Trying on new glasses

Turns out I don’t have the mental capacity to turn a post about glasses into something interesting.  Sorry, guys, looks like it’s nothing but books and babies around here.  I’m not doing anything else and haven’t been for a long time.

I think I’m going to have to murder the bunny balloon we got Jack for his half-birthday.  It’s a giant rabbit head, still floating even though we’ve had it for three weeks.  It’s lurking.  Doesn’t matter if it’s day or night, I see it out of the corner of my eye and jump three feet in the air.  It is time for that bunny to go.

I don’t think Jack will mind.


Wednesday’s thought: I feel like a whale.  A whale who never wants to leave the house because it’s too hard.  I walked to the mailbox and back and regretted it.  It takes me an hour to get up the stairs.  I think I’ll just sit down.

Thursday’s thought: I got six hours of sleep IN A ROW.  I feel great!  Let’s go for a walk!  Oh, look, the sun is shining!  Have a chat with the neighbor!  What a cute dog!

Oh, that reminds me.  I dreamed about the dogs last night for the first time in a while.  I woke up actually still able to feel the sensation of scratching behind Roxy’s ear.  It’s sad (I miss them SO much) and not sad because I kind of got to visit them.

Friday morning: Middle ground.  Six hours of sleep probably happened, but NOT in a row.  Moving around isn’t as easy today as yesterday, but it’s possible (and easier once I’m upright).  I went for a walk and it’s a beautiful morning, but today lacks yesterday’s exclamation points.

Tomorrow is D-Day.  Supposed to be.  I’m not counting on it.

Does anyone else hear echoes?

There are days when even I don’t think my brain is an interesting place.  This is not one of those days.  Okay, yes it is.

I’m looking askance at this jar of peanut butter I bought at CVS today.  I don’t know why I expect it to be sub-par.  I mean, peanut butter is peanut butter, right?  It’s the same brand I usually buy at the grocery store.  It’s not like CVS made it themselves, and besides, who am I to say that CVS couldn’t make some damn good peanut butter if they felt like it?

Don’t let it be said that I stood in the way of anyone’s dreams.

Meeting expectations

You know what doesn’t come out of felt?  Coffee.  Especially sugary coffee.  And you know what doesn’t smell appealing?  Felt drenched in sugary coffee, even after it has dried.  But you know what’s better?  New felt that doesn’t smell like anything.

You know what’s a weird word?  Felt.

(I dumped coffee on my felt laptop case.  I ordered a new one.  It came today.  I’m happy again.)

You know what else is a weird word?  Knap.  Also, belvedere.


That is the sound of my brain shutting down.  ‘Night!

Come on in, the water’s fine!

We saw Paula Poundstone last night, and, as expected, she’s hilarious.  When we left, my face hurt from all the smiling and laughing.  She has some material we’d heard pieces of, but mostly she talks to the audience, and it’s great.  Including last night, when two out of the three people she had extended conversations with ended up pissed off.  The rest of us thought it was hilarious – those two, not so much.  She may have been a bit too pointed, or they may not have been able laugh at themselves, or maybe a bit of both.  I loved it.

Not related: I have Barenaked Ladies’ “One Week” stuck in my head.  At Thanksgiving last week, someone said something about Chinese food, and John, Sean, and I all started singing “chickity china the Chinese chicken, you have a drumstick and your brain stops tickin'”.  Molly didn’t know what was happening, poor sheltered child.  So we educated her.  By singing the whole song.  Multiple times.

And now it’s stuck in your brain, too.  Or maybe you’re in my brain, listening to my ear worms?  Welcome!  We have a good time.  All I ask is that you put safety first – beware the trap doors and stay out of the way of the roller derby.

Food that isn’t real food

John thinks I should write about how I tried Drake’s Devil Dogs today and how they transformed my life, but that wouldn’t be true, and I would never lie to you.  I did try one today, but it did not transform my life.  It tasted like every other chocolate and cream Hostess food I’ve ever had, and (don’t hate me) I gotta say those aren’t my favorite completely synthetic treats.  Little Debbie Oatmeal Creme Pies are the winner for me (which is kind of odd, since I refuse to eat oatmeal cookies).  Runner up: Little Debbie Swiss Cake Rolls.  Apparently, I prefer Little Debbie to Hostess.  Good to know.


I love summer

You want to know what I’m doing right now?  Right this very second?  Well, I’m typing on my laptop (obvs), sitting in a chair in my backyard, with corn on the grill (John says it’s a barbecue because it’s charcoal not gas, but I don’t think that distinction has anything to do with reality), soon to be joined by steak (the corn, not me – the steak will not be joining me until I eat it, and then we two will become one), listening to John strum his banjo.  The only thing that would make this better, right this very second, is if I were drinking wine instead of water, but I’m doing the smart thing and avoiding those empty calories tonight because I did not avoid the empty calories of buttered banana bread at lunchtime.  Gotta make choices, and I choose banana bread and corn and steak.  The wine will still be there next week.  Or when the banana bread is gone, whichever comes first.  Willpower!

Some blathering

I gave myself a papercut just below the nail on my middle finger while wrapping a present.  That’ll teach me to buy presents for people.

Why would I say “I gave myself” the papercut?  I got a papercut.  The vindictive wrapping paper gave me the papercut.  It was revenge for the scissors use.

Inanimate objects around here have agendas.  I have to be on alert.

I have posters and things to hang on walls.  We’re moving in less than three months.  Seems silly to hang things up now.  Might do it anyway.  Just not today.

The mighty motormouth

I couldn’t make myself stop talking today.  (Yeah, yeah, you’re a bunch of comedians.)

I talked the ears off people in my work meetings, I asked a ton of questions during my riding lesson, and I kept up a constant stream of chatter directed at Tigger when Wendy wasn’t handy.  I’m usually self-conscious about talking to the horse, which is why the nonstop babbling caught my attention.  I talked to him while catching him, walking him to the stable, grooming him, walking him to the arena, while cooling him off and walking him back to the stable and feeding him treats.  He didn’t toss me today, so I hope that means he appreciated the attention.

It’s more likely I wore him down so much he didn’t have the energy to shake me loose.

Can’t brain today

Staring blankly at the screen is not going to make an idea appear.  It’s like watching a pot, and MAN that was a hard one for me to think up.  First sentence written, second sentence totally blocked.  I got stuck on the pot adjective.  It’s like watching what KIND of pot?  What describes the pot?  This is a saying – “like watching a _____ pot” – what’s the missing word?

Oh, right.

A watched pot.  Totally screwed up that idiom.  (You’re an idiom.  Your MOM’S an idiom.)  I think maybe I need some sleep.  6am felt earlier today than usual, and work felt more overwhelming, and I went to yoga for the first time in a week, and I could feel it, and 6am is going to come even earlier tomorrow, so I’m out.  Me and my watched pot are going to bed.


It’s raining outside.  It’s cold outside.  Two reasons not to run outside, even though it’s my running day.  I should go to the gym instead.

I hate running on the treadmill.

Well, I don’t have to use the treadmill.  I could use the elliptical thing that’s not an elliptical that I like.

But it’s at the gym and I have to go the gym to use it.

Yeah, but I was going to have to go to the trail to run on it, so what’s the difference?

It’s the gym.

The gym has wi-fi and I can watch an episode of Crazy Ex-Girlfriend while I work out.

Yeah, but…that’s a compelling argument.  Fine.  I’ll go to the gym.

Our fine feathered friend

So…this happened today.  (Apologies to those of you who saw this on Twitter already.)






I’ve been meaning to write about the turkey in our neighborhood.  We think it’s someone’s pet, but it seems to have the run of the block.  We’ve seen it in the alley in the middle of the block and on each of the four streets surrounding us.  And it’s definitely bigger than it used to be.

I hope it doesn’t turn into someone’s dinner.


I occasionally think about changing my blogging habits and writing in the morning instead of the afternoon or evening, but I think that might not be a good idea.  If I write in the morning, the posts will be about the mornings.  When it’s really early, I’ll bitch and moan about the dark and the cold and oh it’s so early and I want to go back to bed.  If the sun is up, I’ll rhapsodize about the sun and the sky and the birds and how wonderful it is to be up and awake and alive.  You know – you’ve read both types of posts here before.

It’s really early now (and it’s dark and it’s cold), but I’m avoiding the trap because I am self-aware (and self-congratulatory), and I noticed that what I was inspired to type is the same thing that I think to myself nearly every morning, and I have written about it several times before.  I’m also self-aware enough to know that I fell right into the trap in the previous sentence, but I’m giving myself a pass on that because I’m in a forgiving mood.

The light! It burns!

I am going outside.  I know – AGAIN.  But it’s the first time today, so you know I’m not overdoing it.  We wouldn’t want that.

I’m just going to sit in the backyard for a few minutes to read.  The backyard that needs mowing and watering and weeding.


The front yard needs almost as much work, but I cleverly took a picture that shows the sidewalk and the neighbor’s yard up the street instead.


Some thoughts

Simone Biles is wearing glitter eyeliner, and it’s making my eyes water.  How is glitter not getting in her eyes?  Maybe it’s magic glitter eyeliner.  She’s got connections.

I helped an old lady with the treadmill at the gym today.  She thought I was 30.  She’s my new best friend.

When I went outside to take the trash out to the curb, I found a scary looking spider in the middle of a web that was stretched between the trash bin and the recycling bin.  Both had to go to the street, so I had to destroy the web.  I’m afraid that spider will be looking for revenge.  Better put my spider traps out tonight.*

*Yeah, I don’t know.  I don’t have spider traps.

Totally useless

I’ve known for a long time that I can’t listen to music with words when I’m working because I end up typing what I’m hearing (or singing along to) instead of, you know, work stuff.  Apparently, this is also a problem when blogging.  Or it could just be that I don’t have anything specific to say today, so I’m easily sidetracked.  I was going to write something about Pokémon Go (I saw teenagers playing in the park today, I think), but that went nowhere, mostly because “I saw people playing it” is all I have to say, and then there was something about boiling eggs and having one explode in the pot every time, but really – where was I going with that?  Nowhere, according to Regina Spektor, who was determined to have me type about breaking her heart instead of exploding eggs.  It’s not all about you, Regina!  Sometimes it’s about being unable to boil eggs correctly.  I gotta go talk to Julia Child.


Moan moan moan, bitch bitch bitch.  I just scrapped two paragraphs of complaining about not being able to run.  You can thank me later.

Instead, I’ll treat you to a few minutes of the nonsense that lives in my brain.  Fun.

Ready?  Here we go.

“Shake Your Groove Thing” is the last thing I heard before I got out of the car today, so I’ll be randomly shouting “yeah, yeah” for the next several days.  I know I’m supposed to think of Priscilla, Queen of the Desert when I hear it, but I always go to That 70s Show first, then Drew Carey, then Priscilla.  [Edited to point out that those are links to YouTube videos (fun), not IMDB (boring).]  I’m sure that means something about pop culture, and probably isn’t a positive for me, but since I end up with all three, I’ll call it a win.  I don’t like how Priscilla is spelled.  Makes me think of cilia and pisces, and I get stuck with uncomfortable images of slimy sea creatures with lots of legs or maybe tentacles.  Unpleasant.  I would never name someone Priscilla.  What kind of a nickname would she have?  Prissy?  Awful.  Silly, but spelled Scilly?  Or Cilly?  Please no.  And if she spelled it Scilly and wrote it down that way, she’d get called “Skilly”.  No matter what version of her name she used with people who know her, she’d become one of those people who gives a fake name like Jane or Carol at restaurants and coffee shops because people never say or spell her name right.  True story: I once gave my name as Alice at the IHOP in Ashburn.  I figured that was an easy one.  Easy to say, easy to spell.*  I glanced down at the list and saw that the hostess had spelled it “Alys”.  Can’t win.  And the problem with fake names is remembering which one you used.  You can miss your table (or your coffee) that way.  Hasn’t happened to me yet, but I usually take the even easier way out and make John give his name for us.  Works every time.

And scene.

*No exaggeration: I typed “slepp” instead of “spell” three times before I got it right.

Funny tidbit

You know how when you call a business from your cell phone, your screen shows you information about that business, like their number, maybe their hours, and their address?  I never pay much attention to it because I’m ON the phone and that info is pressed against my cheek.  Today, I called the Massage Envy I used to go to in Virginia because I needed to update my credit card information, and I used my headset so the phone was on the desk.  As I hung up, I noticed that it told me how far away the Massage Envy is from me.  Right now.  Like I needed to know that Massage Envy is 2335 miles away.  Maybe it’s so if I make an appointment I’ll give myself plenty of time to get there.

2335 miles doesn’t seem far enough…aaaaaannnnd it’s not.  Google Maps says it’s 2800 miles away.  You’d think my phone would use Google Maps.  It IS a Google Android phone.  Maybe I read the screen wrong.  Anyway, I’m tickled.

I laugh, therefore I am

I amuse myself.  As in, I think I’m funny.  I don’t think I’m FUNNY-funny.  I’m not comedian-funny.  And I fail (like falling down and landing with a thud fail) when I TRY to be funny.  But I think I’m funny.  I make myself laugh.

Is that weird?  I feel like it would be sad if I couldn’t make myself laugh.  I can tell myself a joke, and I’ll laugh at it.  (I don’t do that often.)  It’s comforting.  It’s like I’m company for myself.  It’s enough for me that I’m funny enough for me.  It’s okay if other people don’t find me funny because I’m not trying to be funny for other people.  I’m not asking you if you think I’m funny because that’s not really a question I want to ask – it’s not what I’m about.  I’m not trying to be funny for me, either – I just sometimes find myself very amusing.  Does that sound smug?  I’m afraid it sounds smug.  I’m not trying to be smug.

I will stop with the naval-gazing now.  Sorry.  Not smug, just self-absorbed.  🙂