Like, Alawt

I always joke that my driver’s license makes me look like one of the peoples from Wall-e. You remember the chair-bound peoples? Yeah, in my license photo, my face is round and huge and peachy and my hair is straight. We’re not allowed to smile at the BMV now, so I’m basically featureless. The Mister’s photo is equally bad. Looking at our licenses side-by-side, it’s amazing those two people found one another and did not make babies with giant peach heads and beady lil eyes.

But you know those moments when you turn on your phone and you’re like — well, like me last night — one big blue blob of sweater like someone didn’t case the pillow right? Lumps of generous curves. Loose breasts and a mother’s apron plopped onto the sofa like a stack of ice cream scoops. Pointy chin shining like the star of the show, and a tiny little peachy head with two dark dots for eyes teetering there in the hammock that is your ginormous second chin — well I’m not going to show you. In reality, I’d show you, Gentle Reader, but it’s the silent unknown readers who will have to imagine my blobbiness.


I am feeling all my blobbiness. Blah. Blahbbiness.
I am feeling very time-for-noodles, time-for-thick-ugly-socks, time-for-quilts. Mmhm.

The weekend is upon us. First, we must coffee and workee. Then we must come home, don fleece and ugly socks, and we should probably make breakfast for dinner. Eggs and toast and jam. Yes, this is what we need. With chocolate milk. Doesn’t that sound good? Fine, I’ll fry you some bacon. Then we will puter and music til we cannot brain and go to bed and make snuggles and sleep. At least, I will, because The Mister is the default morning parent and I am so lucky I married the early bird and he tosses me worms when I wake up.

I have the late afternoon shift and thus I will donate a few hours of my time to good works at school (which will also count as cardio) and then I will go back home and do pleasing things.


Like lie in my bed and sit on my sofa. Like Wall-e peoples. I might read. I might write. I might binge watch tv and pick mats out of Clara’s fur. I live large, y’all.

I lived large last weekend and that’s how I got all blahbby.

How are you feeling? What will you do this weekend?

Happy Friday Everyone!

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In My Element

It’s Friday and it was supposed to snow. It didn’t snow. It did get below freezing. It’s not only sweater weather now, it’s maybe-wear-a-coat weather, too. I likey. Don’t hate me. I was born this way.

People always be like, “It’s cause you’re still young” and “It’s because you’re overweight” or “It’s the hormones.” Stop that shit. It’s cause I like cold weather and hate to be hot. Period. Been this way all my life, and y’all, if you can imagine, I’ve been younger — too young to blame hormones, and at some points, downright skinny, and I have always, always, always hated to be hot.

You can look at pictures of juvenile me and see it plain as day. Pictures of me at summer camp — you can pick me out easy — in a sea of tan, glistening blondes, I am the red-faced ghost. If I am wearing a sundress and smiling, it is only because I am in the nice climate-controlled environment of the portrait studio, okay? (And maybe cause my mommy said there’d be ice cream after. I am highly motivated by ice cream CAUSE IT’S COLD!)

There are no unhappy photos of me out in the cold and snow. When it’s cold, not crazy cold, I no like crazy cold, *shakes head* I walk around smiling, all red-cheeked, tra-la-la, look at all the hot I’m not bein. Simply cannot help but smile.

People: “Dreary gray skies make me feel so sad.”
Me: “I can see and my skin is not made of sticky fire!”

It was 7C/44F yesterday on the way in, and I saw a mitten-clad teenager dressed so that her parka met her boots and I could not help but ask, “My God, what does she wear when it gets cold?” I half-wondered if she’s from southeast Georgia.

Meanwhile, on my breaks at work, I was out in a light sweater, trousers, and ballet flats without socks. I was out kickin up leaves, wind blowin through my hair — Ooh, those were good breaks!


My nose ran a lil and I LIKED IT, okay?

I like cold weather, old things, kale, rain, dog shows, black licorice, twinkly lights, and white wine at room temperature. You like things I cannot stand. Things like unsweetened iced tea, hotels, baseball, black eyeliner, industrial metal, riding horses, gin, rooftop views, and sunrises. Ew. No, wait, I do like sunrises when I’m still half-drunk and about to sleep.
Let’s just enjoy our differences.

HAPPY first cold FRIDAY of the season EVERYONE!

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#ThursdayDoors — Union50

So last Friday, which was a very, very good day for me, The Mister had a bad thing at work and I …


He made reservations and I got even happier and then after we drove the children to all the things ever on Saturday, we went out to eat.

We arrived in the darkness. Downtown on a Saturday night, like fucking grown-ups, man.

I whipped out my phone and The Mister thought I wanted to take a picture of us.
UM. YES, I totally want to take a picture of us. I didn’t even notice the door.



Twas dark.

Inside, there was light, but also other people. Say hi to the stranger lady, Everyone.



We ate that. The Mister had the Duck Duck.
I had the bone marrow, with arugula, tomato bacon jam, roasted garbanzo beans and two pieces of sourdough toast. The waiter said this often isn’t enough to satisfy, so he suggested I order a side, even though we had fries. I ordered the dates.
The bone marrow dish was enough to satisfy me, oh yes, mhm, but I had some of the dates and I love dates.

Dates on a date. Heh.

I went to the ladies’, it had a door.


Upon my exit, I saw another door, which reminded of me why we had not gone to Union50 in a long time, despite The Mister’s love of their Duck Duck.


Live music.
We love live music. We love food. We do not love them together. We like to talk while we eat, and we like to hear one another. Fortunately, no live music that night.

Still I went into the quiet liminal space, where I caught this other door.


Then while we waited for the valet, I got a few more.


I thought it was kind of ironic — taking a photo while being under surveillance.

Then we went home where we had the place all to ourselves.


#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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Ring Ding Dong, Ringa Ding Ding Ding Dong

Thank God it’s Friday.

This week played a joke on me.

Tuesday and Thursday conspired against me by switchin their modus operandi and

Friday got it right.

Happy Friday Everyone!
Get on down.

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#ThursdayDoors — A Trio

A trio of white doors.


Okay, is more like five doors, two not-anymore-doors, three handles, and sixty-six windows — anyone wanna count the bricks?

#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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The trees are finally at their peak and it’s going to be 67 degrees and instead of going to tromp about in leafeses, I am going to work. Y’all, I love my job, is great job, but it is not as good as leafeses tromping through the filtered sunlight of autumn’s trees, k?
Oh I walked in the ones on my driveway last night. Came home, kicked off my shoes, loved my dog, and went back out to fetch the groceries. Papery crunch-crunch under my bare feet. And cold asphalt. So happy!

Maybe I’ll leave work and tromp a bit. Maybe I’ll plant s’more bulbs.

Happiness, I can have it.


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Mary shared her One-Liner Wednesday featuring a Mittens meme, and it cracked me up.

I’m so glad my cats don’t text me.

If they did:

Cletus would send videos all day, “Look at me! Are you watching? Mama, Mommy, Mooohhm! Look at me, chewin the ends of this spider plant! Mmm, nom nom! Watch me jump from the top of the fridge and land on the oven mitts! Kerflop! Woot! Look Ma, I’m surfin!”

Clara would send heart emojis and cries for affection, like some insecure girlfriend. “Do you still love me? Can you love me from there? When will you be home to love me? I bet you like reading without my butt in your face, don’t you? I don’t mean it, I’m sorry, I love you. Do you still love me?”

I imagine Catticus might make witty commentary throughout the day. Deeply existential thoughts about chickens and fishes. Snide commentary about the other cats. Seriously derisive opinions about the dog.  Ya know what? I’d let Catticus text me.

Happy Friday Everyone!

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Thursday Doors — Bark Park

The doors are clearly marked, but the dogs really don’t care.

IMG_4820 (1)IMG_4821 (1)

I took these near a year ago.
I had things to say about this, and today is the day.

First of all, dogs don’t care about size. If you know dogs, you know it’s true. Dogs have no idea how big or small they are and they’re not sizeist about whose butt they sniff.
There are Teacup Terriers that will bite your ankles off to protect their people and there are Great Danes afraid of their own shadows. I know those dogs.

You know who cares about the size of dogs? Their humans.
I have a medium dog. If your dog weighs as much as you do, then I have a small dog. If you can carry your dog in your purse, I have a big dog.

I did not have Sadie with me the day I took these pictures. I’m glad I didn’t, because there was no medium dog run.
Sadie would want to go into both sides of the dog run, because she is a dog and signs are just things to pee on.

Somewhere out there in the interwebz is someone else who understands having a medium dog comes with certain doggy societal commentary. If I take my dog into the big dog run, people with very big dogs laugh and tell me how little she is. If I take my dog into the little dog run, people with small dogs gasp and pick up their dogs because they’re afraid my dog will eat theirs. Fortunately, most humans at dog runs and bark parks are not these people, but it happens.

For the record, Sadie has played with all the dogs and has neither eaten nor been eaten.


#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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Full Moon Today

Yesterday, I was rudely awakened before the sun.
My husband’s giant feet in his giant shoes clomp-clomp-clomping around the bedroom.
Then a light.
“What are you doooooing?”
(I’m whiny in the morning, I bet you didn’t guess.)
I don’t know what he said exactly, cause earplugs, but I heard the tone.

He came in again.
He said things again.
“You lost your phone?” I asked. Earplugs.
Then it was just a lot of yelling, probably swearing, and I looked at my phone, blink, blink, distance, blink. I didn’t have glasses on, so I asked, “Does that say it’s 5:49?”
I don’t know what he said, but again with the tone.

Have I ever mentioned what a miserable summbitch The Mister is in the morning? First light, he’s militant and I’m a whiny little bitch and I really don’t know how we’ve made it this far.

There was a bad news text on my phone. It was right there, just waiting for me to wake up. Fabulous. There’s nothing like waking up early to bad news. Why don’t we just turn the heat up to 105 and put some fire ants in my bed, hmm?

The Mister found his phone.

Then we just sat on our bed, maudlin, angsty. Did a lil grooming. Sat on the bed again. We yawned a lot. I chided him for his behavior, he nodded agreeably. Our pets came to greet us. They probably thought it was ‘that one weird dark weekend’ or something.

I made coffee.

I had my blues out, ready to don, but I needed cotton in the worst way. I needed big comfy cotton, so I wore my biggest sweater, a zip-up cardigan thing — kinda creamy colored — oversized collar covers half my shoulders — so roomy it easily adds thirty unflattering pounds to your frame — you’d get one for your granny and she’d love you for it.

I went out into the world and made it through the day but yeah, that was a Tuesday all right.

Wednesday — Let’s shall, shall we?
Bring me the moon. No, I don’t have a lasso.

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SOCS – Text For Pick Up

Can I tell you how nice it is to be alone in the house?
All week, my family said stuff about doing things today and while I heard them, I didn’t actually actively listen apart from the sections which involved my driving. I simply said “Okay” a lot. As today neared, I began to wonder what the hell was happening, but I wasn’t sure I wanted all that in my brain, because as I said, apart from the driving, it doesn’t concern me. Piecing together the taxi schedule didn’t matter to me.
I didn’t sign up for this event, nor was it assigned to me, therefore, I received no emails about it. Turns out more than one thing is happening. I have no practices, no performances, no rehearsals, no parties to go to.
I got the 9am part. Take Moo. 9am. Roger that.
I woke up to Moo, “MIMOM!”
I had been dreaming. My hand shot up. “I am Mimom!”
Moo said something like, “Mmm, eh, heh rmanrmrr bemmhm lrrrrmnm hmmler m” so I took my earplugs out. “I don’t know which one is the gas and which one is the brake so I can turn your car on and it’s cold already and I want to leave in twenty minutes. Are you gonna get up?”
“My alarm is going to go off at 8:30 and it takes five minutes to get to school.”
“I want to be there early.”
of course you do. i always want to be early to my things, too. this, however, is not my thing.
I slept very well. Reports from The Mister include me snoring on his chest before he fell asleep. I remember nothing. I nestled into him and awoke to Moo. I don’t remember putting my earplugs in or fixing my pillows.
I drove Moo to school.
The Mister showed up at home some time later. He said he caused some sorta ruckus when he left the house, and kept asking me if I really didn’t hear him. I really didn’t.
I had a text from Sassy, “I set my alarm. Please don’t wake me. I will get up.”
I know exactly how she feels. Also, so we’re clear, I didn’t even know she was here, because I don’t know how many things she’s doing and I wouldn’t know what time to wake her because I legit don’t know what time she has to be anywhere, only that I have to drive her at several points today.
When she finally did arise, I told her if she got ready early enough I would take her to McDon’ts. She leapt from the sofa.
I got McDon’ts, dropped Sassy off, and gave food to The Mister before he left to do another thing.
Apparently, I have the house to myself for hours and hours. I suppose I should work in my yard and go to the goddamned grocery store, but I’m not shoulding. Can I read? I can!

SoCs is brought to you by LindaGHill

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