In my closets, in my heart, in my head…
Oh hell yes, definitely in my head… although you’d think there’d be plenty of room up there after the 80s… #amIright?
Wait, hold up, some of you weren’t even alive in the 80s… you don’t know! This girl right here though? Yeah, she was, she and her friend "Smoking Girl"…
Oh hell yeah… bless their hearts.
But anyway that’s why this turned into a photo blog for a while. But yeah, that’s over, hiatus ended. Back to the scribbling grind.
And yeah, for those of you keeping score at home? Still Funemployed. Still going nuts. But there are things finally starting to happen in that area… even if everyone is moving slowly… okay, very slowly.
Related note: damned retrograde Mercury.
So, anyway, hope you missed me. If not, well here’s the latest episode of Downton Arbys for you… maybe that’s enough to make you smile? Go ahead, watch it, you might like it better than me or “Smoking Girl”.
See? Now you’re smiling… and that means I’m #winning… woo hoo!
The rats are gone. I think. Or at least they’ve gone into hiding. A rodent witness protection program? Rat mourning? Do they even do that? I mean, seriously, there’s so many, how do they miss one or two?
Hell, I can’t keep track of all my cousins… past the immediate family anyway. Apparently my family has something in common with the Rats? Lots. of. Babies. Our own personal birthquake?
But anyway, before I run down tangential lane, the Rats are gone. Which is a relief. Or was, until yesterday AM, when I heard something else moving around under the floor. Something bigger. Something much bigger.
There’s a Rhino under the house? Maybe. Or a caged Pterodactyl. But somehow I like the idea of a Rhino.
We’ll call him Harold. And we’ll make all the jokes about having to freshen his horn. Maybe he can walk the dogs? Maybe they can all be friends. Maybe he’ll watch all that boring stuff on Netflix that Bob insists on torturing me with. Like Gandhi, for TEN DAYS… hell, I think that’s longer than even Gandhi would have watched anything. Or maybe not. But let me make this point, living with Mathatma and his homespun underwear had to be more than a little frustrating at times for Mrs. Gandhi. I know it was for me, and I only spent ten days with him. When the gun went off, and the credits rolled, Lulu and I were doing high fives. But I’ll bet Harold the Rhino was under our end of the house mourning the loss of Gandhi-gee right alongside Bob.
So, Harold, welcome. Make yourself at home. Hope you can figure out how to turn on the television, there’s three remotes – have fun with that! Oh, and whatever you do? Just don’t eat the cheese. Lactose isn’t good for you. And neither is that trap.
And the point of this is? Oh, that I “unfriended” someone on Facebook last night, over their right to free speech, and my equally important right to free listening. Yeah, you didn’t know we had that right? Yep, freedom works two ways… you can believe any wrong-headed bull-snizzle you choose, and I can ignore your silly crap and consider you an idiot for believing that way.
And usually I choose to ignore that unsavory wart on your behind and love you anyway.
Yeah, I’m talkin’ to you, all of you Ayn Rand-spouting morons treasures in my Facebook friend pool. BTW I’m no expert, but I know you guys pretty well, and I’m almost positive that none of you would last 30 minutes if you were forced to live on your (extremely suspect) self-reliance skills. You did get the memo that there’s no air conditioning or lattes in the post-apocalyptic world? And with that, five John Galt wanna-be’s just said “wha? huh?”
Mwahahahahaha… I love it when that happens.
Anyway, where was I? Oh yeah, right, blah blah, John Galt, extremism, radicals, and of course, I normally utilize the rule of “live and let live” and ignore all those warts and love you guys anyway.
But sometimes I cannot.
Sometimes I have to live what I preach. And sometimes that’s hard. But not this time. This time it was ohsoeasy to click that “Unfriend” button and move along. I did. And it didn’t hurt a bit.
The reason? Oh, a blurb in my feed last night, stating that an old “friend” had “liked” The Tea Party.
Yeah, really, The Tea Party. Yecchh. Just got cold, creepy chills from simply typing that name.
And with that, I knew. A few things actually, but mainly that I couldn’t go forward with the relationship any more. Of course, it really was a very old and tenuous connection, and I wouldn’t be losing someone who was integral to my daily life, but after I pressed the button and eliminated the connection…
I felt bad.
Seriously, in a way, I felt a little guilty. Like somehow I’d censored her, by deleting her voice from my Facebook conversation.
And I have to say that this bothers me a little. I feel sort of Republican. You know, like Dick Cheney, with cute shoes and good jewelry. Oh, and I haven’t shot anybody.
So, feedback time. What say you readers? Do you find yourselves doing the same. Do you filter your Facebook feed so you don’t get noise you don’t want to hear? Or do you just accept that you have friends that you don’t necessarily disagree with but you’ll tolerate their crazy in order to keep in touch.
I’m still mixed. On the one hand I think I struck a blow for sanity, but on the other I think I might have embraced my inner Senator McCarthy.
The answers to his questions, BTW, are that I am and I have. About what, I won’t say. But it’s sure to be on my Facebook feed soon, read at your own risk.
Well, maybe… a little… sometimes. However, much unlike my pantyline and bra straps, I hope I showed them off nicely yesterday.
What? Only the “unmentionables” showed? OMG – red-faced embarrassment – and thank Jeebus for all of you that it wasn’t a “whale tail”. I would hate to know that I single-handedly caused a mass blindness epidemic in several parts of Orlando.
Alrighty then, after that intro, let’s get on with it, shall we? As all my Facebook friends are already aware
(painfully so, but that’s just me, get over it)
yesterday I had an interview with a really cool company for something I would be over the moon to call “work” even though to me it would never be that… it would be the best job I could imagine. But I’m crazy like that.
In a kindly way, of course, not a “batshit, lock her in the attic and hope the neighbors never know” way.
That’s just too much.
But I digress, and I’m not saying much yet about this, but I will say that this one could mean big doings over at the Circle K…
And, of course, I have to share this one cool part. Because you’ll all be impressed to know that in the course of our talk I managed to tie Don Draper and Honey Badger to the same topic.
Yeah, I’m cool like that. Yay me.
But whatever happens, this might be the best interview I’ve ever had. In the coolest field ever. With the coolest company ever.
(lots of evers in that sentence… maybe the most EVER?)
Seriously, I hope their main take-away from me was that I love what they do, because I do. Yeah, I know that I’m so not their typical candidate. You know, because my first family portrait was done on a cave wall at Lascaux and all that. But I hope I showed them that there’s more to some of us elderly than strained carrots and Rascal Rides to the Publix.
And besides, some of us have pretty tricked out Rascals – mine has those nifty pie plate spinners and a bitchin’ iPhone cradle with speakers! And my leg tattoo patterned TED Socks? Oh, those are the BOMB-diggity! You know you’re jealous!
Yeah, me aging gracefully? Um, no, not so much. I think in a few years I’ll be more like that Granny who got a bewb job. Okay, it’ll be more than a few since I’m much younger than her and I really don’t think I’ll get implants because I’ve got that business covered pretty well already, thanks! But my point is that she’s still trying, and to me, that’s important, and that’s what I see myself doing too. You know, staying relevant in a culture where so many people in your demographic are not. No, it’s not easy, but it can be done. It’s just a matter of paying attention, and refusing to think “old”. That way you won’t get old.
I don’t plan to be, and more importantly, why would I want to?
Now if you’ll excuse me, I think I’m going to drive my Rascal over to Cougartown and check out the workout room and other “amenities”… wonder if they have cute Pool Boys? And more importantly, wonder if that Granny needs a roommate?
And, yes, that gets said around here probably a million times a day…
I’m just a party to live with, what with being martyred at least a dozen times a day. And you really don’t need to say it, I already know I need to get the heck down off the cross.
Somebody needs the wood, right?
But, really, it’s comfy up here. The nails aren’t more than a little pointy, and besides I look thinner hanging vertically.
Anyway, today I’m not ranting about politics, or waxing philosophical about Graduation anymore. Shut up, I heard that collective sigh of relief, UNKIND. But, no, I’m not. Today I’m doing a list of sorts, with some products I found advertised in my ads and coupons, all of which will gain you instant and long-lasting ridicule if I find out you’ve bought any of them. Yep, they’re that ridiculous. And, further, I’m trying to determine how I managed to miss all of these. I’m usually pretty observant. But perhaps my Mind’s eye was protecting me?
Anyway, just in time for early Holiday Shopping… the list of absurd new things I found in the paper for sale:
- U by KOTEX Designer Series Limited Edition feminine care products – SRSLYWTF? With names like Poptastic Pads and Punk Glam Tampons, I’m almost afraid of what would be going on down there in my Underpants if I used any of these “festive” products. Seriously Kimberly Clark? Are your entire Product Development and teams all smoking crack at the team building events? Because one of them had to decide that I would actually consider sanitary napkins with designs on them to be superior to the plain white version, and then the others decided that the best way to sell these to me would be to tell me that they’re a limited edition and I should hurry and buy them fast, before they sell out. First things first, I do not need anything that looks like a Rorschach test in my underwear. And “two of all” I’m nearly positive that I don’t plan on sharing with the world that I have designer tampons. Design and marketing ridiculousness… and if I might make a suggestion, quit doing your Focus Groups at the Home for the Absurdly Insane, or the Mall. Yes, I get the science that is behind this product – the age of Menarche in girls has been dropping for years and now sits firmly in the “Tween” age group. However, this is not a product that girls are ready to show off. We’ve been handling this stuff discretely, with a minimum of fanfare and discussion, for years. The average girl isn’t really worrying about glitter on the box or a swirly pattern on the pad. She wants her Mom to buy the stuff, put it in the bathroom, and have it there when she needs it. Designer labels, bright colors, and unique themes are just ridiculous! What’s next? Paul Frank or HelloKitty? Yoo hoo? The most important thing is make to sure your stuff works. That’s all. If your pad saves 4 pair of Underwear a year and nobody at school knows you’re on your period, you win, period. PS… you really need to rethink that whole Boho Pad business. Seriously, any Boho girl worthy of the title isn’t using your stuff. Those are the girls that have a Diva Cup or some Glad Rags in the closet. Now that’s Boho! You can send me a marketing check tomorrow. But don’t send me any glittery sanitary napkins! I’ll do crafts with them and then post them for the world to see. Embarrassing!
- Next up, Old El Paso Tortilla Stuffers. Okay, so I know that cooking is becoming more and more of a lost art. But seriously? You don’t have the 5 min. it takes to brown ground beef? Really? Well, if that’s the case (and I doubt it is, but then again I’m like that) you really need to consider whether Tacos should be tonight’s meal. You also need to apply for “Lazyass of the Year” because you – sista woman – are a shoo-in. Remember, I’m really on the whole “feed your family healthy” and this? This is not what I’m talking about. And seriously, you can do better. I would dare say that anything from the Fresca Menu at Taco Bell would be a better option, and if 5 min. is the difference in homecooked or not, then hit the drive thru. Of course, in today’s ads I guess it kind of surprised me how many shiny colorful pages of crap/food is being advertised. This stuff looks good enough to lick off the page, but all of it will kill you if you don’t pay attention. And the shiny pictures, again, are focusing on a young demographic who, it is presumed, will push the sales of these products. “Get the kids and the parents will follow”. Really? Well, not here. Not with this. Tacos do not need corn syrup. Neither does anything else. Except for Pecan Pie. Make a note of that, and start reading labels. The waist you save may be your own… or your kid’s.
Oh damn, sorry, another rant. Where were we? Oh yeah, precooked Burrito Stuffers and Designer Feminine products. Just ridiculous. Sorry, but if this is where products are going then I might have to turn in my Frequent Shopper cards. Because this stuff? Seriously, ridiculous.
And with this post every ad agency in the country just put me on the product review blacklist. And for that I say thank you. I never have used this as a money-making machine. Just my soapbox. And if I gored your ox, sorry. Send me the vet bills.
But first? You kids get that ox off my lawn… I’ve officially hit Curmudgeon and it ain’t pretty!
Which, i think is better than Zombies… Maybe.
And FYI, if you aren’t aware, that’s our alternative press here in L-Town and if you aren’t reading then I’ve just got to ask WHY???? News is much better when you hear more than one side of it… I’m just sayin.
Anyway, after that minirant, where were we? Oh yeah, that I’m such a crowd follower that I -of course, you guessed it- went right out and bought all the stuff to make my own. And let me just tell you all that Bob has never been so disappointed in a shopping trip in… well, in forever. I don’t even think my last trip to the outlets was as big a crushing disappointment for him as having to go to Publix to buy soymilk, kale, and flaxseed. He said when I tweeted about Green Monsters he irrationally hoped for something involving the Red Sox.
Yeah, I didn’t ask either, but ya’ll all know that I’m really not an Etsy kind of girl, so exactly what the Sam Hell he thought I’d be making him that involved Green Monsters is way beyond me.
Perhaps he was hoping I’d knit him a pair of Red Socks?
Hey wait a minute… there’s a holiday gift idea! Yay me! Cutting down on that list every day.
But anyway, all the stuff’s here and I’m ready to rock and roll tomorrow AM. After all I guess anything is worth a shot since, you know, I wasn’t over the top pleased about my cholesterol at my last physical. And as for Mr Picky? Oh he says he’ll at least taste it.
Lord give me strength. Another perfectly good morning ruined, with a glass of Green Stuff as a chaser.
For all of you who aren’t familiar with the Green Monster fad, here’s the recipe I’m using:
2 handfuls of Kale, chopped
1 handful of frozen Smoothie Fruit Blend
1 cup lowfat Vanilla Soy Milk
1/2 c Greek style fat-free Vanilla Yogurt
1 handful of Ice
1 tbsp Honey
1 tbsp Flaxseed
The instructions? Easy peasy! Put all that stuff in your blender and blend until smooth. You can add a splash of fruit juice if you like… it’s apparently a very forgiving recipe.
Wonder if it works with Rum?
And I know this because I ate them yesterday. With a sauce, and some cheese, yum!
Yeah, so, you remember that whole “politics here only” post I did, what, two days ago? Well, apparently I forgot to read it myself. Or I didn’t read for comprehension.
Or I’m impulsive, and that “Share on Facebook” button is so easy.
Yep, that’s it, “sharing is caring”, is the rule of the day.
And so I shared. A story about that PITA I loathe so much. And more importantly, the movement she’s fronting. Scary stuff to be sure, stuff I already knew about though, because I did a paper on the topic for English last semester. But I really liked the story, so I shared.
And a wall war erupted. Only a small one, mind you, but still it was a war, and I didn’t want any more of those.
So I’ve got to find some easy way to blog from my iPhone or iPad… or accept that I’m political.
Yes, I am, that’s me, no way around it. But I hope you all know that I’m not trying to upset anybody. Really I’m not.
I think I need to go back to Angry Birds. Or maybe look into Farmville. Those Candy Cane Cows really are cute.
Um, er, yeah.
But, isn’t it always?
Er, right…moving along…
But anyway, today was important. And not because it was the day of my first Big Science Test (in scary capital letters, with lots of underlining to match the dark circles under my eyes because I was up late last night studying).
Oh. Hell. No.
Today was magical, with a sparkly capital M, because this was the day I renewed my Disney Annual Pass.
And truly it should be circled in red along with the aforementioned sparkles on my calendar what with the importance those passes have around here. Because there’s a lot of things I spend money on every year (harumph, hmph, Starbucks) but my Disney Pass might just be the best thing I own.
The. Best. Thing. I. Own.
Yeah, that good.
I know, seriously, it’s just a theme park, right?
But anyway, after forty eleven minutes spent with Tech Support (time she’ll never get back either, sorry nice lady who had the misfortune of taking my call) once again I’m legal, for another 12 months of magical sugary goodness. Oh, and Unicorn Poop, and everything else I love about that damned place… and you know there’s so very much.
Like reliving a tiny bit of my childhood when I rode Dumbo with my younger Sister in 2007, while Wishes exploded over our (much older) heads, and I remembered back to being 8 and 4 and doing the same thing, together. PS we still want to stay up at the top, because if you aren’t the lead Elephant then the view never changes. Must be where Kaylea gets it, eh? And, of course, this year’s big moment when I saw my husband actually smile after he conquered his fear of Roller Coasters on Space Mountain, with his Daughter, who he had never ridden a coaster with in her entire 19 years of life. And, of course, there’s walking by the Rose Garden at the Yacht Club or French Island on the World Showcase at EPCOT and remembering our completely magical wedding there four years ago (Geez oh pete, four years, really? Damn!) Yep, every time I hear “Zip A Dee Doo Dah” I remember coming back down the aisle, hand-in-hand, with the man I love. And, of course, there’s the tipsy meanders around the Showcase during Food & Wine Festival. As well as the magic of the parks dressed up for Christmas, and standing on Main Street or on New York Street in the lightly falling “snow” and listening to Christmas Carols.
I could go on and on. Because some of my nicest, most treasured memories are wrapped up in that “100 acre wood”. Trips as a child, as a teen, as an adult. And I simply cannot wait to take my first Grandchild, show them the magic, make them a believer in magic, in “wishing upon a star”, just like me! And I guess that’s what surprises me when I hear that someone has never been to Disney. How the heck does that happen? Seriously? For me that would be like never ever getting to go back home. Because just as much as my family is a part of my “home” so too is Disney. I’ve been going since Grand Opening Day in 1971. Yes, when I was 7, and this year I’ll be 47 and most of the time this “being a grown up” business is way overrated. But whenever that “adult” crap gets me down I simply go get in the car and drive over to visit “the mouse” and suddenly I’m 7, sitting impatiently on the backseat of Mom & Dad’s car, twitching with excitement about the day I know we’re going to have.
I know, it’s silly, but that’s how I always feel. Even 40 years later. And that’s a feeling I hope I never lose.
And you might think it’s nothing but commercial claptrap and hooey, and you certainly are allowed to feel that way, but I don’t. I still think it’s magic. And I believe if you took the time to go with me, and saw it through my eyes, saw the memories I see everywhere I look there, you’d understand.
Maybe just maybe you’d see the magic too.
I hope so.
But even if you don’t see what I see there, I hope for your sake there’s somewhere in your world that is like Disney is for me.
Life needs magic in order to be lived. We need to remember our inner child. Don’t ever forget how to smile and laugh.
Just like you did 40 years ago.
See? It’s magic!