In terms of Indianapolis neighborhoods, I’m a fan of Irvington, because of the houses. The old, beautiful houses in historic districts make me swoon, you know how I do.
The doors on the front and both sides of the church are the same, but I frequently drive by this west side set, so those are the ones I captured.
Irvington Presbyterian church is a beautiful building and I love its doors.
If you’re into cornerstones, a photo of this church’s cornerstone (1929) can be found at the bottom of this article.
#ThursdayDoors is part of an inspired post series run by Norm Frampton. To view other interesting doors, click the link and see what others are posting today.
As a child, who was your favorite relative? Ooh, that’s tricky. Maybe my mother’s mother. She had great authenticity and a love of adventure. She was so much fun. She was my playmate well into my 20’s.
If you could be a tree or plant, what would you be? I’d be an evergreen shade plant.
What would be your preference, awake before dawn or awake before noon? Noon. I can’t even emphasize that enough. It’s 4am and I’m writing this because insomnia has come to call AGAIN. I don’t think I’m meant to be up with the sun. I’m much more likely to go down after sunrise. It’s utterly exhausting to be a night owl in a morning people world.
Would you like to sleep in a human size nest in a tree or be snuggled in a burrowed spot underground? Human size nest in a tree would do just fine, so long as there are no mosquitoes.
Bonus question: What are you grateful for from last week, and what are you looking forward to in the week coming up? Last week I was most grateful for my husband. This week I look forward to … hey, I don’t know, maybe naps.
It’s been a good long while since I’ve ranted, and it’s important to remind you every now and again that THIS IS NOT A NICE LADY BLOG, lest you begin to think I’m some simple-headed basic Pollyanna bitch.
This one’s been a long time comin, so for your own safety, I ask that you sit down, strap in, and put yer helmets on.
Get ya drink. I’ll wait.
Bitches love my man.
Proverbial bitches.
Proverbial bitches who proverbially suck his dick all the goddamn time.
They lurve him.
Nowhere is this more apparent than on social media.
The Mister is the most beloved man that ever graced social media.
No one likes me, least of all my family and friends, and everyone loves him to the nth degree.
That’s how I feel, and it doesn’t matter what you think, it only matters how I feel, cause INFJ.
Now, before I go on, I want you to know that these could all well be fictional events, or completely hyperbolic examples but they’re totally not.
If any of these stories involve you, I probably still love you, but there’s no hope I’ll ever forget being slighted by you and I guess we’ll both have to live with that: you, glowing in your triumph and me crying and drinking stale champagne, but we’ll manage.
Also, I’m flattered you’re reading my blog. I had no idea you read my blog!
I know the sun rises and sets upon The Mister and how I know that nobody likes me, everybody hates me, and I should just eat some worms.
1. I am invisible next to my husband.
Me: It’s crazy hot in here.
The Mister: It sure is crazy hot in here.
All the women: Yes, you’re right! It sure is crazy hot in here!
Julie: I played violin.
Jenny: I didn’t play anything, I sang though.
Julie: The Mister sang, too.
Me: I also sang. for five years longer than he did, but whatever, Julie, you’ve only known me 20+ years
Stranger: Do you know where the paint is?
Me: Aisle 4
Stranger to The Mister: Thanks. Have a nice night, Man.
The Mister: You too.
2. If I vaguebook, it is assumed that I am speaking of my husband and only the bravest and strongest will acknowledge it.
Me: Narcissists are dreadful.
Tracey: Aren’t they though?
Cole: I had a stalkery Narcissist for years and years.
Me: I think this is one of those statuses that people think I’m talkin about my husband or somethin. No one’s sayin anythin…
Then BOOM! Lotsa comments.
Like, ‘Oh, it’s not about The Mister, so it’s safe now.’ Do other people think my husband is a Narcissist?
3. He’s the pretty one.
If I post a selfie, I get maybe 30-40 Likes. If I post a picture of The Mister, or both of us together, I get 60-80.
4. He’s the funny one.
Me: And then she fell on her face!
…
The Mister: Just splat on her face!
Everyone: OH LOL LOL ROTFL OH LOL LOL PMSL OH HAHAHA LMMFAO You are so funny!
5. He’s the smart one.
The Mister cuts the child’s pancakes with a pizza cutter.
“What a brilliant idea!”
“Right? Joey taught me this years ago.”
“You’re so smart!”
5. I give people things and people thank The Mister.
“This is wonderful, thank you so much!” she says as she pats his hand.
“Joey thought you’d like it.”
“I do.” I’m right here. Hello? Am I in a nightmare? I don’t care who you are, not once in the last sixteen years has The Mister ever so much as thoughtfully purchased a greeting card for you, let alone a fucking gift.
6. People let him sleep.
Children never wake him in the night due to bad dreams, worry, vomiting, wet bed.
If he falls asleep AT A SOCIAL GATHERING people say, “Aw, he’s so tired.” Yes. He’s worked so hard. At falling asleep 4 hours before me, waking 30 minutes before me and having napped earlier this afternoon when I was cooking all this fucking food.
7. His feelings matter.
The Mister: I’m a little bit anxious right now.
Everyone: Why? What’s wrong? What happened?
The Mister: It is what it is, there’s no reason.
Everyone: You poor thing. Can I make you some tea? Would a backrub help? Is there anything I can do? Here, lie down.
Me: I’m havin a panic attack.
Everyone: …
8. His blasphemy sounds better and his swearing is overlooked.
If I shout, “Oh my God!” when a yellow jacket lands on my nose, I am asked if I am invoking God reverently. So unladylike, so ungodly, so unbecoming.
If The Mister says, “Oh Lord no, dear sweet baby Jesus, hell no!” then he is funny and this is the best story they have ever heard.
If I say it’s fucking hot, people think I am being dramatic and crude.
If he says it’s fucking hot, people stay indoors and thank him for the warning.
9. The children ask for him when they’re sick or injured.
Me when they’re sick — back-rubbing, cool-rag fetching, bucket-emptying, hair-holding, drink-soup-toast toting.
Him when they’re sick — “Suck it up, Buttercup! Drink water, drive on!”
Me when they’re injured — Holding them, asking them, “Can you move it? Do you feel a bump? Do you think you need medical assistance?”
Him when they’re injured — Moving potential broken bits, making them scream and cry, yelling at them, dousing their wounds with alcohol.
He has the worst bedside manner, but they want him still.
So far, I’ve protected the names of the guilty offenders and I’ve not given you substantial proof, but I submit to you, my Instagram.
My Instagram.
Mine.
The Mister isn’t on Instagram.
But on his birthday, the daily prompt was ‘My hero,’ and as such, I posted his photo.
Check it out. People actually wished him a happy birthday on my post. Did those same people wish me a happy birthday on Instagram? Nope. Like I’m runnin a fuckin fan page for The Mister.
Do you need more proof?
I tell ya, he should run for office. Bitches would be swoonin over his likable ass, chasin him down, vyin for his attention, “I saw you on Instagram! I love what you’ve done with your hair!” He’s bald, Bitch. God did that. And all those political opinions? They’re mine. I gave him those, along with a host of other things, not the least of which are his love of duck confit and a better vocabulary.
You could conclude that I’m jealous, and I am; I’ve never been likable. In the words of my dear friend Orb, “You’re likable..just only to the right people. Just like me.” Takes one to know one, I guess.
But in turn, you must know, The Mister chooses me every day. He doesn’t know I’m not the pretty one, the funny one, or the smart one. He sees me at my best and my worst, and he really sees me. He values my judgment, my intellect, my insight. He listens to me when I prattle on and he comforts me when I’m panicked. He fosters my growth, finances my passions, and he is man enough to thrive in the challenges of my bitchiness. He makes me forget how awkward and irrelevant I am.
I can see why people love him so much. Everyone should have one.
I appreciate your reading all the way to the end, because I jotted the fuck out of this Just Jot It January post.
You’d think that the word frozen would be a perfectly suitable prompt for the first week of January here in Indiana, but there’s nothing literally frozen outside. Usually by now we’ve had repeated hits of of freezing rain and our street would stay frozen for months.
I like the cold, upwards of 20F/-6C and I love the snow. This winter, if you wanna call it that, has been just plain weird.
I feel cheated.
There’s a fly on my window, for fuck’s sake.
Are my bulbs even gonna freeze?!?
As ever, I’m looking for the silver linings.
I can get out more.
No shoveling.
No treacherous porch steps.
No waddling like a penguin to the kids’ bus stops.
It can’t last forever, right?
Yesterday was 38F/3C. I put on my fleece shirt, a scarf and a hat and walked the dog for well over an hour. It will be a tad colder today and I will do the same.
It’s not often I’ll walk like that in January. Usually 20-30 minutes is all I can take, because usually it’s well below freezing, and if there’s a lot of snow, it’s quite a work out.
This is what it looks like outside.
Yes, technically I know it’s January of 2016, but on Monday, when I should have done this post, I was busy enjoying my company. I’m postin this super crazy early because later today, after I sleep, I plan to be mimosa’d and pajama’d and the only fussin I wanna do is over a big ol pot of Hoppin John.
We’re gonna count this Share My World as my launch post for Just Jot it January as well. I am not tipsy, the champagne didn’t go right to my head and someone needs to think of a nicer, non-violent metaphor that illustrates the idea of killing two birds with one stone.
Tell how you are feeling today in the form of a weather report. (For example, partly cloudy, sunny with a chance for showers, etc.) I feel 40-ish, cloudy, and blustery — this is good. You don’t want me hot (bitchy) or sunny (delirious.)
What is most memorable about your high school years? Boys. Yep. Boys. Blue-eyed boys mostly, and lots of em. Boys in holey jeans, boys in fast cars, boys in basketball shorts, boys with guitars, and boys in fields… a lot of boys, okay?
My memory is stellar.
The memories are vivid.
I remember other things, but mostly boys.
Have you ever owned a rock, pet rock, or gem that is not jewelry? Yes. I’ve had lots of pretty rocks, but Moo has slowly stolen them from me, leaving me with one amethyst egg. I think two of my Buddhas are jade, does that count?
Complete this sentence: I like watching…out my picture window. I love watching the behavior of trees. I know I am turning into a lil old lady, but I love my birds and squirrels, too.
Bonus question: What are you grateful for from last week, and what are you looking forward to in the week coming up? I am most grateful for all the presence of loved ones and ironically, I look forward to peace and quiet in their absence next week. Long live The Quiet Room!
on nearby townhomes — i like the way the wreath repeats the color of the brick
in broad ripple — about a month after i took this picture, ladders and buckets appeared on the porch — maybe i’ll get an after photo
at the fairgrounds — no longer a dorm, but a place to exhibit 4-H projects
apartment building in broad ripple — stone and glass gorgeousness
#ThursdayDoors is part of an inspired post series run by Norm Frampton. To view other interesting doors, click the link and see what others are posting today.
If you don’t live in Indy, imagine you have a prominent creek that runs 50+ miles through your state, and dumps into a river inside your city. Pretend there’s a primary thoroughfare that travels alongside it. Picture yourself driving on this road damn near every time you leave your house. You take this imaginary road to go to stores, restaurants, parks, the library, downtown — and since you’ve pretty much always lived near this creek and its road, you have driven on this road literally tens of thousands of times.
One night, it’s dark and rainy, and you take a wrong turn out of an exit you never use. You think it’s not too big of a deal, you know you simply need to find a right turn. You can’t find a right turn. They’re all marked NO OUTLET.
You know why? Cause creek.
When you realize where you are, cause creek, you have a big fat laugh to yourself, because you’re not lost at all. You have surely been driving on the only, perhaps two-mile stretch of this road that you don’t drive all the freakin time.
I came home and I said to The Mister, “I needed to turn right but I turned left, so I was headed north on Fall Creek Parkway and I had no idea where I was for awhile. Do you know where Fall Creek takes you north of Kessler?” He thought for a moment and shrugged.
“No. I dunno where Fall Creek runs north.”
“Past Lake Charlevoix, Brokenhurst, Johnson Road, past Skiles Test Park, to freakin Shadeland!”
Then he said, “Ah! Ahahaha!”
We had quite a laugh at ourselves. Of course, we DO know where Fall Creek Parkway runs north, we drive it all the time!!!
I have been at the intersection of Fall Creek and Shadeland Avenue so many times, I could probably paint you a panoramic picture of its trees. We not only drive through that intersection all the time, but we literally walk under it on a trail.
Now here’s a crude rendering of Fall Creek Parkway, with the key not to scale at all.
My civil engineering parents are scowling, but for the rest of you, it’s enough to illustrate my point.
The road is gray, houses I’ve lived in are yellow, places I frequent are red, and green is the area I travel two to twenty times a week. I’m not kidding. We really do drive it all the time. All the time. Just not that gray section there. Apparently I only do that on accident.
Have you ever been lost in your own stomping grounds?
joeyfullystated 
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