wanting to be completely alienated. Isn’t that wholly, incredibly common among humans?

To sum up, I am in a moody mood.

I love it when we’re both laughing at me, but sometimes I’m an extremist, srsly.

Happy Friday Everyone!

Posted in Uncategorized | 48 Comments

#ThursdayDoors — Mid-cember Mix

It’s pretty cold here right now, not just in Indy, but in my living room. Yes, the HVAC guy is comin back out today.
Anyway, I’m less on foot these days, so let’s start with a few drive-by doors.

I can’t always get out, but sometimes I can stop.

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I love this house. It’s my kinda house, and I think all the black and white accents really show off the details. I am a sucker for fat trim and arched doors.

And there’s this little shed that caught my eye. It must catch a lot of eyes, because it’s posted a sign about Private Drive. I respected its privacy and we shall gaze upon it from afar.

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Cute shed…Which reminded me I never uploaded this other shed from the summer.

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To be honest, I like this shed, but it’s the colors and those dying coneflowers in the foreground that I love. They remind me of another embroidered picture a la Papa. And now you probably wanna see that, so I’ll go snap a pic.

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#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.

Posted in Uncategorized | Tagged | 52 Comments

One-Liner Wednesday — Hey! Jingle Bells! Jingle Bells!

When Moo was wee, she sang “Oh what fun it is to disobey in a one-horse open slay-ay!” which I think we can all agree is such a Moo-like thing to sing.

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“what?”

One-Liner Wednesday is brought to you by LindaGHill

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A Peek

Yesterday Facebook showed me my On This Day, and I recovered some old gratitude.
From December 12, 2010 —
Let me show you a piece of my heart. Let me show you what my gratitude looks like. Beware the feels.

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We call that Homecoming.

A friend of ours took these pictures. He offered. Said he wouldn’t bother us, he just wanted to capture it. What a kindness.

We got up before 5 that morning. I made coffee and cocoa for five travel mugs to go. I drove us to the field. Emotionally, Cottrell Field was a complicated place. It was a large field with bleachers on one side and lined with rows of trees elsewhere. In the spring, the beauty of it was bittersweet, because the more redbud blooms, the more memorials. And I could not, for lack of counting skills and fear of a broken heart, tell you how many more trees were planted while we were there from 2006-2013.

Here’s a photo of a bit of Warrior’s Walk at Cottrell Field from Marne Community

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They ended up burning the redbuds down due to ecological issues, and replaced them with crepe myrtles. They did this December 12, 2014.

To await your loved one’s return in a place where you are surrounded by the memory of those who did not return is significantly poignant.

Homecoming means sitting on bleachers for a long, long time. The Army takes the field, important people speak, the band plays. You wait. Finally, they release them and you wait more. You wait to be found and reclaimed.

The year 2010 was the longest, hardest year of my life. It wasn’t the last time he left home, or the longest deployment, it just felt like…well that one felt like roulette: How many times can I land on red?

Much as I hated seven hot years in Georgia, I wouldn’t undo it. It’s a significant chapter of my life, and of our marriage. I learned a lot about myself, and well, everyone else. I met some fantastic women. I really did enjoy the health insurance. Because of those seven years, I appreciate a thousand little usta-be nothings that are now, really, really something.

I don’t write about it much because the intensity is difficult to describe. I’m hella grateful it’s over.

The Mister still wears combat boots sometimes, but he comes home every night.

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How’s that for gratitude on a Tuesday?

 

 

Posted in Personally | Tagged , , | 60 Comments

Share Your World #50

What is your favorite smell? What memory does it remind you of?
That’s too hard and also I’m too weird. Smell is highly evocative for me. I’m one of those people who smells everything. My most recent sniff was the smell of The Mister’s pillow, which of course, reminds me of The Mister.

What type of pet do you have or want to have?
I have three cats and a dog, plus, all the squirrels here love me, which should be enough, but I still want a goldfish…

Are you usually late, early, or right on time?
I am usually early. I hate to be late.

For recharging, would you rather meditate, swim, walk, listen to music, write, read, yoga, qigong other?
Reading and writing are both good for recharge, but so is staring at my trees.

 

Bonus Question: What are you grateful for from last week, and what are you looking forward to in the week coming up?
Oh gah. Y’all, this week was …

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I am grateful that I had a boring weekend.
Cause I simply cannot get well. *sobs*
I had the whole boring weekend to sit my ass on the sofa and sleep my face in the bed. I downed shots of Mucinex and coughed my voice away and blew my sinuses out. As if the neverfuckingendingflu isn’t enough, my uterus is trying to kill me AGAIN. My husband has to study for finals and can’t pay me the attention I so desperately need. Mostly I read, played on my phone, and watched shows. Grateful for Twitter. Sadly, I am me, and am only able to slack off a certain amount, so I also cooked, washed dishes, wrote the cards, and wrapped the presents. But I did it all in pajamas with wild hair and I think that helped.

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I’m kinda better. I keep thinkin I’m kinda better, so that’s good, right? It could be worse, so I’m grateful it’s not. I’m going to work, but I won’t be able to use the phone or yell at the printer, so I don’t know…I’m grateful for my arms and legs. Okay, no, probably just my legs, cause my hands are crap. Okay no, I’m grateful for my hands too. They hurt, but they still do stuff.
I’m grateful for my dog. Heart heart dog heart.

This week, Moo has a choral concert and otherwise I’m lookin forward to gettin well. *pumps fist*

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

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Brain Frog Food

Before anyone thinks I’m any meaner than I actually am, I asked Mentor before posting this and she’s FINE with it, because we do enjoy a good laugh, maybe even more at our own expense. No need to have kittens about me makin fun of Mentor. *wink*

(I gave her the flu last month and now when we do laugh and laugh, we also cough and cough and cough.)

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Moo calls it Brain Frogs.
Mentor has memory loss due to a head trauma. In dealing with Mentor’s Brain Frogs, one must sometimes be patient as she sorts through her brain to access the information. It’s a bit like a slow browser now and again, but most of the time, she’s so quick no one would ever notice.

 

One day, while explaining something to me, Mentor reached into the fridge and pulled out my Babybel cheese.
She began to open it and I interrupted her, “Please, don’t eat my cheese.”
She said, “Oh, is this yours? I’m sorry. I thought it was mine. I eat these all the time.”
We had a good laugh.

 

 

More time passed and she wasn’t sure if she’d put yogurt in the fridge.
She pulled the plastic container out and examined it, tilting it this way and that. “This does look like something I would eat. I don’t remember making it.”
She continued to hold the container, turning it to view it in different angles, “I do like blueberries and pineapple.” She held the container over her head. “I do have all these things…Still, I’m not sure it’s mine.”
“Do you have containers like that? Is that your container?”
“I don’t know.”
We had a good laugh.

 

 

Days passed and our boss announced he’d bought spoons and forks in bulk. He said he’d noticed we tend to eat at work and he thought he’d “be good” and bring his healthy food to eat at work, too. Sadly, when he brought his yogurt, there’d been no spoons. That was his mystery yogurt in the fridge, and it turned before he’d had a spoon to enjoy it.
We now have five hundred plastic spoons and five hundred plastic forks, because such events leave a lasting impression on one’s psyche.

The horror of expecting delicious food when there is no delicious food, well, that’s a trauma.

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More time passed and a day came that I was too busy to eat my yogurt, so before I left, I put it in the fridge for another day.

Then I recalled Mentor examining my boss’s yogurt container and how she’d been close to eating my cheese and I decided to leave a note!

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I sent it to her in a text as well, you know, for her Brain Frogs.
She replied, “Oh yum, that’s my favorite!”

And then we LOLed and LOLed.

Happy Friday Everyone!

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#ThursdayDoors — The Flying Cupcake

This is a squee post.
It’s a girly, so kawaii, super cute, omagoodness totes dorbs kinda post.

While Moo had high hopes for birthday cupcakes, I had reservations.
The Flying Cupcake is enchanting.

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sweet

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sweet

The cupcake representative was friendly and helpful, and the bakery cases were filled with pretty choices.

 

Here are some of Moo’s choices:

 

Moo went for the jumbo cupcakes based on our cupcake rep’s suggestion to cut some of the cupcakes in halves or quarters for people who might like to try them all. Some people did want to try them all, and those people began to feel sugar sick, but Bubba they pushed through.
How were the cupcakes? Divine.
I highly recommend this place.

The whole experience ended up being a treasured time for Moo and me.

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#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 — Who’s to Say?

The Mister said, “We must the best parents ever. Our children never want to leave us…Or, they’re afraid if they leave us alone, we’ll make more of them.”

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One-Liner Wednesday is brought to you by LindaGHill

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Chihuly & Stuff at The Children’s Museum

Every time someone posts about Chihuly installations, I say I will have to dig up pictures of mine and then I forget about it. Well, not today!

The first time I saw Chihuly’s work was in some coastal walk-in-off-the-street art gallery in the early 90’s.
I later bought a vase one would say was heavily-influenced by my memory of those Chihulys. Mine was a miniature knock-off lookin thang, from Target or Waccamaw or somethin. I used it to hold my cooking utensils in my first apartment. I do not know what happened to it. The vase I bought was not the point. The point was, before I knew who Chihuly was, he left a big impression on me. All those vivid colors.

So, like twenty years later, I see all this Chihuly stuff at The Children’s Museum and my MIL and I were all, “Oh wow!” and “Ooh!” snapping pictures and no one else cared…


and then we went to this room where the children could play with the plastic lookalikes, make their own sculptures, and well, here:


Isn’t that nifty?

Here’s a photo from the museum’s site.

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It would be another three years before I watched a documentary and made the connection.

I have pictures of the fellas all standin around bored to tears, but I thought I’d share some more fun ones.
This is all 2009, when I was using an actual camera, not a phone. The wee ones were four and six because it was between their birthdays, and the big uns were teens. We’d come home for Thanksgiving and we’d gone to The Children’s Museum of Indianapolis, because it is one of the best places on earth and because it is the largest children’s museum in the world.

Here’s Moo in The Mister’s arms, scared of the sounds of the dinosaur display.

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aw

 

 

Here’s a photo of Sassy, who just last month said to me, “Mama, you know how they have those diggers at the children’s museum? Those are so much fun. They should have those for big kids.”
“It’s called heavy construction equipment. You get the right license and you can play digger all day and night.”

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hates nature, loves diggers

 
Also, it’s important to note that certain activities at the museum are off limits to kids over the age of _, depending.
Here’s Moo, happily fishing.

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happy fishin moo

I won’t show you the photo of Sassy pouting that she was two months too old to fish.

 

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sassy & her boyfriend yoda, her words, not mine

Now it’s Kylo Ren. Lawd.

This is one of my faves, because in my head I have many photos of them doing the same stuff when they were small.

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sissy and bubba and simon building a dam

 

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smug, refuses to hula on camera

These photos don’t even begin to show you the enormity or the amazement that is The Children’s Museum of Indianapolis.
I think we’re due for another trip don’t you?

Oh the photos I will take and subject you to…It’s all digital now, you know.

 

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Share Your World #49

What do you value most in a friendship?
I should think it’s some great value like respect or loyalty, but it’s probably interesting conversation.

Do you prefer eating the frosting of the cake or the cupcake first?  Do you prefer a specific flavor?
I’m not big on frosting, in fact, I’m a scraper-offer, but I do like some essence of sweet with the cake. I generally bite right in, but sometimes a fork is needed. I like white cake best, like wedding cake white, but I like all cake, and I do not like sprinkles.

Have you ever been in a submarine?  If you haven’t, would you want to?
Not a real one, no, just Disney’s and The Children’s Museum’s, and no, no thank you.

If 100 people your age were chosen at random, how many do you think you’d find leading a more satisfying life than yours?
I don’t know. I’m awfully satisfied. This is bizarre math. People are satisfied by different variables, yeah? I certainly don’t want someone else’s version of a satisfying life. My guess is 25 of them are satisfied, 25 of them should be satisfied but are striving for some idealized sense of perfection, another 25 are unhappy and don’t suspect it’s because they whine and bitch all the time, and 25 of them laugh and walk away.

Bonus Question: What are you grateful for from last week, and what are you looking forward to in the week coming up?
Last week went by at a reasonable pace instead of dragging on forever, and that was a pleasant change. I’m glad the furnace worked all weekend. Sweater weather, hot coffee, hot baths, The Mister’s hands. Still didn’t die drivin home in the rain in the dark. A crowd at the dinner table twice in two weeks.
I cooked some good food this weekend…


and even The Mister made orange rolls Sunday mornin, but I’m on a Rice Krispies kick again, mmm, I am grateful for my Krispies!
This week coming up, I hope it goes by at a reasonable pace and that the weekend brings us time to relax. I would like a nice, boring weekend. Ooh, boring weekend, C’mere!

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 — She Said Sh

Should I tell you the stupid Diva Furnace stopped working while we slept Thursday night and The Mister got it runnin again around seven last night?

Should I tell you I designed and ordered our office’s holiday cards yesterday?

Should I write about how I’m shopping today? Moo’s havin a birthday shindig tomorrow. She wants pork tenderloin with carrots and potatoes and cheesy quinoa. I should totally tell you that Moo doesn’t eat much meat, but she’ll eat a pound of pork tenderloin like it’s her job.

She’s requested some fancy gourmet cupcakes.
I should tell you the sale of fancy gourmet cupcakes is quite a racket in Indianapolis. I did my research and we are going to The Flying Cupcake on Illinois today because, and I say this with great sincerity, they have the most varieties (about 50 kinds of cupcakes) and they’re the most gourmet and the most fancy, and yet, they have the lowest prices. THAT is good business and they deserve a shout out.
Some of these cupcake places offer standard cupcakes with halfa foot of pretty icing, call them gourmet, and sell them for $4 a pop. Whatta scam. Shame on them.

Should I tell you I need to get out to rake the leaves outta the drive and into the garden beds, to pull up the remaining stems, to put away the lawn chairs?

Should I tell you daylight’s burnin? Daylight’s always burnin now. Darkness comes early and stuff.

Can you tell I shoulda gotten up earlier?
I should tell you I got out of bed before noon today and consider it a victory.

Should I tell you I wanna stay home and do this instead? I bet you suspected.
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Oh well, at least it’s sweater weather. I shall wear a hat and a smile.

Saturday Stream of Consciousness, SoCS ‘sh’ is brought to you by LindaGHill

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Choose Your Lies Carefully

Over at Dramatic Momolgue (Best titles ever, by the by) you should see the incredible Tooth Fairy-Saving design she’s come up with.
I was totally jealous and immediately thought of climbin up the freakin bunk bed and diggin around under Bubba’s pillow for the itty bitty, teeny tiny teeth. Ugh.

Let me be clear: I never wanted to be The Tooth Fairy.

Drew told me (what she thought was) a charming story about how The Tooth Fairy collects the teeth to build her castle.
Disgusting and disturbing, am I right?

But see, we had another parent to contend with, and if one parent sets up the idea of the Tooth Fairy, then the child is all excited about the Tooth Fairy and you’re screwed.

So we had to Tooth Fairy for many years. *sigh*

I never liked it.
I’m a total killjoy about the imaginary characters of childhood. No creepy elves at my house, no Santa, no Easter Bunny, and no Tooth Fairy.
Yeah, yeah, yeah, magic of childhood, blah blah blah, fuck off with that noise.

I don’t think parents should lie to their children. Lies do not promote trust. I’m sure if you lie to your kids it works just fine, but I ain’t lyin to mine. much
I say terrible things to my children. Just terrible things that don’t correspond to society’s norms or expectations:
“Your goldfish died. We’re all gonna die.”

 

It’s not that hard, you can explain away the things other kids say. After all, these are people who tell your child how babies are made, or that giving the finger means I Hate You, and some of them have different gods and holidays, so you’ve already established the upper hand here.

At some point, Sissy came home and told me that her friend had a special Tooth Fairy who left presents, and she wanted that Tooth Fairy instead.
Fine. Whatever.
Presents. Sure.
We figured our other offspring were going to have teeth, but we thought we could avoid the whole Tooth Fairy Debacle. We would not espouse this ridiculous tradition.

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Of course, we didn’t think our child would be addicted to her pacifier, either. Sassy was a giantesse at three, so she looked six, walkin around with her precious pacifiers. One in the mouth, one in each hand. She’d take it out to eat and drink and to speak, but she had to have at least one pacifier at all times.
The dentist was all, “Now. Get rid of the pacifier now. It’s starting to shape her palate.”
I was a teacher, I took lotsa child development and EdPsych. It was beyond oral fixation, we had potty-trained and we had self-weaned. Can you believe my child dared to be not-textbook?!?
We grew weary of paying the older children to hunt for ming-mings.
And then, on the interwebz, I read a story about the Magical Ming-Ming Fairy, who would collect all the ming-mings from the windowsill and disperse them to all the new babies who needed them, and I was all, “YES, I WILL LIE TO MY CHILD.”

binkyfairy2So we paid extra to the older children that night. The Great Pacifier Round-Up.
We told Sassy this lie and for good measure, threw in how her cousin would be born and would need a ming-ming. She put all the ming-mings on the windowsill.
It worked.

 

 

When I was ever-so-pregnant with Moo, probably this week 13 years ago, I scraped off my car, and loaded up the baby to take Bubba and Sissy to school. My tummy barely fit behind the wheel. Ugh.
It was then eight-year-old Sissy informed me she lost a tooth.
I didn’t even skip a beat, “Well that’s just too damn bad. The Tooth Fairy is way too pregnant to go shoppin today.” Bubba laughed and laughed. I handed Sissy money. Like, all the paper bills in my purse. Like, a five and some ones. She was not unhappy.

 

Years later, when Sassy came home talkin about her loose tooth and The Tooth Fairy, I told her the charming story Drew told me, only I made it sound as sinister and nasty as could be.

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I told her like Santa Claus and Easter Bunny, The Tooth Fairy doesn’t visit our house. I told her when she lost a tooth, she could bring it to me and I’d give her money. For some reason, she seemed relieved.

Happy Friday! Choose your lies carefully!

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#ThursdayDoors — Return to Millersville Masonic

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In May, I swung by the Millersville Masonic Temple to snap what I thought would be great doors.
I found these unfinished doors.

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Comments followed the idea that they were temporary. I said I’d share any changes.

It turns out, they were KINDA temporary.
They are now painted.

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I think we can all agree this is better.
I think a lot of us are still disappointed.

#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 — Late Night Thoughts with Joey

“I cannot possibly be the first wife to wonder why I’m shoving foam into my ears instead of up his nose.”

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One-Liner Wednesday is brought to you by LindaGHill

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Share Your World #48

Do you prefer eating foods with nuts or no nuts?
I’m not nut-adverse, I like nuts for the sake of nuts, but I am kinda picky about nuts in other things.

If someone made a movie of your life would it be a drama, a comedy, a romantic-comedy, action film, or science fiction?
It would be a drama with exactly the right dose of comic relief to keep you from a complete downward spiral. Critics would hate it. It’d be too good for Lifetime, but nowhere near good enough for an Oscar. People would quote lines from it all the time, but not remember where they heard them.

Who talks real sense to you?
The last time I remember having to be talked sense to was five or six years ago, and it was my friend Tracey who did it. I am not regularly accused of makin sense, and yet, I talk sense to people fairly often. I suspect sense is overrated.

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Do you have a favorite board game?
No, I don’t think I do. I love board games. Scrabble would be my fave, but I prefer Scrabble online, cause I don’t have to do any math.

Bonus question:  What are you grateful for from last week, and what are you looking forward to in the week coming up?
This last one was a BIG week for gratitude!
Thanksgiving was fab. In addition to our own brood, we hosted Master Boombastic and one of The Mister’s former soldiers and her daughter.

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Luffly weekend, the tree’s up and all aglow, pie is now breakfast food, the furnace runs and runs — I keep not dyin while drivin in the rain in the dark. I sure do love my husband.
This week, I am looking forward to the return of normalcy, whatever that is. You know, the more-often-that-notness of typical days? Regular schedules and dinners not comprised of a meat with 16 sides?

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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My Kids Are Back

I thought I’d let you know that there was a better disposition hiding in my shampoo bottle and that I did end up having a great day and a fantastic night.

The Mister decided to drive us to the shopping, and while we were in the hell that is a superstore on the Saturday after Thanksgiving, he washed my car. We bought the twins a sketch pad and twisted pencils, a plush dog (that I wanted for myself) and some Tootsie Rolls (that I also wanted for myself.) Yes, obviously that child and I are kindred spirits.
Said child has drawn this for me, for my birthday.

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Also, I bought cordial cherries, and a pretty new ornament for myself, because I love me.

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ooh, parkly!

I hadn’t thought things through well enough, that’s fersure. When your children go to a sleepover, you are childless all night, DUH.

The Mister offered to take me for a mani/pedi, which normally I would be all about, but my cuticles are all ashamed with the scabs of anxiety disorder. Don’t tell my mother.
I coulda gone for the pedi, but alas, I had skinny jeans on.

I’ve been under the weather for about three weeks now. That stupid flu with its lingering cough. While I’m getting better, still not well, just so tired all the time. Being tired all the time and then doing stuff that would normally make me tired is super duper tiring and that makes me freak out about my health and that puts me in a panic loop, and I don’t need more stuff in my loop, because this cough is brutal enough to cause momentary vision disturbances, and I think we can all agree, coughing like that when you’re tryin to drive is panic-worthy even if you’re not a member of The Official League of Neurotics.
I am the forty-three-year-old poster girl.

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raw and unfiltered

I have questioned whether I should have gone to the doctor, because my mother told me I should go to the doctor, but then mothers of sick children always think their children should go to the doctor, but that woman is always right, okay like 99.999%, and you should not tell my mother any of this.

 
The Mister took me to that yummy Turkish place I love and we enjoyed a delicious meal with a deeply satisfying conversation. I really needed that conversation with my person. I needed it like…

You know what’s fantastic about the Turkish place? Okay, freakin everything. But there are not a lot of places where I can pig out on vegetarian noms while The Mister shoves lamb in his mouth.

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He took the long way home because he loves me.

Then The Mister took me to pick out my tree, which is how I spent much of the evening, decorating my house and my tree in peace. Well, with Yo-Yo Ma, because I just learned from Laura that there’s music in my Amazon Prime tv thingy.

I know, you’re like “Lame,” cause you think this is a dull way to spend a Saturday night birthday without children, cause you’d rather party with your friends or whatever, but trust me, it was perfect.

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My birthday is always wrapped up in the holiday, so it’s never a big deal. Now and again, I’ll see what friends are doing for other friends’ birthdays and I’ll think, why doesn’t anyone… and then I remember, oh yeah, cause you’d hate that.
I have no #squadgoals. I have no squad.
I like one-on-one. Y’all wanna come over individually and play me some Scrabble or read some poetry or lie in a dark room and listen to music, that’s groovy. Group-wise, I miss Red Rover. Adulthood could really benefit from frequent games of Red Rover.

While I enjoyed my decorating, The Mister talked trash about college football with our friend Dee. Apparently Auburn played Alabama and The Mister said that’s The Inbred Bowl and then, “No self-respecting channel would show this game this far above the Mason-Dixon Line. Low Tide!” I’m not sayin he felt guilty after, but we did drive into Roundabout Land to take Dee some plumber’s tape at like 9pm.
Along the way, we yelled at GPS Voice and got Starbucks, so even though it doesn’t read like fun, it was.

I did the social media thing while The Mister watched Batman vs. Superman — I dunno, all I saw was Amy Adams in the tub, Lex Luthor grew his hair out, and then like an hour later there was a giant monster, so I can’t say if it was any good. Those cherry cordials were spectacular, though.

And then, we did the stuff you’d expect us to do, which always begs the question WHY DO WE EVEN DO OTHER THINGS?

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SoCS — Pretty, Was It?

(Could also be titled, Why I Never Blog First Thing in the Morning or I Done Told You I am Not a Morning Person.)

Pretty sure everyone in this house should be up making me coffee and baking me cake right now.

The wee ones have a party at two, and we have to shop for the gifts before, which means I had to set a stupid alarm on my Saturday birthday, which everyone thought was soooo funny last night.
“Gawd Joey, it’s at two. How much sleep do you need?”

 

I NEED ALL THE SLEEP, THANKS.

Well I’ll have you know when my alarm went off at 11 whatever, NONE OF THEM WERE UP. Pfffft. I ranted in the hall.

 

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It’s really too bad the prompt is pretty. Pretty is as pretty does and well —

I’d do much better with petty. Petty pity party poo.

Imma sit here mad at the world for about 15 more minutes. Sit here and mope into the coffee I made my damn self. Then I’ll go get pretty. Maybe a more pleasant disposition is hiding in my shampoo bottle.

SoCS ‘pretty’ is brought to you by LindaGHill

 

 

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Vodka Mixed with LOLZ

One of the perks of having children is that everything old is new again. Like when it’s 2012 and they tell you they want that new BonJovi song “Wanted Dead or Alive.”

At some point this summer, the boy one came over, announcing he was going to make a great new cocktail he’d just heard about, which he said sounded delicious. I was excited and so I asked, “Mmm, what is it?”
“White Russian.”
“Oh. Yes. Very tasty.”

I did not say, Boy I was drinkin White Russians before you were born…I still remember the time Big Michael got up and told me, “If the waitress comes back while I’m gone, tell her I’ll lick her muffin.” Only, he actually said, “I’d like a White Russian,” and bars can be very loud, so it’s a good thing I asked him to repeat that.

At some point, Bubba came in prattling about math, ratios of vodka to Kahlua, and it was math, so I didn’t know what the fuck he was talking about, but he can out-math me with a quarter of his brain, so it didn’t matter, right?

Bubba is an inexperienced drinker, because young.

Bubba gets chatty when he’s been drinkin. This is nice for socially awkward introverts. The alcohol restricts their editorial glitches and they get numb to things they’d usually freak out about.
Gotta be careful though. That same alcohol that allows for lil walls of safe space is the same alcohol that will push emotions through that wall like The Kool-Aid Man, which is exactly what happened.

One minute he was laughin about somethin and the next he was in a rage of trembling tears.

We are unaccustomed to this. Crying Bubba has seldom been seen in the last decade or so. Raging Bubba is rarely spotted. Drunk raging Bubba was unknown to us at all. It was a sorta tender moment, the way it is when your drunk girlfriend starts crying because, “The bartender’s never even had a dog, Joey! Is that not the saddest thing you’ve ever heard in your whole entire life?!” 

Err.

While Bubba went to the bathroom I passed through the kitchen, which is when I realized how much vodka he had consumed in a relatively short time, and then I really wished I had paid attention to the math he’d been talkin before.

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In vino veritas, or in this case, vodka is a truth bomb.

Bubba kept not coming out of the bathroom, so before bed, we went in there to check on him. Fetal position on the tile, moaning how one does. *sigh* I put a towel under his head and a cup of water within reach.

Here’s the thing about parenting boy ones: You can’t fuss over them too much when they get big. You have to let them be men. I’ve noticed that this involves a lot of balancing between me pretending to be dumb and me being emotionally available.
I couldn’t sleep.
I could only think about Bubba all sad in the bathroom.
I asked The Mister, “He’s alright, right? He’ll be okay, yeah?”
He laughed, “He’ll be fine. You want me to go check on him?”
“OH YES PLEASE! THANK YOU!”
My God, I thought he’d never ask!

The following afternoon, Bubba sat up, moaned, and asked me ever so quietly, “Do you have anything I can take for this?”

LOL LOL OH LOL LOLZ

“Water.”

A while later, “My body is rejecting the water.”
“Try again.”

It turns out, he’d never had vodka before.

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Eventually, he told me he thought maybe a nice, relaxing bath would help. I agreed.

And then…
Well, what do you listen to when you take a nice, relaxing bath? Maybe something classical, some blues, a little Enya?
Uh huh.

This is what Bubba listened to during his relaxing bath:

That bout drove me to drink.

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Happy Friday Everyone! Do your drink maths properly!

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#ThursdayDoors — Oddities

Happy Thanksgiving to all my American readers! I considered showing you my oven and pantry doors today, I really did.

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post boxes at iupui

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frame at turkish restaurant

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emergency exit

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yes, another from ft pickens

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side of post office 

#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 — Next Time, Me First

“I’ll tell you what, I’ll make a deal with you. I’ll feed you first, and then you make me some poached eggs and toast.”
We shook on it, but the dog never did make me breakfast.

sadie.shake

One-Liner Wednesday is brought to you by LindaGHill

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Yesterday was My Tuesday

One day, probably a Tuesday, I woke up in a foul mood. I have no idea why. I contemplated my mood briefly and found no reason for it.

Of course, once you’re already in a bad mood, it super easy to get pissy about most anything.

“Sadie! OFF!” Moo shouted so she could take her place. Moo always wants to talk in the mornings, but on that day, she came to snuggle, quietly, sweetly. This made both of us even more reluctant to leave the bed.

I made coffee and I paused to consider my gratitude for coffee.

tired

I turned to my laundry.
I had grocery bags and a rug in the wash.
When I opened the dryer, the darks were still there.
“Fuck.this.shit,” I said to no one, because my bed wasn’t made and I didn’t want to make the bed and I didn’t want to fold and hang the darks. I slammed the laundry door.

I began my stretching. Then I sorta sprawled on the floor, staring at one of our five million nipple-shaped lights. I tried to blame my mood on my hatred of the nipple light, and then on the lady who had them installed, but it didn’t work. I flopped over and noticed two dust bunnies under the sofa table and I inchwormed my way over to those and clutched them in my angry lil hand, making a mental note not to bonk my head on the chair on the way back up, but of course, I bonked my head on the chair on my way back up.

I decided that was the most exercise I was gonna do and thought about a shower. I hate washing my hair. It takes about 30 hours for my hair to calm down, so I really try to maximize the benefits of already calm hair before starting all over again.

hairdid

With smooth and straightened hair and still a bad disposition, I attempted to word. Some post that I will one day edit and publish. That’s the trick to keeping your public neuroses to a minimum you know. Write about it while you feel it, and then edit and publish it another day.

I made the bed, tackled that laundry, and went to work.
Sometimes work is exactly the sorta thing one needs. At work, I can’t sit around and contemplate the stuff that sticks in my craw, because you know, work.

Which is why, I must say, I am not a good mother at work. I mean, yes, while I carefully nibble grapes alone in my office, I think about how I hope they’re not eating grapes, because they’re probably leaning over the counter, tossing grapes into their mouths while they laugh, and they’ll probably choke and die, but I also don’t want to respond to texts about how there are only three cookies left and they don’t know what to do, when really, I am fully aware they have the math aptitude to solve that problem.

So yesterday, I bout lost my mind, because the boy one did not listen to us last week and then wanted me to provide a rescue route today, and as I responded to his texts, I thought i will calm down, i will soon be mad only at the situation and not at the person, but that didn’t actually happen. Like when you stub your toe and you wait for the pain to subside, but instead it increases and begins to bleed? As time passed, I grew downright hostile with the amount of reasons the whole thing pissed me off.

Getting disconnected from an important call at work prolly did not help.
Drivin in the dark definitely did not help.
Shoppin for Thursday’s dinner at two different stores prolly did not help.
Coming home to discover I’m out of kosher salt definitely did not help.
Tryin to yank the frozen neck out of my supposedly fresh turkey prolly did not help.

To put the level of my anger into perspective, you should know that The Mister was calm and dedicated to handling the matter while I whisper-screamed at my dog about the insanity of it all. I’ll probably publish that in five years, when we can all laugh about it. I think it will be titled, “Grow the fuck up!” which is funny, because I am still growing the fuck up.
“How did you do that without screaming, WE TOLD YOU SO?”
“Next time.”
Ugh. Next time.

qtation898

Even though I had trouble getting out of bed before noon, I feel like this second Tuesday will be a better one than most. After all, my hair is already calm, the cookie jar is full, and well, I married the right man.

 

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