Friday Fun 7/27/18

I feel random.

I have to cook half the night and get up early to finish cookin.

And that’s after workee workee and takin the girls back-to-school clothes shopping and grocery shopping. I amaze myself, I really do.

You guys, I finished that project at work and Mentor brought me eight other sections and said, “Here, work on This.” I’ve never done This before. This is a lot of work. And can I just say, This used to come in boxes and now This is all in tidy lil lectronic files? Isn’t that nice? I tell ya, a girl can keep her manicure in the digital age.


We had to do parent school things three days this week. We both have two to do next week. What the fuck is that about? In the midst of that, there was an evening parent meeting.


The Mister’s response to the mandatory parent meeting was, “Mandatory. Fuck that. Ain’t fuckin me, feedin me, or payin my bills, so you don’t mandate shit.”
I didn’t share his sentiments exactly, but we do pay lots of money, we do drive to the things, sometimes we even drive and feed other people’s children, AND we do above and beyond the ‘required’ volunteering hours.



We’re invested. Okay, so sometimes he paces the lobby while I lie on the floor, but sometimes the things last a REALLY long time.

We’re experienced parents, which means We’re tired and intolerant of your bullshit meetings. Send that bullshit in an email. We love our kids, they’re the best. You’re lucky to have their brilliance and talent at your school, but we don’t demand you come here and listen to us talk about it. You’re welcome.

No. We did not go.

So that’s it, that’s the random burst of my brain.

Okay, off to chop and slice.
First, though, we pour the Riesling and turn on the music.


Happy Weekend Everyone!


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It’s a Bit of a Pant Rant

So, I have these pants. They’re Dockers and denim, but they’re dark and cut like slacks. I call them dressy jeans. I do that. I have jeans like this:

dressy jeans – as above, and another pair, longer, for heels
regular jeans – Levi’s five-oh-I-dunno, one has a design on the back pockets
mom jeans – because bloating is real
skinny jeans – because bloating doesn’t last forever
super skinny jeans – because some days I CAN, okay?
CK jeans – you can’t make me give them up, they still have a waist as high as my own
bling jeans – they’re bedazzled
holey jeans — because weekends, and really, who I am

The Mister just has jeans. I’ve asked.

Dressing for a woman is complicated. It involves many choices. Much of our dressing success depends on the season and the weather and the event and our shoes and our bra and our hair and I could be better at this, in fact, I am, but I’m just all the time annoyed by the shoes and the bra and the hair and it makes me sorta resentful, because I didn’t choose this, it was marketed to us and now it’s a societal norm.

I’m not naive enough to believe clothes don’t matter. Everyone has had a day they went out lookin hectic and the world responded accordingly.

Do you know women can’t even choose our undergarments until we’ve selected our clothes for the day?

Some woman out there is gonna say this is all poppycock and I’ll agree, fuck yeah it is, but there will be more women who get it than don’t.

I’m not brave like that woman, okay? I need my norm camouflage.

I have too many shoes, and yet, I don’t have enough shoes. I love shoes, love them, but hate wearing them.

I OWN accessories, I BUY accessories, I just don’t wear them often. If you ask my left hand, we’ve been unmarried for about a year. Left wrist is concerned we haven’t worn our nearly constant charm bracelet. I have tons of earrings, but mostly they hang on their tree and I wear the same two pair at least three days a week. Get this: Same earrings — one set white gold, one set gold. Today I’m wearing a necklace, but I haven’t worn it in months.

I’m simply a Plain Jane. I’m not down on myself about it, but I really don’t understand why the world isn’t set up for me to wear white cotton tops and holey jeans every day all the time, crazy hair spazzin out as it does.

Seriously, my hair is an accessory. Do I want to give myself a blowout every two days? Do I? No. I don’t know how my hair doesn’t have its own blog, really.

Don’t get me started on the makeup. Oh, too late. When I don’t wear makeup, I feel just great. When I leave the house without makeup, I am sick. Sick of being asked if I’m feeling alright.
I have an okay face. It’s often red and blotchy, but the features are all in the right spots for a human.


I really think my face is suitable for public viewing on its own.


All I’m sayin is I won’t be in the Red Hat Society. I’ll be in some sorta straw hat society where shoeless women tend meadows.

Anyway, I’ve had this pair of Dockers for about five years. Drew gave them to me. Drew is always bringing clothes to us because she gets rid of old clothes and buys new clothes as if she’s got her fashion license and she enjoys shopping, where as I’m out because my favorite shirt has 17 holes in it and I’m supposed to replace it. I’m all, “Is it cotton? Does it come in white? Gray then? Blue? Pink? Is it on sale? Okay.” I have enough black for Tuesdays. Truly.

So one day, I was wearin the Docker jean pant things and I was seated upon the potty, and I happened to look down and read my breeches for the first time, and behold, they said unto me:


And it cracked me up.
They’re Dockers.
For fuck’s sake, they’re Dockers!
No one is buying Dockers because they’re into wow. People buy Dockers because they’re going to work and they’re choosy about dry clean items.
What the hell kinda pants are ya wearin when you decide Dockers are wow? Stained, holey, grayed long underwear with a sagging crotch?
Was marketing all, “Well Dove chocolate puts inspirational words on their wrappers, we should do that on our waistbands!”
“Yes, we’ll be like chocolate!”
I don’t think Dockers should talk. They should be quiet and sensible.

That’s prolly why Drew got rid of the pants. I bet she read that and could not even. I don’t even know why she bought them. It seems impossible. Maybe her mom bought them for her.
Then the super fast imaginary tortoise in my head told me to hurry up and pee, and I thought, aha, there’s a blog post in there!

Have you ever thought a brand was WAY off the mark with their words? Do your pants SAY things?

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One-Liner Wednesday — At Least It Wasn’t Tuesday

The Mister and I have a mutual hatred of Tuesdays. He shared his mindset with me and now I share it with all of you.

“Monday, Part Deux:  The Suck Continues.”


One-Liner Wednesday is brought to you by LindaGHill

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SoCS — Organ

Wee me, sat at the organ, likely trying to please my grandfather. He was musical. He played the organ and the trumpet and heaven knows what else. His mother was an opera singer. He listened to opera and big band music almost exclusively. I’d tell you that might be why I love big band music, but I pretty much hate opera, even THE opera, which is a dereliction in duty to my heritage and my overall appreciation of the arts, but nonetheless, it’s true.

It was easy to please my grandfather, because he only had three granddaughters in a slew of grandsons and while we all know no one favors specific children, he did call me Little One.
I learned to poorly play many songs on the piano, but my memory of the organ is with Grandpa and Silent Night. G-A-G-E, G-A-G-EEE…

I could tell you a lot of stories about my grandfather, and might some day. They don’t make men like that anymore.

Yes, I was a punkin, thank you for noticin.

Please note I was wearin pajamas and a coat, but no socks. I assume my father dressed me on that day. I’ve been told my mother too often dressed me warmly, and my father would come home and find me fussy and sweaty and after he’d stripped me down I’d be a much happier baby. He told me this after I had my first baby. “Don’t let your mother dress her. Unless you’re going to Siberia.”
My father was not a reliable narrator when it came to my mother, but I believe him about this bit, because my mother is Southern by birth, and is one of those people who tans in the shade and is always cold when it’s warm, and clearly she’s an alien to me in these ways.
While mothers are required to fold a blanket at the end of your bed or tell you to take a sweater, my mother believed I would catch my death if I caught a chill.
Perhaps we left for Grandma’s house early in the morning and they didn’t want to fuss with me too much so I would fall back to sleep in the car and not drive them crazy.
Anyway, I could, if I rummaged around, find you a photo of me twenty-some years later, wearing blue velvet pajamas to my aunt’s house on Christmas night. I think I wore actual shoes, maybe clogs, maybe even socks, but I know without doubt I totally wore pajamas and a coat to her house that night. Where I played poker, not the organ. And I ain’t any better at cards.

Stream of Consciousness Saturday — SoCS ‘organ’ is brought to you by LindaGHill


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The Thing In My Head

For a change, not anxiety, heh. Okay, still there, but not the focus today.

I am nearing the end of my work project. I have the math portions left. The math. Itemized maths. Oy. For those of you who don’t know, I’ve got tons of math anxiety and a smidge of dyscalculia. At least once a day I’m convinced the numbers are NOT doing the maths right, and every time… ever single time… wait for it… it’s… human error.
Goin into work today, I was already at 35 hours this week, TRYING to get the thing done. I’d even grown a bit snippy. Me. Snippy. Can you imagine?

Yesterday, my head revolted.
It wanted to be a migraine.
I turned out the light in my office.
I took medicine. (I hate medicine.)

I told Mentor I’d do a thing, and then I hadda call her and be all, “I lied a lil bit. I did most of the thing, but I can’t keep doin the thing. My eyes are failing. I need to not look at tiny faded numbers. I need to type boldly a while, then I’ll go back to the thing.”

That didn’t last long. I could not. My head pounded, my eyes burrrrned. I think my right eye was tryin to roll into a safe space. Oh, twas awful. I fought it. i will math forever! or at least to solution. i’m going to finish this thing if it fucking kills me!
What was going to kill me were the non-linear numbers. Put the numbers in columns, People!

Mentor stood behind me, she said, “Maybe you should go home and get some rest.”
“Maybe. Yeah. I should. I think my eyes are about to bleed.”

oh my god, what if mentor is disappointed?!? in me! omg omg omg

“You mean that, right?”
“Yes, of course.”
“You know, you used to tell me I worked too hard, that I worked too long. Now I’m worried you think I’ve turned into a lazy cow, must’ve lost my ambition, leavin at four fifteen.”
She laughed. “Oh yes, suck it up, YOUUU WUSS! I won’t be satisfied until I see the blood drip from your eye sockets!”

I collected my things and left. I laughed about that later. And today. And I’m still laughing about it. But quietly, cause head is moody and we wouldn’t want to alert it to our current pain-free status. Shh.

I hadda go home and rest my eyes. I couldn’t like doors or read or watch tv. I hadda lie on The Mister and LISTEN to the tv while he rubbed me. Oy. The tv was funny and The Mister was generous, devoted, helpful…

Then the arm started. I say arm but it’s from shoulder to fingertip. And it’s fickle. It’s like havin some sorta evil entity livin in your bones, randomly terrorizing you. They show you x-rays and you’re like, “That’s it?” because you expect to see tiny sadistic trolls with mohawks and face tattoos in there, screamin at thrash metal music while they tighten your bones in vices and kick them with their big ass punk boots and drill into your joints with miniature corkscrews. Yeah, modern imaging is very disappointing. Whitish crap next to whiter crap and no one will ever hire you to be a hand model, but it doesn’t look as bad as it feels.

I don’t complain much because it’s been worse, it will get worse again, and other people have it worse, but dammit, I need to complain right now.

Awesome rheumatoid arthritis quotes 9 best Rheumatoid Arthritis and Chronic Illness Quotes images on

I promise, this won’t turn into my dueling arthritises blog.

It’s not the math, y’all. I woke up today with the arm and the head and immediately checked the weather and I loaded myself up with all the western medicine, but also, I prayed for the rain.

Arm has gone back to its dull achy norm, but weather headache continues to come and go. It’s supposed to thunderstorm, and instead the sky leaks and clears up like the clouds are faulty, and y’all need to pray for the rain, light a candle, slaughter a chicken over a fire or whatever. If you’re an atheist, I understand, but can ya make me a cuppa tea or somethin?

I’m math free for two whole days, now LET IT STORM! I wanna enjoy every minute of it!


Happy Friday Everyone!

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#ThursdayDoors — Alleyway Wanderings

What can I say? It was a beautiful day and I wandered down some alleys in search of interesting doors.


I didn’t say they were pretty, I said they were interesting.

For pretty, I brought you a mural, if you dig it, anyway.


And the blue skies were nice, too.

#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 and find the frog.

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Friday, Better than the 9th, 10th, or 11th

This week was LONNNG! I dunno what this week was doing with its life, but it needed to get its shit together ricky-tick-quick and it so did not. Maybe my weekend was too good.


Remember how I saw Marian on Friday and Saturday?


YES! Marian, Yay!
(And also, Batmobile!)

But you know what else? At the con, I got a new soap lady! Mmhm. I don’t know if y’all remember the tale of the Soap Cunt, cause that was 37 months ago, but I shan’t forget it. Alas, I had the pleasure of making the acquaintance of the most serious, erudite, apothecary kinda soap goddess at the con and she shall make me soap henceforth. Soap is a big deal at our house. We are soap connoisseurs, okay, okay, soap snobs. Yes, all of us. I could write a series on soap, but I won’t, you’re welcome.


Monday began with technical difficulties, because who wouldn’t want that as a start to her week?
Tuesday night I went to bed hot and slept hot. I was all kicky restless and it took forever to fall asleep because I was so frickin hot. Not once, Not Once, did I ask myself if I’d turned the thermostat down to arctic sleep temps. Nope.


At work, I am in the midst of a project. Mentor gave me the project like, “Start this for me, it’ll lighten my load” — Oh, yeah, I work with Mentor again! I still need to tell you about that. One day. Gosh, I have so much to tell you, I’m way behind.

Anyway, I don’t know if Mentor gave me the project with forthright intent, like, “Oh I mustn’t tell Joey this is all hers, lest she have a total meltdown at the sheer overwhelm of it,” (my words, of course) or if she really intended for me simply to start it and now it’s become mine. I dunno. Her intent doesn’t matter, either way she’s a good mentor and it’s for my own good. I am doing the thing. I had previously only done sections of the things and doing sections of the things is pretty simple if you’re writery. I figured if I could do sections of the things in an afternoon, I could do a whole thing in a day, and then because practice, I could do the other seven in even less time.


Caffeine and I continue our love-hate relationship.
And now, a story:
I saw my K cups at work were growing fewer, and I sought to condense them into one box, because I have OCD and I like my shit tidy, okay? And when I went to combine them, I realized they were all decaf. Surely this could not be right! I went to the office manager.
Me: I need to know if I’m crazy.
Me: When you ordered the previous McK cups, did you order half regular?
OM: I don’t think so. I think they were all decaf.
Me: Have you noticed how much coffee I’ve been drinkin lately?
OM: Yeah, a little bit.
Me: That’s because it’s not ON. There’s plenty of regular in there, but I had it in my head that the top box was regular, and it. is. not.


Reminds me of the time I thought the tequila wasn’t workin. Achem.

IMG_6073Travel cup lies.

One day, I accidentally took Sassy’s crunchy granola bar instead of my chewy granola bar and lemme tell ya, that thing was CRUNCHEH!


And messy, Omalord. Crumbs everywhere. These are outdoor nola bars, okay?

Speaking of outdoors, look my ferns, tho:


They’re all huge and ferny. Prolly a dinosaur in there.

Moo went out to the movies with her friends this week, and she was not a victim of tuck and run. Any of y’all have a tuck and run concern? Moo is itty bitty and one of her friends is eensy-weensy and I would not let Moo go unless their tall friend went, too, because I am sizeist and ageist AND A GOOD MOM. Unfortunately, one of the girls lost her phone there and I had to take my yoga pants and freshly-washed hair into the theatre to be the responsible grown-up and all I really wanted in the whole wide world was to be on my sofa with a bowl of spaghetti and meatballs, but no, I AM A GOOD MOM.

Any time I think about how I hate to be the mom who does the driving, I hate it more when I depend on other people to supervise my kids.

Me when my kids are home doing chores and chatting online:


Me when my kids want to have fun instead:


Today, cliff diving. Tell me it’s okay to worry, right? Ya let em go, and ya worry. Even The Mister worries. I don’t care how old or big they are, worry is forever.
Fortunately, Thursday came, with its doors and kittens and y’all, I went home and made spaghetti and meatballs and I sat on my sofa and it was the best.


Friday went fast all day, but I sure hope it goes slow all night!

Happy Friday Everyone!

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#ThursdayDoors — Middle of the Rainbow


I love them all, although I’m partial to the yellow, of course.

#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 and find the frog.

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SoCS – Sup?

I’ll tell you Sup. My happiness!

Wait, lemme eat this cake.


Okay. Can’t. Eat. Icing. Phew!

You see, after the weird post-holiday Thurmonday, I got moody — moodier. It rained all day on that Thurmonday and while I love rain, it thundered in my hands and arms and I didn’t love that. Barometric pressure done fell out, I reckon.

Friday I woke up to a bright blue sky and no more thunderbones, so initially I was happy. I don’t know where my happy went, back to Taken For Granted Land, I guess, because it slowly faded without any knowable reason. I had this sorta dread feeling from nowhere. Maybe too much coffee? The only thing I could think of was that I had things to do after work and I don’t usually do that on Friday, but y’all, the things were happy things! Pick up dry cleaning, pick up pizza, go see Marian — Why on earth would any of that bring me down? Silly. No reason for mood. Bleh.

I left work, I picked up the stuff, went home, ate a slice of pizza, put on my BatCat tee and some sneakers, and went off to see Marian. Oh, right, I stopped for a double-double. Oh woe is me.

I walked into the con, and there was Marian, and Amazing, her daughter is Amazing, and I was happy and glad I was finally there, and I thought, well this is grand, maybe my mood was impatience?

Then Marian said I had to see a fing, so she led me and led me and



Yes, I like Batman. I love Batman. Given my propensity to grab the ass of the life-size Batman figure at Think Geek, I may have feelings for Batman. Maybe that’s more about Christian Bale.
Anyway, I don’t like talking about my love for Batman, because I don’t love all the comic things and I don’t wish to engage in conversations in which I compare and contrast Batman with other superdudes, but c’mon, there’s no one like Batman!


He doesn’t even have superpowers! He’s just awesome!

And Lego Batman? Oh Em Gee Heart Heart Heart!


Like I said, I was wearin my BatCat tee-shirt and everything! And there was the Batmobile!

So I sat in the batmobile, giddy as all get out, and I used the batphone and the man who built the batmobile took my picture and YAY ME!





I also met a man who looks just like George Lucas, but he said he wasn’t George Lucas, which is probably exactly what George Lucas would say if he was at a lil con in Indy.

Then, after that, I went home and made a grocery list and I went to the goddamned grocery store where I RAN INTO ONE OF MY FAVORITE PEOPLE! We had a nice long chat right there in the aisle.

Well, I tell you Sup; You never know what kinda wonders could be comin after a Bleh day!


Saturday Stream of Consciousness — SoCS ‘sup’ is brought to you by LindaGHill


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Food Q&A

Barb shared a Food Q&A and I’m playin along. I like this sorta thing.



Do you enjoy food from countries that are not your own?
Yes, I am American. If it’s not beans, corn, or squash, it probably didn’t originate here.


2. When you prepare salad for yourself, do you rip your greens (lettuce, spinach, &c…), or do you cut them?
I rip em.


3. There’s a saying that goes: “Life is short, eat dessert first.”  What do you think of that advice?
That’s solid advice. Especially when dinner’s an hour from done.


4. Have you ever thrown spaghetti against the wall to test for doneness? — If it sticks, it’s done (so they say) — What other such kitchen habits might you have?
Yes, that is the way. When it’s really busy around here, sometimes the spaghetti hangs on, like that one dead spider in the bathroom corner.


5. How often do you eat fish?
As much as possible.


6. When purchasing food for yourself, do you check the nutritional label? If so, what are you checking for?
No, I don’t much look at the nutrition label, but I look at ingredients. I have to check everything for red dyes. It’s not as simple as you think: red dye hides in shit like green spinach wraps. No lie.


7. How often do you eat salad as a meal?
Usually once a week, usually Monday.


8. Do you have any food quirks? For example: do you arrange a particular food in a certain way before eating? Or eat certain foods in a particular way every time? (i.e.: bite the heads off of gummy bears)
Yes, of course. I am persnickety. Yes. It’s important that the cheese does not touch the mayo. The preserves do not get spread atop the peanut butter. The sugar goes on after the milk. The cream goes in before the coffee. We don’t have time for the entire list.


9. When boiling water for pasta or whatnot, what are your “tricks” for keeping the water from boiling over?
Sometimes a wooden spoon will do the trick. Usually a bigger pot is a better idea.


10. Are there any recipes that have been passed down through the generations in your family? Have you passed them to anyone outside of your family? or are they a closely guarded secret?
I share a lot of recipes (Not Here) but a few are sacred, because people fuck shit up and then they carry their bowl of fucked up shit out into a crowd and say, “I made Joey’s —-” and I cannot even with that. Don’t disgrace my grandmother like that. A pox on your goat.


11. In general, how do you feel about “diet” foods? Meaning: foods with artificial sweeteners or alternative fats in them. For example: Diet soda or low fat muffins.
Diet soda is surely my friend, but a friend I can only visit with once a day, for she will give me migraines. Otherwise, I avoid the fake stuff. Do you know what they take out with the bad stuff? Do you know what bad stuff they add to the good stuff? Why the hell would I want a low fat muffin?!?


12. Have you purchased food online? What do you think about that idea?
I have. I order quite a bit online. Sometimes when we’re ultra lazy on a Sunday, we’ll even order perishables and have them delivered so we can cook what we like. It’s wonderful.


13. When cooking for you and yours, what kinds of experiments have you tried?
I don’t think of cooking as an experiment. Moo made slime in the kitchen, does that count? Oh, I once boiled red cabbage!


14. Do you now, or have you ever, grown or raised any of the food you eat?
Yes. It is good. Do that. Garden tomatoes and fresh herbs, mmm!


15. Are you a vegetarian? If not, has the idea of becoming one ever crossed your mind?
I was a vegetarian from like 1995 to 2002. I ate no land animals and I still don’t eat much in that category. My body likes fish and eggs and dairy, but it doesn’t like meat so much. When I do eat meat, I generally eat toddler size portions. My dog loves me.


16. When arranging the food on your plate, does everything have to be separated, or is it okay for your food to touch?
It doesn’t matter. It can touch. Some of it should touch.


17. When eating out, what foods on the menu might push you out of your comfort zone? (for example: pineapple on pizza makes some people twitch)

I do not have this, although corn in a cup did incite my rage. I don’t want pineapple on my pizza, but I’ve had it and it’s not awful. You know those lists about picky eaters? I eat all the things. The thing on the list I like the least? Nutella. Still, I’ll eat it.
Lettuse, y’all.


18. Do you have a sweet tooth? If so, what kinds of foods generally satisfy the craving?
Ice cream is my thing. Gummi Bears. Orange slices. Tootsie Rolls. I prefer to drink my sweets. I have a soda addiction. It has been 2 days since my last drink.


19. What foods (if any) do you like to mix that other people might find strange?
Like I care. I like a plate of foods, like cheese and olives with a cuppa coffee. Or a plate with boiled eggs, figs, and walnuts. Some people think it’s odd. I just like to eat what I like.


20. When eating out, at what kind of restaurant do you prefer to dine?
Seafood. But let’s be honest, if I’m not planning the menu, shopping for it, cooking it, or cleaning up after it, I’m pleased. Unless I cook it better. I hate that.


21. In general, how do you feel about organic food?
I feel good about it, but not all organic is equal and not all organic is worth the price. Pick your battles. Grow what you can.


22. What foods (if any) do you eat when you are happy or unhappy?
Ice cream is the answer. Ice cream is magical food, delicious in both joy and sorrow.


Play along if you like, but have a Happy Friday, Everyone!

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