Poor Brian

Who’s Brian?
Brian is the boyfriend/fiance/husband in line behind me at the grocery. Brian is never right. In fact, Brian is such a useless twat, I don’t know why Hat Lady even shares her time with him. Hat Lady is probably not her given name, but she wore a hat and I avoided eye contact.

“OH MY GOD, all these coupons are expired! Who has coupons that expire?”

fuckin everyone, hat lady

Brian mumbles about the rewards program and tries to explain how it works.

“We are NOT shopping here anymore!”

good, cause i shop here all the time

“Brian, I will not calm down. I’m not angry. I’m angry because this store doesn’t even have things we like! Why are we shopping here if they don’t even sell things we like?”

i see you like some things, as you have them in your cart, angry, not-angry 

“Brian! They don’t have vegan things or anything gluten-free. Nothing I like is here!”

*scrutinizes cart*

is that winter wheat ale? bitch, you know that’s gluten, right? got wheat right on the label

i do believe those red peppers are both gluten-free and animal-free

“They don’t even have my yogurt!”

*also gets upset when her yogurt is sold out* one point for hat lady

“God, Brian, this was a total waste of our time. Now we still have to go to Whole Foods and they close in 25 minutes!”

Brian mumbles about how he can go out in the morning.

“I still won’t have my —” I swear she says something about keto gelatin superfood infused sprinkle creamer but I don’t know what she’s actually saying because I have no idea

“Buy ten get ten free? Who on earth would buy ten candy bars?”

i do. i buy them. and my kids get pissed when daddy doesn’t

Brian thinks it’s a good deal. Brian says, “Anyone who wants ten more for free.”

“No one needs ten candy bars! No one! That’s terrible!” Hat Lady is aghast.

“Twenty candy bars.”

“Even worse!”

not when you live with a chocoholic and two teenage girls



I am vigilant about stocking the snackies drawer with the good and bad. Sometimes including 20 candy bars. I hafta live here, ya know. To some degree, I have got to give the people what they want.



I walk around my cart to put the remaining bags in. When I turn around, Brian has moved his cart to the pay station and I cannot be with my wallet or use my card because Brian’s cart.

“Pardon me,” I say, pointing to the pay station, “I still need to pay.”

“Sorry,” says Brian. He pulls his cart back.

“BRIAN!” Hat Lady scolds him, “What were you thinking?!?”

I look at Brian. I take a good, long look at him.

Hey, Hat Lady! Women love a good rescue. Plenty of women would love to take Brian home, give him a bath, fry him some chicken, and tell him what a good boy he is!

Say it with me, now.


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SoCS — Yawn

*yawn* Hey Morning People, I bet I was up before you! I was up at 4:10. Up being me asking The Mister, “Is it the middle of the night now?” while he put his pants on. He said somethin and I took my earplugs out and put on sweats and brushed my teeth and found two matching shoes that I put on over my matching socks. It was a successful event. No one made coffee because we’re pretty sure we haven’t finished digesting last night’s dinner.

*yawn* Moo has a thing. A travel-y thing. We wish her luck. We’ll pick her up in the middle of the next night. Is that tonight or tomorrow morning? Who can tell?

*yawn* The boy one is here, but I dunno what he’s doing after he sleeps his face. Sassy has a thing, too…

*yawn* Later today, when it’s actually a day, The Mister is taking me to a very special meal. Maybe they have doors, but they definitely have pie.

*yawn* Okay, I’ve been up more than a whole hour. That’s enough morning for me, thanks. Time to snuggle up and catch s’more zees. Zs? Zzzs? Whatever, I hate morning. Twice on a Saturday. *yawn*


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

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#ThursdayDoors — Too Picy

It was a beautiful day. It was too cold, but it was beautiful. After a week of rain and snow and gray and snow white skies, it was nice to see the blue sky, even if it was too cold.

The Mister and I were alone and we had breakfast out, and went to the bookshop, and he got some new kicks, and he asked me if there was anywhere else I wanted to go, and I said, “Yes, actually. Just across Allisonville Road is Penzey’s Spices,” and he did drive me there. I ASKED him to.


Over breakfast, we had talked about how I have an aversion to thyme. I always forget this, because I don’t cook with it and it’s not something I encounter often. You know how I’m always like, “I’m a foodie, I eat all the foods?” Well, I don’t like thyme. I don’t mean l won’t consume a dash in a soup or a sauce, I mean anything with thyme in it would taste better without it. My mother made thyme chicken once, at least 25 years ago, and I have not forgotten. It was awful. I don’t wanna smell it, I don’t wanna taste it, I don’t want to think about it. Writing this makes me think about it and I kinda wanna hork. I can actually envision my mother that day. Happy to see me home, me walkin in all
“Oh God, what the hell happened? What is that smell?”
“Thyme chicken.”
It did NOT taste good. No likey thyme. No no no.
Ick. Thyme. And I had thought, “Where could we go that my husband could smell the thyme and I would not have to?” The spice place.

Also, Marian is always goin on about Penzey’s and her instapot and I drive by the Penzey’s all the time. I had lovely ideas about sniffing lavender… maybe buy some groovy Marian kinda spice blend, kick my fish up a notch, fancy peppercorn. Dreams.

I am dumb. I walked in, acted like I don’t have the nose of a bloodhound, started sniffin and sniffin and about three jars in, I got into somethin with a lot of curry. ALAWT. I mean CURRRRREH. My sinuses aflame, my throat all choked. And then the sneezing. Guess what else was in the thing with all the curry? Pepper. So I pretty much sneezed my way to the ladies and blew and blew and blew. And thus, the sniffing ended. Too picy for Joeys.

I have a good nose. *SIGH*
But hey, I detect gas leaks, so it’s not for nothin.

Anyway, much like candle shops and perfumeries, I should be brief and shop with intent.

The Mister smelled thyme and he said, “That’s fuckin gross.” I love him so much.

Have you smelled Mexican vanilla?!? Do that.

Okay, so doors.


Oh wait, those are windows. Lookee blue skies!


#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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I Heart Friday

The other day, I was behind a big black SUV at the stoplight, and I noticed the driver stuck an I Heart Guns bumper sticker on it and it made me wonder what do I Heart enough to advertise it on my vehicle?

Truth: I own ONE bumper sticker. It’s this:

I’ve had it more than twenty years, never actually put it on a car. That’s like six different stories and they’re more like drinkin-on-the-porch stories, not blog stories, so you’ll not read those here.

For a long time, I had an alumni bumper sticker on my car. I almost got an alumni license plate, but ultimately I chose the Marine Corps plate, because I believe it’s an advantageous sorta license plate, whereas the alumni plate might, at best, have people rolling down their windows and shouting “Chirp Chirp!” at me.


When you finish college, there’s this sorta overwhelming need to let everyone know you’re done with that now. The newness wears off and people ask terrible questions like, “When ya gonna go to grad school?”

But Hearting things.

I see this stuff all the time. You do too, I bet.
I Heart My Wife, My Husband, My Dog, My Cat, My Kid. well good, ya should. To me, if you’re puttin it out there on your car, you’re like, “This is what you need to know about me, Total Stranger In Traffic: I Heart Guns.”

I couldn’t do that one. I don’t Heart Guns. I’m ambivalent at best. Recoil very bang.

But what DO I Heart? And better, do I Heart anything so significantly interesting and unique that I want everyone to know this about me, like an ad for me, before I even step out of my car?

I don’t.

I Heart my blog. I Heart sleeping in. I Heart yellow. I Heart ice cream, quilts, baths, Coca-fucking-Cola. I Heart precipitation, no, wait, not hail. I Heart doors. I Heart Batman. I Heart cardigans. I Heart a lot of things. I do. I just don’t know at what level I would need to Heart something to advertise it.

Gun to my head, if I had to choose a Heart for Blanche, I’d probably choose I Heart My Solitude or I Heart Singing In My Car or I Heart Arriving Safely.
What do y’all Heart?


Posted in Random Musings | 76 Comments

#ThursdayDoors — I Dunno

It’s a door. *shrugs* I dunno.
“What’s in it?”
I dunno.
“Where were you?”
I dunno.
“When was it taken?”

May 1, 2018


Maybe it’s the box they lock the winter in. You don’t know.

#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 Affirm

The week is finally over and the crazy cold has gone. It’s 28F/-2C. I’m no meteorologist, but that sounds pretty average to me. All the cold just affirms to me I’m where I should be. I could probably live happily anywhere north of the Mason-Dixon and east of the Mississippi.

Has it been awhile since I gleefully recounted my gratitude to be home? I feel like it has. And yet, this week, every time someone bitched about the weather, I thought, “Meh, it’s as it should be.”

Some winters are brutal, others are mild. The cold should burn your nose several times each winter. I demand snow. I want icicles. Did you know if you live in southeast Georgia for seven years, it may only snow once, and not accumulate? You’d never see an icicle in southeast Georgia. You’d see snow on palm trees, which is pretty cool, but definitely not my idea of snowy trees. Spring here is glorious. Spring tosses up bright, colorful bulbs and green grass. The incredibly verdant splendor of spring makes my heart sing. Every day, something new blooms. Spring in southeast Georgia was just a day when all the azaleas bloomed and I said, “Ooh! Aaah!” and that was that. Spring here is also wet as fuck and brings with it mud, mud, and more mud. There are floods and wet shoes and wet dogs and umbrellas bent over backwards. Fuckin whirlygigs all over the place, rooting to make new trees. Snow and ice still visit us in spring here. When, as I’ve heard this week, Hoosiers say, “That should be the last of it!” in January, I check a box in my brain noting this person is only with us in spirit. Although rare, it has snowed in May where I live. Summer is my least favorite, but then, summer brings all the fruit and fruit is my favorite. Have you even grown tomatoes? Have you ever gorged on watermelon? Pullin stuff outta the garden right and left, like, “LOOK WHAT THE EARTH MADE!” Sunflowers, okay? PETRICHOR. Summer is hot and sticky and full of mosquitoes and sunburn is a health hazard. It gets hot as blazes here, over a hundred some days and you can’t properly enjoy soda or alcohol because you have to drink water all goddamned day just to stay alive. Aggressive fucking YELLOW JACKETS! But we get lightning bugs and majestic thunderstorms, although not at the same time. When I’m red-faced and weak and itchy, I KNOW it won’t last forever. Summer in southeast Georgia is eternal. I arrived in June, did my very best to hibernate, and then when I was putting up my Christmas tree with open windows, I called my mother (Florida native) to ask her when the hell I’d ever be able to wear a sweatshirt. “Maybe February,” she said. I threw out most of my warm clothes when I lived in Georgia. When I left Georgia, I owned 14 pairs of open-toe shoes. As far as I could tell, fall in southeast Georgia simply meant people decorated their houses with things that are organic in Indiana — bales of hay, dried corn, a scarecrow. Everything just turned a darker shade of brown or a lighter shade of tan. Pumpkins couldn’t be out in that heat. Pumpkins were indoor decor, needed the a/c. Wear a tank top, not to the punkin patch, but to the BAMBOO FARM, pick strawberries, not apples, in the fall. And don’t forget the sunscreen! Here in Indiana, fall is idyllic. Fall is spotted with every warm color under the sun. The foliage is spectacular. Everywhere you look it’s orange or yellow or red and this landscape, a green carpet littered with red and orange and yellow against a blue sky, this sight catches your breath in your chest because it’s so incredibly beautiful and you’re in it! Boots! Fall is also wet as fuck here. In the fall, it floods and there are wet shoes and wet dogs and umbrellas bent over backwards. The gutters choke on the beautiful leaves, we slide on the beautiful leaves, and once they’ve sat, heavy and wet, they’re a rusty, murky shade of brown that presents a moldy odor that some of us cannot get enough of. That smell, accompanied by the smell of burning leaves is the quintessential smell of autumn, and for me, sheer bliss. And it might snow. And here, it is always “tornado season.”

If you live in a place like mine, you know. There are extremes in the heights of each season. Each season does what it’s supposed to do and lovers of four-season weather enjoy it for what it is — another passing phase. For people who are truly happy in four seasons, there’s a mentality of adaptability that may well translate outside our ever-changing landscape. Four-season people know how to take the bad with the good, as it seems a small price to pay for snow, but also tulips and tomatoes, and Lord Almighty, have you seen the fall on this place?!?

For other people, not so much. For me, crucial to my well-being. Feast yo eyes.






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


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#ThursdayDoors — Jot Plus Door, with Snow

It’s 10:30 and I am home.
I am so glad to be home.

FIL is here. Say hi to Papaw, Everyone. It’s not every day I come home to Papaw in my green chair. It’s not every day he has plans to come into the city the snow forces him to sleep on the sofa chez nous.

We went to TWO high schools tonight. Sometimes that happens. You’d think one parent goes one place and the other parent goes to the other, and we do, but sometimes the things are special, and both parents go to one and the other kid gets butthurt. Fortunately it’s not the same kid every time. Well, at least not here.
Sometimes one kid’s thing, or her part of the thing, gets done in time to see the other kid do her thing.
And tonight was magical that way.

It is an awesome night to be me. The mommer pride tide is high. Floods of tears! Swells of joy!


Alas, the only door of interest today:




But is it a door?

YES! Yes it is!


Tis like a barn door, but with metal.

I really love dooring, and I love y’all, but I love myself and value my personal safety and so I did not cross the lot of cars driven by a thousand frenzied parents in order to get a single shot.

#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.



Big snow tonight. No one I’ve talked to knows how much snow’s coming. Probably because they’re all people who are busy working and parenting and driving. There’s a polar vortex ya know. It’s all snowy and slippery. It’s a bit warmer now. Oh yeah, it’s 12 now. Woot.

My biggest complaint is that my warmest coat is my Simon jacket (twas my nephew’s) I took it because I thought it’d be nice for working in garden, particularly when it was stick carryin time. It’s all stained and holey like some teenager boy wore it every day all the time for five years. It’s way too hot to wear at stick time. It’s also too hot to wear in the spring when I roll the leaves back. It is ideal for temperatures hovering around zero, but it’s slightly embarrassing to wear it to things. Goes great with my gray knit boots. So sensible. *rolls eyes* Hand to God, it’s like wearing the heaviest pelts of the ugliest animals.
I want a bright and happy puffy coat. Bright and happy. And I want bright and shiny gold boots. Ferreal. Keep an eye out.

Gonna be almost 60 this weekend. I might see some doors.

And THAT is my last JusJoJan Jot! Yayyy!

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Jot as the Wind Blows

I reckon I can jot.
Jot jot jot.


Remember January 2019? It was work, drive, jot, sleep.
And so was January 2018.
And there’s just one more day of jotting. I need to rustle up a door… Can I though? Can I?

That cold came. It’s cold. It’s zero. The wind is bitey. There’s a delay at school tomorrow, which I fail to understand, as when they go, it will be a whopping one degree instead of negative three degrees… not sure it’s worth the fuss.

Fuss. That’s what I’ll do if I jot any further. I shall go lie down now.

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Very January, So Tuesday

Well, it’s Tuesday, and despite honoring the Tuesday with two layers of pink clothing to ward off any bad juju, I had to go back to the doctor for another round, or should I say, an upgrade in antibiotics? Yay. Don’t get me wrong, I remain astounded by modern medicine, just not how I want to spend time.

Also, I miss my retired doctor. We had a good relationship. Or, I did. If he really cared about me, he’da worked until I died even though he’d been my doctor since I was 11 and people don’t usually work until they’re 120 years old. He wanted to travel and write. The gall of him. Pfft.

Otherwise, it was a good day.  I crossed two things off my list. I broke into my orange slices.

Wicked cold comes this way tomorrow. The Indianapolis Star and everyone I talked to today told me so. Thank you, Wisconsin. We’d really hoped for your August weather, but clearly we’ll be getting your January weather instead.

“Wednesday’s high is 1 degree below zero, coupled with wind chills of up to 33 degrees below zero and wind gusts that can hit up to 25 mph. The temperature low is expected to drop 7 degrees below zero on Wednesday night, with wind-chill values as low as 20 degrees below zero, according to the National Weather Service.”

Winter ProTip: It’s easier to stay warm if you hop or stomp and swear with every breath.

Now, that’s warmer than had been predicted and as I’ve mentioned, weather is relative. People so dramatic, “IT’S COLDER THAN ANTARCTICA!” I roll my eyes. Sometimes it’s hotter here than in Florida, okay? Still, even I, lover of winter, think that’s too cold. I know I’ll survive because several years ago, I stood at the bus stop for over a half hour with my kids when it was -19 feels like -40 and I lived. I don’t know why we had school then but not tomorrow. So inconsistent. Schools and universities are closed tomorrow. There’s work, of course. Not too keen on drivin in the snow squalls, though. The Mister took the day off and said he will drive me to work. I will like that.

I like my husband.

Soon, I’m going to bed. I also like bed. It’s especially nice on a very January Tuesday.



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Twas a Orange & Gray & Green Day

Lemme show you.

See, first, when I arrived at work, there were orange slices on my desk.


A HUGE container of orange slices. Way more orange slices than I should ever be left alone with, okay? Office Assistant is always buying us yummy snackies and so I went to Mentor, “Did Office Assistant bring you a special treat, too?’
Mentor answered flatly, “No she did not, and she didn’t bring you a special treat, either.”
“Did you get me these?”
“I did!”
That was so nice!


The glare is over the serving size, because they don’t want me to know that the serving size is half an orange slice four times a year.


At noon, I went out for the prompt of the day photo was ‘sky’. Please note this photo is in color, it was truly noon, and yes, that is the bleary sun.


Snow and freezing rain on their way.



Then I came back in to eat my jello and my apple, and I realized, I had a bit of a green theme goin on today.


Yes, there is something wrong with my hands, but you knew that, don’t stare.

I managed to eat my yogurt this afternoon, but I never did get to my orange slices. I wonder if they miss me the way I miss them?

How was your Monday? Any sweet treats? Colorful surprises? Impending weather changes?



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