Initially, I thought about tossing and turning. I have to be just so when I sleep, and I flounder around the bed somethin fierce. The Mister patiently awaits the ritual’s end, bless him.
I also thought about walking, which I do lots of, but no, I mostly type.

You may recall, I like to type Septemeber and rememeber and although I type my name every damn day, I frequently type it like so:

Jolene MOttern
Backspace, backspace, backspace —
Is MO Mottern MO important?
It’s not MO-tern, by the way, no Oh about it. It’s completely Ah, which should be perfectly clear to all who eat Mott’s applesauce and take Motrin. Don’t even ask me how they get Motorin.
“Joelle Motorin?”
“Jolee Motrin?”
“Jolianne Mohern?”
All me.
I hardly need to do it to myself.

Also fun? Indianapolis, Indianapolis. Cause as when your car seems to know the most familiar path, your fingers may, too. Someone needs to throw up a stoplight for my fingers, because Indianapolis, Indiana will do. No double polis required, thank you Muscle Memory.

Furthermore, I grow increasingly incensed that phones and calculators are inverted. I go and go typing numbers, speedily clickety clackin along and then I pick up the phone and dial the wrong numbers. 1317 shoots out my fingertips as 7971 and all that is wrong, because in Indianapolis, Indianapolis the area code is 317. I dunno where the fuck it’s 971. So annoying — phones, or calculators. Which came first, hm? I hate that. That is dumb, dumb, dumb design. I have to LOOK at the phone to dial. These are real problems no one should have.

In conclusion, my name is not Jolene MOttern, I don’t live in Indianapolis, Indianapolis, and to reach me by phone, you should not dial 7971.

Stream of Consciousness Saturday — SoCS ‘movement’ and Just Jot It January are brought to you by LindaGHill, who keeps my fingers moving.

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JusJoJan — 26



This is NOT a Nice Lady Blog.

This post was inspired by possible commentary at Dorky Mom Doodles. I decided it wasn’t suitable comment fodder there, but y’all can handle it here. I mean, you’ve been warned and errrything.

At our last house, our laundry room was a place of passion.


There were many reasons for this venue à la impromptu rendezvous, including, but not limited to:

Kids hate laundry rooms.
Childproof doorknob on one side, locking garage door on the other.
Close to the kitchen, where I am apparently at my most desirable.
Laundry appliances are loud and they bang. A lot.

Happy Friday Everyone!

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#ThursdayDoors — Completely Unreal

Just Jot It January and The Escapist Coloring Club,

meet ThursdayDoors!


These fine doors come to you from a transitive location and are crafted from 100% authentic Crayola markers.

#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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One-Liner Wednesday — Shots Fired




She said, “Hey! I need spellcheck so I can write hypocholesterolemia.”
I said, “You need spell check so you can write to, too, and two.”

This One-Liner Wednesday is my jot for JusJoJan

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JusJoJan — 23



I hate Tuesdays.
Yes, this one, too.
Yes, already.
I already have reasons to dislike this day.

I like y’all though.

I like the black olives in my lunch, too. I look forward to those.

I gotta go put on all my black clothes now. Maybe I should wear that black magician’s cape on Tuesdays…
Too much?
Yeah, prolly a lil over the top.

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JusJoJan — 22


Friday night, I took the dog out and scooted through the snow. Warmer temps had begun to melt the snow some, making it airier. As I kicked it, it dusted my boots. I wore my barn jacket, flapping open, but probably didn’t need to. It was so much warmer, right around freezing. I relished scooting in the quiet moonlit world. I savored my contentment.

I’m taking my happiness into work early today. Getting a head start. Maybe it will make for a better Tuesday. If not, at least it’s supposed to snow again tomorrow.

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JusJoJan — 21


I’m just jotting to tell you I’m taking a Me Day today.
So far, I’ve played word games, watched Monk, pet all my animals, and fallen asleep –twice.
Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to go make a sammich and fetch a pickle and get back to how Mr Monk solves this murder.

Wishing you all a peaceful evening, heart, heart.

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Occasionally, The Mister watches soccer on television. Sometimes I look at it. How I do with most of his programming, I watch and wonder why I’ve tethered myself to a person who enjoys sports, westerns, and gruesome horror flicks.

What I think while I watch soccer: i suppose it’s warmer hockey. i’m glad the kids gave up soccer. too much hot. pretty grass though. i guess it’s not grass. do the english still pull up their lawns in winter? i suppose hockey is more like short soccer with ice. do they serve malts at soccer matches? surely soccer was first. i should look that up. such a big field. oh, you’ve lost it! the people work so hard to get the ball all the way to their goal and one big kick and they have to start all over. how exhausting. that’s a very nice color blue. if i played soccer, i’d wanna be on the team with the pretty blue shirts and socks. if i played soccer i would be chaffed af. when did humans decide to do this sorta goal chasing? one minute you’re chasin caribou over the plains and the next you’re like, let’s just chase a ball from one net to another. nice bum, mister blue shirt. i reckon the ball likes not being skinned and roasted at the end though. prolly happy to sit on a shelf in someone’s collection, reveling in its heydays. oh the blue people lost. how sad. what the fuck are we watching now? jesus fucking christ, space jam. honest to god, he’ll never know how much i love him.

I know soccer doesn’t start with oc. Occasionally does. Awkward does, too and I think that counts.

Oc makes me think of octopus, and Octomom, because frequently when Moo and I get into the car in the morning, she’s all, “Go Octomom!” even though I’ve explained to her that Octomom was a real thing and not one I’d like to be compared to. She means how much stuff I can carry at once, which I suppose is amazing right up til you’ve had children and you’re like I can eat this banana and talk on the phone while I nurse a baby and braid this one’s hair while I sew a button and pull apart Legos simultaneously. Men be like, “Let me carry that for you,” and I be all “Thank you, I have been carrying everything since I picked that apple twelve thousand years ago.”

I jot. I ramble. Occasionally more than occasionally.

Stream of consciousness Saturday — SoCS ‘oc’ and Just Jot It January are brought to you by LindaGHill


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JusJoJan — 19



My Thursday made up for the rest of the week. It will be hard to top Thursday, but I hope Friday tries.

It’ll be sunny with a high of 38, which may thaw some things out today, including me. The wind will only blow at nineumph. That’s what Moo would say, “The wind’s blowing at thirteenumph.” Reminds me of when I was a kid and I thought the signs read, “duck zing” and “pedestrian zing” which is why I once tried to play XING in Scrabble — a little special, but not as special as the people who think the ducks are looking for signage. I was never young enough to think the ducks were reading.

Happy Friday Everyone!

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#ThursdayDoors — Modern

There’s nothin like walkin around a neighborhood, tra-la-la, look at all the old houses.


And suddenly, new houses.


It’s the brightly-colored doors that got my attention. I’m not keen on modern design, but these are cheerful doors, perhaps especially in winter.

#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.

This particular #ThursdayDoors post is part of LindaGHill’s Just Jot It January.


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