SoCS — Do Dew Due

 

That’s what I got for the prompt. Pretty much all I know of the song is de do do do and da da da and “their logic ties me up and wrecks me” cause OMG SAME, but I dig the song, and that’s what came to me.

I’m struggling with do, because The Mister’s in and out and Moo has plans, and now Sassy has asked me a terrible, terrible question, “Are we going anywhere today?” which means she’ll make plans and somehow this will involve me cause, “I’m a driver, I’m a winner, things are gonna change I can feel it.” Totally different song.

 

 

ALL HAIL THE GREAT TAXI MOMS. We are legion.

I’m due for a doorscursion so I have asked Sassy if we couldn’t just pick up a friend and do that. I’m awaiting the 411.

Dew? Usually on my car in the morning, in. the. dark. of morning. Another good reason to sleep late on Saturday — there’s no dew on the car.

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Stream of Consciousness Saturday — SoCS ‘do/dew/due’ is still brought to you by LindaGHill but via our host Dan today.

 

 

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Cool, Crisp, and Yellow, No Mellow

You know how sometimes you just really wanna write somethin funny, or happy, or at the very least post somethin positive on your blog and you sorta feel like not those ways?

NOT TODAY!

I woke up at 6:42, or at least that’s when I asked The Mister what time it was. He brought me coffee at 7. Mmm, MY coffee. I got the girls off to school and you know where I hafta go the rest of the day?
NOWHERE!

I went to all the places yesterday. Drove all the roads and spent all the money and saw all the people and came home with all the receipts shoved into my bag so that I could find out we’re on our last sponge and we need trash bags.
BUT!

That couldn’t bring me down because yesterday morning, even before 6:42, The Mister and I made the good snuggles, all warm in our cozy bed of the many cottons, while the windows were open and the nature noises spoke to us as our languid bodies pressed into one another, everything entwined —

THEY WERE RAPTUROUS SNUGGLES!

PLUS! 
It was Thursday and that means doors and kittens and only one more sleep til Friday. And on Friday, the kids don’t have earlies OR afters!

IT’S FRIDAY, Y’ALL! 

So far today, I’ve eaten a bowl of warm buttery griiiiits and a quarter of an entire a bowl of watermelon and I’m thinkin bout lunch. I dunno what I’ll nom, but I can tell you there’s a big ol pot of pasta fagioli simmerin on my stove. It’s sans pasta as of yet, because well, if you cook, you know, but still, it smells like heaven and dinner is gonna be hellagood tonight.

ALSO!
It’s 73 outside, gonna get down to 47 again.

LOOK AT MY YARD! LOOK AT IT!

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THOSE ARE LEAFESES!

I can actually hear the squirrels scurry away with their loot.
AND! I saw black-capped chickadees in the hawthorn tree this mornin!
AND! There are goldybugs in my goldenrod!

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WHAT A GLORIOUS FALL FRIDAY IT IS!
One day, it’ll be barn jacket weather.

Happy Friday Everyone!

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#ThursdayDoors — Alley Up

Back of last week’s Pentalpha Lodge and the back of its across-the-alley neighbor.

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The day I took these photos, it was hot and sticky. I remember my sweaty squint upward. It’s my pleasure to inform you I put on a hoodie and boots before leaving the house this morning.

#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 — Pulp Princess

Sassy somehow confused Pulp Fiction with The Princess Bride. I know!

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She caught herself, but y’all know I had to ask, “Remember when the Rodents Of Unusual Size snorted all that heroin thinkin it was cocaine?”

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One-Liner Wednesday is brought to you by LindaGHill

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How to Soften the Blow of Tuesday

I read Ally’s post this morning and I agree, sometimes it all comes together and the best thing to do is appreciate it.

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Tuesdays aren’t that day for me. I like to bitch on Tuesdays. It’s my long-held belief that Tuesdays are unkind days, opposite of Thursdays. If I feel swell on a Tuesday, I assume impending doom is forthcoming. Even if good news or good fortune comes on a Tuesday, I remain suspicious. I imagine Tuesday tries to woo me into perceiving it as neutral or benign. I’ll not be swindled or seduced.

The best and worst of our moods can often be attributed to our own editorial commentary, and that’s an example of mine.

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I can’t make you see Tuesday for the atrocity it is. I can’t logically support my argument.

Some of my Tuesday issues are carried over from Monday, and you might say I can’t blame Tuesday for Monday’s behavior.

Perhaps not getting enough sleep should make Tuesday feel more like Monday Leftover, but that is not the case, because I know it to be Tuesday.

These feelings I feel are relevant to me, even though you don’t share them.

We’ve had different Tuesday experiences. Even if you’d had the same Tuesday experiences, there’d be no guarantee you’d share my perspective, as there are six other days between us.
Your failure to agree with me on the intrinsic cruelty of Tuesdays should have no bearing as to whether or not you feel compassion toward me. However, you’re only human and therefore permitted to find it ludicrous, contemptuous, even conspiratory.

If you believe everything I tell you, you might find yourself in the middle of a shit Tuesday with either revelation or regret. Either way, it’s not my fault you didn’t see Tuesday for what it really was all along.

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Here are some helpful tips to making it through a Tuesday:

1. Always make the coffee the night before. You’re gonna need the coffee. Or tea. Or green sludge — whatever gets you human, you’re gonna need it first thing.

2. Eat a nutritious protein rich, high fiber breakfast which will sustain your strength and fortify your heart against the bewildering chest pains Tuesday will cause you.

3. Wear your stretchiest pants, leaving room for both deep breaths and comfort food.

4. Wear a black shirt or jacket. You’re powerful, mysterious, self-contained, camouflaged in the darkness that is Tuesday.

5. Sleep as late as you can, go to bed early, and try to nap in between.

6. Do not, under any circumstances, make dental appointments, begin a journey, or bake something which depends on the perfection of beaten eggs.

7. Take the long way home and take your time.

8. Agree with your spouse, your parents, and your boss. A mere nod and smile in the general direction anyone else who is clearly deluded will suffice until a more temperate day comes along.

I regret I’m getting this information to you at such a late hour, but I’ve been having a Tuesday.

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Monday, Twenty-Five September

My dream weekend would have been spent in some cottage in northwest Europe. I’d wear sweaters and walk by the sea and write beautiful words and contemplate life while grazing on fruit and nuts…

Yeah, so this weekend was not like that at all. Although, I did eat alawta grapes and pistachios NO, YOU have a pistachio problem!

I’d just told Judy at Edwina’s Episodes that I hate going places after the gym, cause I know I look gross. I’d told her I only take my keys, phone, earbuds, and water. Well, yesterday, my hair was already icky and I had to shop at two more stores after and the girls wanted to go, too, and it was ninetytenthousanddegrees, so we took everyfreakinthangweown and showered at the gym after. Very steam, much sticky. Do not recommend. Used Bonnie Blue’s air conditioning as blow dryer. Did not feel clean or dry for hours after.

PS: I am not a gym person. Going to the gym does not make me a gym person. It does, however, keep me from turning into a full-on hippopotamus with a heart condition and it’s like, good for my joints or whatever.
I prefer weights like these:

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the mister’s choccie covered almonds

Then, because I am not a gym person, I parked at the nearby BP and sent the kids in for soda, because I am a soda person-slash-baby hippo. While they were in there, I sent a selfie to The Mister, conveying my love for water pressure, air conditioning, and him.

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blow me, bonnie blue, yaaaas

It was then that I noticed a sign, which made me think of Dan at No Facilities.

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i swear it’s a heat oasis out there

I know, you can’t read the sign. It was for Yuengling ice cream. Well, I never! Seems people who read Harry Potter want to try butterbeer flavor. I am not a Dumbledore so I have no idea what they were on about.
I looked this up and one of the first articles said there wouldn’t be beer flavor. But um, butterbeer? Is a mixture of buttercream and butterscotch ice cream which sounds far too rich, but there are other flavors a hippo can get down with, like cherry vanilla.
Apparently they started making ice cream during prohibition and stopped making it thirty years ago. Who Knew? Not me! Why anyone would ever stop making ice cream is beyond me. One of these days when I’m not makin a big ol dinner, I think I’ll stop and pick some up.
But yesterday was not that day.

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burritos and lello rice especial

 

How was your weekend? Was it too hot? Did you eat ice cream?

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SoCS — Hot & Cold

Hot things are awful. Hot weather melts me, hot sun burns my skin. Hot is the worst. I was trying to think of hot things I actually like, and it’s a limited list. I like hot baths. Hot baths are heavenly. I love to slip into a steaming hot tubby and feel all the aches and pains slide out of me, into the water, and down the drain. I suppose the heating pad falls into that same category. Or warm hands gripping my shoulder, elbow, wrist. If heat alleviates pain, then I like it. Otherwise, all things hot are icky.

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august 2, 2015 too hot. am dying. send snow. ‪#‎sundayselfie‬ ‪#‎yankeebitch‬ ‪#‎ihatesummer‬ ‪#‎gardening‬ ‪#‎rosaceaonfire‬

I like hot tea and coffee, but not really, not how other people do. I let it sit and cool until it’s lukewarm. Same with soup and well, pretty much everything I eat needs to be near room temperature.

Exception: Ice Cream
Because ice cream is one of the best things in the whole wide world, like winter I can eat with a spoon, winter on my tongue, winter in my belly.

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I’m supposed to eat cooling foods and I do pretty well with that. Too much pitta, too much yang. Too much heat in my body is no better than too much heat outside it. Maybe that’s what makes me fiery and spirited. It’s definitely what makes my face red.

I live for winter, when I am seldom hot. Love temps 20-50, when it’s good sweater, boot, scarf weather. The coffee and tea cool faster then. It has to be below 20 and windchilly before I’ll complain it’s too cold.

When the furnace goes on the fritz, I bundle up and make do. When the air-conditioning goes out, I get dramatic and lie around pissing and moaning about it.

I have always been this way.
I remember being nine and bein told to go out and play. I remember sassing about how if it was so nice outside, maybe the adults should go out and sweat in it, too, then.
Living at home, I was scolded for having my windows cracked in winter, many, many times.

I love to be cold like other people love to be on the beach with sun and sand. I love to be cold so much that just seeing photos of tropical vacation destinations makes me squirm with unease.

I just love the cold.

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Stream of Consciousness Saturday — SoCS ‘hot/cold’ is brought to you by LindaGHill

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Dark Comedy

This weather is unholy.

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I can’t even with this. Autumn, my ass. A good weekend to stay my ass inside. I should eat Caprese salad and binge-watch television.

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Orrr, turn off all the lights and worship The Dark Side of the Moon from the carpeting, which I shall, in the moment, pretend is shag.

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Ooh, or get wasted on margaritas and write a novel that completely defines what it’s like to live in America right now.
Everyone’s online, posting photos of their last suppers, offended by slaughterhouses instead of genocide. Old enough to know better, still confusing love and sex, but with more beards and tattoos. Everyone’s anxious, depressed, or both. Everyone’s lookin for a fix. Those who need it most can’t afford tequila or benzos or excessive chocolate cake because their health insurance costs more than their rent, but it only covers twelve therapy sessions a year, and they gotta save up those appointments for November and December, like their finest perfume, booking ahead to get through the holidays when they’re guilted into mashing potatoes with the family members who abused them. So they work and they fill out paperwork and they go to the gym and post selfies and caption that Hustle and drink all the coffee and never, ever sleep and when they do, they dream of the world as it is and wake longing for death, revolution, dystopia …

BUT THE ART IS GOOD.

I never said it would be an inspirational novel. Chicken soup for your soul, but the chickens are rabid, the noodles are gluten-free, and instead of carrots and celery, it’s just shards of colored glass.

Do you know sometimes I’m accused of being a Pollyanna? Of being too optimistic?

Fuck that noise.

I walk this earth like the light I am, but I see all its darkness.

Since you might not be blessed with my relentless hope, and you might not live for the arts, let me tell you some things that cheer me right up:

  • It could be worse
  • I am loved and so are you
  • It’s Friday
  • Winter is coming
  • Tequila is on sale somewhere

 

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Happy Friday Everyone! 

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#ThursdayDoors — Fiesta

Oh, I know, you think these are gonna be some fab photos of brightly-colored doors and happy Spanish-speaking people partying, but I need to quash that hope right now.
No.

There were gobs of happy Spanish-speaking people, and me trying to listen as quickly as they spoke, but to my ear, it sounded like “Welcome Everybody to the what? Fiesta huh? what? huh? We are happy you’re here with us today huh? huh? Indianapolis huh? what? celebrate huh? Thank you what?” By the time all that sunk into my gringa brain, I was red, dripping with sweat, and REALLY wishing my kids could drive, because nothing would have made me happier than a big ol margarita! Oh yes, I speak all the Spanish-named food and drinks, and my favorite is margarita, closely followed by queso. Queso que? Quesoeverything!

I guess it’s Sassy’s thing to play at Fiesta every year.

 

And I guess it’s my thing to drive her.

 

I’m hot just thinkin about it. It was partly sunny and eighty-freakin-six. Thank goodness for clouds and trees!
I was reminded of this bit from Fools Rush In because I love that movie almost as much as The Mister does, and he quotes this last lane frequently, because we melt alawt.

 

See, we white bitches need margaritas. Why has no one brought me a margarita yet? It’s gonna be eighty-freakin-nine today!

 

De todos modos, here are the doors I got:

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It was at this point, Moo pointed out the door handles are uneven, so I stuck my phone in there to get that bit.

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These are two different doors from the Masonic Temple, also referred to as Pentalpha Lodge on Illinois Street.

#ThursdayDoors is part of an inspired post series run by Norm Frampton. Welcome back, Norm! 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 — Sunscreen

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A tan fella pointed to The Mister’s legs and told me, “You need to take him outside.”

I said, “Dude, no. We’re white people. We’re supposed to be this color.”

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One-Liner Wednesday is brought to you by LindaGHill

Posted in Random Musings | Tagged , | 49 Comments