One-Liner Wednesday — Not Possible, Kiddo

This is a fairly accurate representation of Moo and The Mister.

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So you can imagine why Sassy and I burst into laughter when Moo said, “I can’t find my black belt! I hope Daddy’s got a black belt I can borrow!”

 

 

weds

One-Liner Wednesday is brought to you by LindaGHill

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Skunkapalooza, He Said

Yesterday morning I made two trips to two schools. I didn’t smell anything but my delicious coffee and the girls’ freshly-groomed scents.

Later though, I went downtown. I didn’t smell anything unusual until I got back in my car. I was headed north on Delaware when I caught a whiff of skunk. Then I was on Meridian when I caught another whiff. Again, miles later, round Fall Creek I smelled it once more. Each time, I tried to sniff super well to determine the direction of the odor.

It was faint. Just a hint off and on. But it followed me for miles!

“GOOD GOD! EXACTLY HOW MANY SKUNKS DIED IN THE CITY LAST NIGHT!?”

is it me?

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*sniffed shoulders*

maybe i ran over a skunk? wouldn’t i notice? maybe a skunk climbed into my engine and died in search of warmth. omaword, maybe it’s that thing where you smell smells that aren’t there and this is the beginning of the end! no, no, that’s anxiety. maybe i drove through a skunk smell and it adhered to my tire?

When I got home, I smelled all my clothes as I removed them. My pets were happy to help. None of my clothes smelled of skunk. I even sniffed the bottoms of my shoes. Nope. Not a thing.

Hmm. Chock that up to peculiar, eh?

When The Mister came home, I asked him if I smelled like skunk. He sniffed me thoroughly and said No.

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In the evening, I got back in my car to take Sassy to rehearsal. I smelled nothing. When The Mister returned from picking her up, he said my car smelled fine.

Oh well.

It was then I decided downtown had been infiltrated by skunks the night before. Even suburban skunks must have ventured into the city for a wild spray party. They were whoopin it up, pub crawlin and puffin on the skunk bud, takin selfies in the fountains. I bet they sang and and danced and bred like mad.
Skunkapalooza, The Mister said.

Unfortunately, due to daylight savings time, they all got run over before dawn. Poor dears never saw all those commuters comin.

I expect plenty of hysterical, tongue-in-cheek, punny comments on this post. Of course, it being a Tuesday and all, other possible comments include telling me something I’ve already written here or letting me know it’s skunk mating season in Indiana. It wouldn’t be the internet if someone didn’t yell at me for glorifying Pepe Le Pew, sexual harasser extraordinaire, or for joking about the death of animals, but no one ever tells me important shit, like Hey, there’s a typo in line 6!
Yes, I know skunks don’t have thumbs or smartphones, but have you seen this?

#itstuesdayandpeoplepissmeoff #noskunkswereharmedinthewritingofthisblog  #notaniceladyblog #neuroticbitch #pushmeagain

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Peculiar Fall Is Peculiar

Good Monday Morning to You!

Oh, who am I kidding? Five ‘clock got me yawnin like whoa. As did six and seven and eight. It’s going to be another busy week.

I had a wonderful weekend and hope you all did, too. Mine was slow-paced and restorative. This time of year, I usually spend weekends south of the city or at the very least in local woods, but we haven’t had a warm and sunny weekend yet this season.

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peculiar leaf wants to be noticed

Will there be sunny days in this autumn? Perhaps it’s a peculiar kind of fall. Perhaps it just isn’t meant to be.
“… turn, turn, turn …”

Before I go out into the world to do my day, I thought I’d share with you my own aspirations for this week: May we find joys in the peculiar.

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#SoCS — Armed Services

I was going to skip the prompt today. I fall into Linda’s group of people, how did she say? … “may end up leading people into touchy subjects.”
I don’t write much about veteran-type things. I come from a family that served, married a Marine, went with him when the Army sent him to Georgia, and waited for him while he was in hells I’ll never know.
I have unlimited opinions and complicated emotions about all of it, but about one thing, I am certain.

I am grateful to live in a country where incredible people are moved to serve.

I’m in the prompt because today, out in public, someone left this on my car, we assume because Bonnie Blue sports USMC plates. A random act of kindness on Veteran’s Day.

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The Mister photographed the card, inside and out.

That someone would take time to write and deliver such a thoughtful token of appreciation is such a wonderful, moving gesture.

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

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Draggin Ass? Dragon Mood?

I don’t know why we call it draggin ass. Maybe those guys with the droopy pants are draggin ass, but my ass is relentlessly buoyant. My tummy, after three abdominal surgeries in four years, has long been an entity unto itself, but even still, it leads with aplomb.

My mood, now that’s another matter.
I’m about ready for a nap.
I have slept every night, all week. All week with the sleeping at night. Last night, I dozed off on The Mister and he woke me up because I snored at him. Good for me. I love to snore my face. And to beat him to it. I hope I become a louder, more obnoxious snorer as I age. I hope I fall into my pillow and snore within minutes. Imagine us harmonizing — me, a wee hedge trimmer, him, a bigass chainsaw.

We all have relationship goals, amirite?

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I see sunrises all the time now and I still don’t know what’s so freakin fabulous about em. I’ll have you know the underside of my eyelids is far more beautiful than any sunrise I’ve ever seen. Also, because of the internet, I can look at beautiful sunrises from all over the world whenever I want.

Took a photo of the sunrise this morning and at best I’m meh about it. Sure, it was pretty.

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It’s the sky. It does that.

I suspect it’s different if you wake up as the sun rises and you exclaim, “Yay! Another day! Woot!” and pop up like Jack-in-the-Box, whereas I wake up in the dark like, “My bed is the most wonderful place in the whole wide world and I am in love with this pillow and I am so comfortable, not too hot and not too cold, and not a single cell in my body hurts and I have literally never been so relaxed in my whole life and, aw, kitty, and WHY DO I LIVE IN A SOCIETY THAT STARTS ITS DAY NOW?!?” I sorta roll out and set my feet down and cry at the moon. I carry my clothes to the dining room and hop around puttin on socks while my hair swoops around my head as if it makes its own wind…

Then into the black I drive.

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At this point I tell myself at least I don’t live in the godforsaken state of Georgia and at least it’s not scorching hot, and then I get on with my life. I usually proclaim, “Look at me, doin the fings” and then on Monday, “Look at me, doin the fings, not hittin the trash bins.”
Lately, I’ve had the pleasure of watching the leaves fall and swirl as I drive, and I do love that. Of course, it does that all day, in case you didn’t know.

Today is a magical day, because my tasks are as follows:

1. Brush the animals
2. Vacuum

That’s basically a free day in housewifery. I got to that by linin up my bingo the rest of the week. I have no phone calls to make, nothin to mail, no reason to shop.
After my nap, I’ll probably wake up all YAY! WOOT! at which point I will have the energy to make a new list

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Shh, be in the now.

Happy Friday Everyone!

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#ThursdayDoors — Dis-Is-It

And the locals smile.

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Slippery Noodle Inn is the oldest bar in Indiana. Although it’s been called many names in its time, it’s been in this building since 1850. It’s listed in the National Register of Historic Places.

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It’s iconic.
All Hoosiers would do well to spend at least one evening at the Slippery Noodle Inn. Where I spent the winter weekends of 1995. I’ve been there plenty.
My nephew was recently initiated into the splendor of what may well be the happiest bar ever. Not only patrons, but staff always seem to be having a good time, too. It’s got good vibes.

This joint is jumpin. Live blues DAILY. Many places in Indy are hyped-up as essential to tourism, but this one is beloved by locals as well.

On Slippery Noodle Inn’s site, one can read about famous guests and musicians, the slaughterhouse, its part in Prohibition, the Underground Railroad, and what crimes may still haunt it. In addition to food and drinks, they sell music and memorabilia. They offer a virtual tour, free photos and logos (like my header) and best of all, seemingly unending hospitality and generosity of spirit.

Also, many doors.

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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 and find the frog.

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One-Liner Wednesday — Boapillar

“I found the warmest, most colorful scarf the other day.”

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One-Liner Wednesday is brought to you by LindaGHill

weds

 

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Replays

This waking at five on the regular thing is still not pleasant, but I now wake minutes before five. Yesterday, perhaps due to time change, I awoke minutes before four. Fortunately, yesterday was not a five o’clock morning, and I relished the fact that I could sleep another three hours. I think tomorrow is a seven day as well.

The important part is I’m sleepin again.

It’s entirely possible that you’ve heard of The Bob and Tom Show as I do believe they’re syndicated. If not, I’m telling you, Bob and Tom are morning radio hosts on the local classic rock station, Q95. Bob and Tom have been on the radio since I was small. Seriously, these guys may live long as the sycamores. One of them, the dark-haired guy, lives right around here. I don’t know that I’d even recognize the other.
I don’t listen to Bob and Tom. I don’t listen to any morning radio. It’s my blog and I’ll ramble if I want to, but I am coming to a point.

The thing about Bob and Tom is that even when you listen to Q95 the rest of the day, when they’re not Bob and Tomming, there’s replay. “Bob and Tom in the morning and highlights replayed all night long” or somethin like that. Over the years, there have been some hysterical bits, and Q95 makes sure we never miss them, so the replay thing is workin.

My brain does this. Replays all night long. And honestly, I don’t need the promo.

I could go lie down, in the daylight, and read, watch a show, or scroll my phone, and my brain wouldn’t bother with replays. Even if I couldn’t sleep, I could enjoy a rest.

After the sun sets, I can’t do that. I have to work for it. Measure my breaths, count my blessings, play any number of mindfulness games until sleep finally comes.
Silence Falls.
Twilight Appears.
“DON’T FORGET ABOUT THE GUY WE TALKED TO AT THE PARKING METER!”
What? Brain, no.
Breathing Slows.
Fade To Black.
“REMEMBER WHEN WE COULDN’T FIND OUR SHOES?”
What the hell is in the darkness?!? Is that the only time the movie screen is available for replays?!?

I realize not everyone experiences this, but I fersure know I’m not alone. Initially I wondered if it was an introvert thing. I know I must process all the interaction, all the stimulation, and wind down before I can sleep. If I don’t have enough time, then I suppose it could take all night?
But there are plenty of good-sleepin introverts…
Do they have black screens at night?!? Are their films silent?!?

This thing where it’s late and people are tired and they fall into bed and sleep? Yeah, that only happens to me when I’m sick. I’m really good at going and going.

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Still lookin for the off-switch.

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Hand me that …

… acrylic-covered aluminum-coated polycarbonate tune plate, will ya?

 

Sittin with the young people, that Millennial crowd, chattin, cuttin up, watchin music videos.

 

When they got here I’d had the YouTube on. You can tell I’m not a Millennial, cause I say shit like THE YouTube.
As I was sayin, I’d had my music on. I was partially singin to my plants and I was partially seekin restoration from the diabolical remake Bubba had subjected me to. “Wish You Were Here” by Avenged Sevenfold.

 

 

It’s about ten times more awful to me that Bubba doesn’t even KNOW “Wish You Were Here” is a Pink Floyd cover. It’s not my fault. He’s had his headphones in since 2005, I swear. I tell him, “Okay, music can be your ONE form of rebellion,” and he smirks at me like his father. Actually, like a mirror of his father.

Anyway, I must maintain control of the clickie when he’s around, because I cannot do the scream thrash metal stuff and I can’t always count on him to take pity on me and play our shared music and it’s my fuckin house, y’all. Sometimes he’ll throw me a bone, and put on some Deadmau5, but the Venn diagram of music we both like is slim af.

 

He’s a hipster in denial, as so many are, bless his heart, but he’s the worst kind, because he’s always like, “Oh listen to this!” “Watch this!” and “You have got to eat this!” or “Have you had the latest obscure IPA?” while I’m over here all, “I still wear a sweatshirt I bought the year you were born, I reread Beverly Cleary’s Socks for comfort, and I watch the entire Frasier series at least twice a year, I know what I like.”

 

This is how we do. We do a lil less try new things as the years go on, and before you know it, we’ve got entire subsections of people with retro hair, listenin to the golden oldies, wearin the same style of shoes they’ve worn since their mothers bought them. These are not bad things all around. It’s life.

The other side of it is that comfortable shoes are nice and the more stuff hurts, the more we want the comfort of things that don’t hurt.

It’s not only noise — even food can cause me pain now!
I find myself sayin things like, “No thank you, Darlin, but you go ahead and eat all the chili you want.” (And put extra onions and chiles in it and wash it all down with whiskey, while you’re at it, because if I were still 24, I fuckin would.)

I went to standing room only concerts for music that can quite easily hurt my ears these days. We all get to be 20-something.

Now I generally want my canvas shoes, an early, mostly bland dinner, and the original versions of music, okay?

Which brings me to this, the point of my post.
In the midst of music appreciation a la YouTube, we went into Michael Jackson, and then the young people said things like, “I gotta get some vinyls. I got this one in a re-released edition, but I need to get a vinyl player.”
“They’re selling them at a decent price over at FYE.”
“Yeah? I asked for one for Christmas. Fingers crossed.”
“Yeah. I want some vinyls, too.”
“Records. They’re called records. LPs, 45s. You play them on a record player. A turntable.”
“They’re called vinyls now.”
“I don’t care what you people call them. They already have a name. They had a name before you had a name and they’re records. We don’t call cds whatever the fuck plastic they’re made out of.”

So yeah, next time we’re in the car and I want a cd, I’ll ask them to hand me one of those acrylic-covered aluminum-coated polycarbonate tune plates.

90sbabies

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Seven Black and White Pictures

There’s a popular photo trend/game/challenge circulating social media. There are variations. I’m guessing people alter them as they like. For instance, mine was Seven days. Seven black and white photos in your life. No people. No explanations. I was supposed to tag someone new each day.

I saw people with explanatory captions. I saw some labeled ‘no faces’ instead of ‘no people’ as well as ‘daily life’ and I saw some who tagged seven people every day.

I read Manja’s post about it before I began and then Ally Bean’s post about it once I’d started.

Prajakta tagged me in hers, here on WordPress, and I told her I would play on Instagram.

It was difficult.  I definitely considered it a challenge.

If I use a black and white filter, it’s because I don’t like the color in the photo. I maybe find it distracting from the subject. For instance, since my family and I run from shades of paper to caramel, hair from platinum to auburn, never mind the clothes, I typically order our portraits in black and white. It provides a better sense of uniformity.

Generally, I see black and white as a potential method to improve a photo I don’t much care for.

I love living in a colorful world. I totally identified with Manja’s “Who took my green?” This exercise led me to study my previous Instagram photos. I really like to click all the green growing things.

Also, when doing black and whites, it seems structure and contrast are more important and that’s hard for me, too. I didn’t get a lot of definition.

As you may have noticed, I don’t post current pictures of my kids’ faces on public sites, even still, I do photograph, or edit to post, faceless versions of them and it was hard not to use some of those.

The worst part was ‘in my life’. In my life? I can think of nothing duller. I love my life, but it’s not screaming for photo opportunities. I have one of those lives where the fun is dialogue, music, action — it’s definitely in color and at high speed.
My life in pictures-no-people is shoes, car, coffee, book, laundry, dog, cats, stove, tea, and bed. I have plenty of that on Instagram already.

So I chose odd stuff. Oddballs, I think Cee would say. I only like one better in black and white. The first one. The rest, I prefer their color versions.

 

I’m glad Prajakta tagged me, because it did make me think. It gave me a newfound sense of gratitude for color, and a greater appreciation for people who do black and white photography well.

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