Riding the Bike with One Pedal.

Category: live blogging (Page 1 of 2)

A Tale of Two Christmases…

Growing up, Christmastime was always a mixed bag. Because my dad’s mother passed away before Christmas, and he would, shortly after Thanksgiving, go into a very dark depression.  I don’t remember my grandmother – when she died, I was maybe two? And we had plans to go to Florida to visit her, but instead, as life will do, plans changed. My father would retell the story of flying from Florida to Chicago with his mother’s ashes in an urn in a package on his lap, the elderly lady next to him cheerfully chirping, “Christmas present?” And in Dad’s typical biting dark streak, he replied, “You could say so.”  He would then describe clawing at the frozen ground, attempting to spread her ashes, not realizing what the urn ultimately contained. I’ll spare you the vivid description, but it galvanized me as a child, and basically drew a line around my father, his dark moat, he was not to be messed with in December.

So every other year was my Mom’s “Year” for Christmas. A huge tree, loaded with lights and decorations, geegaws and ribbons and red velveteen everywhere. The off years were Dad’s. I would string popcorn and put it on the ficus tree. We had this really old, and to me, AMAZING, three-dimensional ornament that unfolded from two sides of cardboard, revealing accordion-folded beehive-like tissue paper that once the little metal tabs clasped over the other side of cardboard, displayed a two-foot Santa Claus. That was it. That was his concession,  a ficus tree decorated with ornaments I made from colored paper and popcorn and an ancient santa that grew more delicate each year. His darkness got its turn. We tread lightly around him no matter what, and there was always a sense of relief when the holidays were over, when January arrived, bringing with it a new year and the darkness receded.

I felt that deep dark current come forth this week, as someone was trying to excuse another person’s terrible behavior, trying to justify their actions, that they were sure the holidays were hard for them, given some of their life circumstances. I tartly countered, “Is it a competition?  Both my parents are dead. Nobody gets a pass at the holidays and everyone ultimately has to behave.” I regretted it, albeit fleetingly, but it ultimately summed up in five words what’s heavy on my mind, and contributing to a feeling of isolation.  Both my parents are dead. It sucks. I’m alone. My party of three is now a party of one, when you look at all those formative years of Alternating Christmases.  But I also tell myself, I’m not a Syrian refugee, either. I’m not being raped or beaten with my own baby. I’m not suffering through chemo treatments or in an abusive relationship. There are lots of worse places to be and lives to be living.  But I have my own dark current (god, could I sound more like Dexter? Don’t worry, I’m not ordering rolls of plastic sheeting and dressing in three-button henleys) and I know the holidays are challenging for most people, whether they’re trying to measure up to a societal projection of perfection, or are coping with all the things that hobble our lives.

We never had big gatherings – my father shunned them – and weren’t close to other family, whether it was geographically or emotionally. Basically, I’m wired for small gatherings and being the best hostess possible. I was talking to my therapist about this – he pointed out that for some people, it’s not a true celebration unless there are hordes of people gathered.  Obviously for others, smaller gatherings are more valued.  Not having any siblings, I’m kind of out of my holiday traditions, even if we’d stopped getting together, there were cards and gifts and emails. Strands of connection.  There are so many variables, you know? As you blend new families together, as you go home to your parents, the dance steps and conversations and expectations and all that … history. It drives the bus, it plays the music, it conducts the orchestra. We have expectations we don’t even realize we have until they don’t happen, or the plan changes, and then we still don’t necessarily know what those things were, we just know we’re unhappy. Or angry. Or sad. Or all of the above.

All I can say is, be kind to yourself. Be kind to others. If you have a dark moat that rises this time of year, don’t pretend it doesn’t exist, because that only makes the moat angry.  Angry moats want to rise up and drown you with lies and destruction. Acknowledge your moat, even sit with it at times. Because it’s just part of the whole thing. Say some of the things that hurt the most out loud. When I finally said, “I miss my mom,” it was like the dam broke. And it hurt and I cried, and I felt confused, because we had our issues with each other, but those fine strands of connection I maintained are gone, now that she is gone, and this year more than last year, I feel the holes they left behind, and what those holes are connected to inside of me, my expectations, my dreams, my sadness, my history.  And even in my loneliest moment, I am trying to say, over and over, until it feels true, “I am enough.” My heart is not there yet, but I know in my mind, I will be ok. If you have any of this in your own heart or head? I hope you are ok, too. I have faith that you can find it. We are enough.


This Is What A Feminist Looks Like

A friend of mine posted about how the UPS man wouldn’t hand over her package until she told him what was inside. He played that game. And I have to say, having experienced this sort of interaction more times than I could attempt to count in my 47 years on this planet, it’s probably one of the biggest contributing factors to my Face of Stone that makes people somewhat afraid of me when it surfaces, like a submarine rising to battle above the waters. Because fuck you, dude. Oh, I can hear it now. “He’s just flirting!” “He’s just having some fun.” “He’s just playing around, he probably likes you.”

You know what? I’m reached the age in life where IDGAF, because stuff like this, societally, blames me and says, “let’s excuse bad behavior because you’re not in the mood to put up with it.” And what dictates that I should be in the mood? Because I’m a woman, and I should welcome a man’s attention and interest and playful banter, even if all I’ve done is answer the goddamned door to receive a package, something I PAID FOR. No. Just, no. How about saying something like, “I hope it’s something you’ve been looking forward to!” or asking, “How’s your day been? What do you do for a living?” Because holding a package hostage under the guise of “just playin'” immediately tilts the balance of power. It says, “Until you give me what I want (the answer), I’m not going to give you what you reasonably expect to receive without issue.” It’s like holding a package high above a kid’s head and making them jump for it. And you can argue that on the grand scale of things, this is small stuff, but if someone thinks it’s ok to do, I really don’t want to know what other boundaries they might ignore. And I resent being “That Witch” who calls your supervisor to complain, or “That Cunt” who won’t play along with your idea of fun, or “That Humorless Bitch” who just won’t smile for you. The real problem, in my opinion, is that I’ve endured it enough that I could feel my anger as if it were happening to me.

Boundaries. Respect. This is what a feminist looks like. Basically the same shit everyone wants and expects from the humans they come in contact with.

When Will It Be Enough?

We’re inching ever-closer to some of the movies we thought would never happen – I’m thinking specifically of Natural Born Killers. The frenzy climbs, and media attention – even posthumously – seems to be the currency of the day.

I watched part of a video on CNN, the live feed of the reporter & cameraman being shot to death today. I recoiled, horrified, and cried at my desk. I want nothing more to do with any more video. I want to know nothing about the man who committed this crime, who posted more video on his Twitter account before going on the run and eventually killing himself.

I thought 20 children being killed along with their 6 teachers was when enough would be enough. I don’t even know what the answers are? But something has to change. This is heartbreaking.

Anger Needs No Translator

Have you ever seen that episode of Seinfeld, the one where Elaine goes to get her nails done, and she’s convinced the employees there are talking about her in their native tongue? I always think of it when I get my own nails done – though at this point, I’ve been going to the same salon for 7 years or so, I don’t really think much of it. I did go recently, and there was a new woman working there, and she was grinning and talking away, and I imagined she was saying something to the effect of, “Whoa, girl, you got yourself a big girl there!”

But, I am always curious about what they’re saying, and this time was no different – I listened to the subdued conversation/back-and-forth among the staff and realized that so many of the words are short, staccato bursts that have strikingly similar sounds, but the emphasis and cadence are what seem to vary the words as well. Nearly all the words seemed to start with the letter “D”, but it could have been my own American filter trying to make sense of a language I’ve never even studied. There came a point, though, when knowing the actual words took a back seat, quite rapidly, to the overall communication.

It started with one of the nail techs standing up from her pedicure station, and speaking loudly and clearly, quite strongly, at someone else (we couldn’t tell quite yet, but it became clear within a minute.) She was PISSED OFF. Immediately, several of the other women began softly speaking, obviously trying to diffuse whatever this situation was. (I could actually tell two women said the same thing within 30 seconds of each other, presumably “calm down!”) The music had stopped and the silence became palpable. And then? The tech completely lost her shit. She was moving her customer over to her nail station, and apparently, she was really pissed at the guy who sat behind her, and she was shouting at him at the top of her lungs, while he quietly tried to interject what appeared to be his defense. Another worker got up, went in the back, and put the music on – full blast. So now we have Mariah Carey warbling her head off, and Angry Tech is now shrieking at the guy, and she’s holding up the light boxes for curing the shellac nails, and basically having an explosive episode in this dude’s direction. With another bewildered customer in-between them.

Allllllll the customers start looking at each other. Because THE HELL, we can’t understand a goddamn word, but as I muttered to the lady on my left, we didn’t really need to know what she was saying because every single one of us knew she was LIT UP and pissed off. Someone down to my right said, “I think it involves that box.” We’re trying not to laugh, because it would not only be rude, but none of us really wanted the focus of her anger to find a new home! Angry Tech marches back and turns off the music. Returns, continues to fume. The customer of Angry Tech is looking at all of us in the pedi-chairs with wide eyes and a face of confusion while she’s stomped off – so of course I have to say, “What the hell did you do?” which makes us all chuckle a little, but not too much, because AT is back, holding up the light box (which is plugged in and glowing), she is yelling, and frankly, I didn’t want to have a toaster-in-the-bathtub incident.

My tech, who is at the top of the hierarchy (there is always a hierarchy at these salons), goes back and turns the music back on, but at a lower volume. Right as she returns, AT picks up the light box again and continues to scream at the dude, who is working away on another woman’s nails, and murmuring every so often. At this point, my lady goes over and turns AT around (because she was like a Jack-in-the-box at this point, up/down, up/down, SCREAM SCREAM BRANDISH), and physically thwaps her on the shoulders and basically tells her to sit the hell down and calm down in the process. (All in Vietnamese, mind you.) I whispered when I was paying, “What’s the deal?” She whispered back that apparently the male tech had taken AT’s light boxes for his client. I asked if they had to buy their own boxes. Nope, they always share. Nope, the ones he took weren’t any different than the ones he had.

We concluded something else was probably going on in her life. I walked out, marveling at how I had specifically been thinking about the language when I got there, and how I never really know what they’re saying – but in this case, there really was no translator needed. I’m sure there are statistics on communication and all the pieces that go into it – words are just one component. Brandishing a light box? That speaks volumes as well.

Just Breathe

So, fair warning. Yes, it’s been a long time since I’ve posted, and yes, I’ve written about 30 different blog posts in my head. So many things I’m thinking about, so many things I’d like to say, some of which I shouldn’t, some of which I won’t. I had been thinking, OK, let’s get back in the swing of it, put the thoughts to keyboard, and had planned on writing something today.
Just not about this.
Fair warning again. It’s so gross.
I got some things done this morning, met a rep for lunch, and went to the grocery store. Got my car washed, filled up Mimi with gas, and headed home. I’ve got a lot of work to do this weekend, but I’m also looking forward to my evening out with knitting peeps and having some laughs. I decide to leave Mimi in the drive, as that will make it easier to get the groceries in, and after all, I’m heading back out later.

None of this is interesting, or of note, or even that different. I push open the door, the alarm warning goes off, the dogs greet me, and I walk through the breezeway and into the dining room. I am carrying as much as I can, and it’s funny how your brain multi-tasks: Make sure dogs don’t go out into the garage (as they could get out of the house or, more likely, attempt to eat all the dog food out of its bin.) Have a very short amount of time to get to the alarm, which we don’t have right by the door on purpose, so don’t dilly dally. Note that answering machine is blinking. And through all of this, Olfactory Gnome wakes up and starts sending up red flags. Alert! Alert! Something smells…… and something smells …… BAD.
Then I see it. Because now I’m across the dining room and about to enter the kitchen, only it is a mine field of dog diarrhea. One main source, but there was some travelling and then some tracking to boot. The smell is overwhelming and the alarm is still going. I think, “Do I tell the alarm company when they call that I just couldn’t cross a river of dog shit to turn it off? Would they accept that?” I think, no, I have to turn this off and so I do my own version of a Highland jig through our kitchen, screaming “BACK! BACK!” because Tripper is now eagerly following behind me and I all can think is we’re both expanding the cleaning area exponentially. I get the alarm turned off, the dog has retreated, and I repeat my jig back across the tile, breathing through my mouth.

Somewhere, in the recesses of my mind, Philosophical Gnome asks the question, “Which would you rather clean up? Dog vomit, or shit?” Well, duh, the answer is neither, but I’m going with vomit. Unless it’s just hardened overnight poop, which is unpleasant but nothing compared to the chore ahead of me. I get the rest of the groceries in the house, shut the garage door, and strip down to skivvies to handle the worst of it. (After all, nobody needs their clothing dragging through it to boot.) Paper towels everywhere, and copious amounts of plastic grocery bags. Yes, they may be evil but lord help me, this is why they’re on earth. I get out two trash bags. The Swiffer Wet Jet, a huge stack of mop pads, and I tackle it.

Partway through, I realized I sounded like Darth Vader trying to say the word “Halal.” (Hey, we don’t know if Darth needs his meats butchered according to Muslim law.) For to just breathe through one’s mouth is not enough – the stench was so horrific. I was trying to block my sinus passages with my tongue, which leads to very raspy, labored-sounding breathing. hhhhhhhaaaaaaaa….lllllaaaaaaaaaallllllllllllhhhhhhhhh. The anal-retentive chef from SNL has nothing on me. Everything is multiple-bagged, and then I mopped. And then everything went into another trash bag, while I still hhhhhhhhaaaaaaalllllaallllllllhhhh’ed around and took the trash to the garage. I’m dripping with sweat, I shoo the dogs outside while holding back dry heaves, and get the rest of the groceries put away. My phone’s ringing, I’m having a Silkwood Shower in the sink, I get a candle lit to put on the stove, and finally sit down in front of the fan to cool off.
Only to hear a huge clap of thunder roll overhead.
Dogs are hurried back into the house, and I throw my top back on, because remember? Freshly washed car sitting in the driveway. At this point? I can’t be bothered with pants. Yep. I did a SWAT-team-esque run to my car (only potentially being in-sight of someone driving by for all of 3 seconds) to get it put back into the garage before the heavens opened up.

Which, fifteen minutes later, they have yet to do. I didn’t need to crouchingly shuffle to my car half-dressed, but I did. And I didn’t really care if someone happened to drive by at that exact moment.

Basically? This is my life. I have a lot of good things in my life, and I’ve reflected a lot on the past year, over these past few weeks. Losing my job, almost a year ago, was really shitty. It was also really good. I haven’t done all the things I thought I’d do in that time, but I also haven’t gotten sick, had stupid office politics/turmoil with people clawing to climb over you or tear you down. Did you notice that first one? I haven’t gotten sick. No cold. No bronchitis. No walking pneumonia, for the first time in many, many years. I miss a couple of my clients, and I miss not worrying about money as much, but there’s really very little to miss about my former job except a couple of friends. The limbo, sometimes, gets to me. But I’m not all that different from most of the people out there. I noticed there’s a Facebook group making the rounds, “Be kinder than necessary, because everyone you meet is fighting some sort of battle.” and it’s really true. These aren’t easy times. When stressed and/or depressed, it’s even easier to feel overwhelmed and hopeless. And alone. But we’re not. So many people are riding this same current, and so it’s those moments of connection, we need to make them and find them and enjoy them. Because when I was at the grocery store, the checker asked me to put the big sign on the end of her checkout stand, that said “THIS LANE CLOSED”. I did, making sure I put it right on the spot where the belt wouldn’t grab it. Helping someone out. So imagine my surprise, as I’m finishing up paying, I see this very old lady in my peripheral vision, standing next to me. I look down, and she’s got items on the belt. I actually did a double-take, like, WHa? I swear I put that sign there, nobody’s supposed to be behind me, and I look at the checker, who’s looking at me and has seen my whole WTF reaction. I raise one eyebrow at her. She starts giggling. My eyes shift over towards granny, then back to her. Oh yes, the sign was there. Granny just decided to say “Fuck it” to the sign and what was anyone going to do? I don’t have to say a word, my face says it all. The checker is shaking her head, she gets it too, and is shaking with laughter. I’m chuckling, still with an eyebrow hitting my hairline, and we went on from that moment. That moment, those are the moments I seek in life. When we can look at each other and just laugh because there’s no point in getting mad, there’s no issue of race, or religion, or age, or income, or anything, it’s just fucking funny.

And when the shit gets too high, just take off your pants, light a candle and breathe: Hhhhhhhaaaaaaaa….lllllaaaaaaaaaallllllllllllhhhhhhhhh.

In Which JWo is Forced to Watch “New Moon” on a Friday Night

Go hook up with that buff dude, you don’t need this pasty little vampire boy. He made you a dream catcher!

Oh have some pride, bitch.

(Me: well, that was dramatic.)

Singing: “I can’t live….if living is without Edward…”

Time Passes.

Get OVER it.

So dramatic.

(Me: She has bad dreams.)

She’s got a fuckin’ dreamcatcher, get that out.

(Me: She does!)
It’s fuckin’ defective! Whip out the receipt, take it back!


Did you see Scordo’s post on Anchovies? (hello, Mr. Distracted.)

You’re freakin’ her out man, quit it!

You gonna try to get in harm’s way…

(Edward: Turn around)

Sings: “Every now and then…”

Is she on the back of his bike?

RAWR he’s strong.

Edward you’re fucking with her, knock it off.

OHHHHHH the rock hit. You missed the rock hit. (I was on Ravelry)

AW YEAH. Blood.

Hell she do on her period? Shark week! Vampires all over her ass.

(Me (singing): So haaard)

Singing: Yeah yeah yea You know dis

Love spelled backwards is love????

…So, this is a long-ish movie, and I could continue to fill this entry with his commentary, but you get the drift. I hope the action picks up soon, like the last one did!

I Might As Well Live Blog This

Because Plurk/Twitter ran out of room! I’m sharing my thoughts on the Big Spendy Super Bowl Commercials b/c I got tired of keeping my character count low.

Final Final Update:

My apologies to Betty White. I started late and skipped the Snickers spot. Please don’t come and kick my ass. I saw you roast William Shatner and what you lack in football skills, you more than make up for with an acerbic tongue.

If you want to watch all the spots, here they are at AdAge.com.

Final Update,9:00 pm

Congrats New Orleans. Great, great defense, despite me wondering aloud to the dogs, repeatedly, “why so much tiiiime for Manning?” I’m sure the Chiefs will get there next year. (try not to snort all over your screen, k?)

Egads, yet another eTrade spot. Maaaake theeeeeem stopppppp.

Final flo.tv spot – funny, made the point, but it also made me think – really? Do we need to have television :everywhere: all the time? Heaven forbid you talk to you kids in the car, just keep ’em hypnotized.

Update: 8:48 pm

WOW. N’awlens is gonna win this, I do believe!

Danica Patrick: you need to find some sort of better gig. Have a little pride in your accomplishments, not your accoutrements.

Denny’s Chickens? Now only require :10 to make me laugh. I reverse my earlier declaration that the campaign was off.

Update: 8:42 pm CST

OK. Ninja Dorito Tim made me laugh out loud. Nice touch with the chip-to-the-neck.

Bud Light Book Club – huh. A bit funny, made the guy look like a total cheesehead. (Hey, I’ll be fair!)

Oh yay, more weird eTrade babies. I didn’t even understand that one.

Yay, the Amazing Race starts next week!

Update: 8:37 pm CST

And Tracey Porter will live THAT moment for the rest. of. his. life.

Audi’s Green Diesel car – nice spot. I’m the recycling nutjob in our house so it resonated.

Taco Bell – kinda lame. Star power be damned, Charles Barkley. Yes, I said it. Please don’t show up on my doorstep.

Update: 8:30 pm CST

I have to say, this has turned into quite good football game.

Dante’s Inferno only reminds me of LEEEEEEROOOOOY Jenkins.

Budweiser colt/calf? Gotta have the animal spot.

Honda – interesting I suppose – got the nooks & crannies and a fit for everything message across.

Denny’s follow-up spot – now, this is good. Especially on the heels of Leroy Jenkins, who at least has chicken. The screaming chickens, fleeing respective cities, and the Oval Office scene should make this one of the top-rated spots tomorrow.

Update 8:10 pm CST

Vizio’s new tv? with video apps? WAAAAANT. Pretty cool spot and loads of tiny details for the web-devoted.:cough:

Emerald Nuts & Pop Secret: funny. Odd combo. A bit confusing at first, but I’ve seen enough EN commercials to know they always deliver- gotta love the people-as-dolphins, and kudos for including a dude.

Update 8:08 pm CST

Did you know that in this huge chunk of tv time we call the Super Bowl there’s really only about 11 minutes of actual football PLAYING TIME? There’s just a lot of standing around and getting ready, but not so much action. (article in Wall Street Journal a couple weeks ago.)

NFL: Nice spot, using Arcade Fire automatically makes me feel connected. Except it got used a LOT for the movie “Where the Wild Things Are” and I went to put that in our Netflix queue.

Second time Air Force ran their spot – it’s good. Obviously aimed at chilluns who can read that shit faster than me, on the bottoms of their surfboards and boogieboards.

Time Warner Cable: Wife is swooping in and making you scrapbook if you have Direct TV. Fuck. My. Life.

Quick Trip (local spot) – funny.

Update: 8:03 pm CST

Kia Sorento? Loved it. Sock Monkey is a scamp. Entertaining. The tattoo scene was the best.

Roundup: What are you doing in here? It’s February. We have snow everywhere, not weeds. I hope you didn’t pay a lot.

Budweiser 55: Huh. Eventually beer will be devoid of all flavor, calories and color. It will be called “water”.

Update: 7:59 pm CST

Census: Yay, look at my favorite actors from Waiting for Guffman, etc.

Google! You pretty much rule the school and own the world. Spot gave me goosebumps. Googlebumps?

Update: 7:52 pm CST

Michelob Ultra with Lance Armstrong? Huh. Surprise. Memorable, if only for the surprise factor. Whodathunk he’d spokesperson for beer?

HomeAway.com – good takeaway, disarming to see the stars from movies I saw in my formative years looking like my grandparents.

Bridgestone – whew, I thought we’d have a mysogyny-free 3rd quarter, but good! Way to keep it revived. Message?  We’d rather keep the tires than our wife.

Coke! I love your ads, sorry I forgot to give you props for the earlier awesome Simpsons ad, and this safari trek was nifty.

eTrade, thanks for bringing up the rear there with another bitchy woman-in-form-of-toddler ad. Thanks! Because you weren’t creepy enough.

Update: 7:43 pm CST

Miller HighLife – made me chuckle, but not compelling enough to go to the website.

Football: Hank Baskett is gonna re-live that moment for a long, long time. Woof.

PunchBUG! I love it. Nice touch with Stevie Wonder at the end.

Denny’s chickens? Kinda freaky. I kept expecting some sort of fried-chicken dish, much as I oppose putting live animals in juxtaposition with cooked product, so was relieved it was eggs. (good thing no pigs had cameos, given the side of bacon…)  I couldn’t tell you what the timeframe is for the giveaway, but I’m sure it will be just as successful as last year’s.

Halftime Show:

I’m not kidding. It’s like one giant run-on ad for the three CBS CSI properties. Coincidence? I think not. Someone had to dust Roger Daltrey off and wake him up.

Update: 7:12 pm CST

So, I’m back. And I’m wondering if CBS, the NFL and the Super Bowl realize that women watch this game, too. (About a third of the audience is female)

The Dodge Charger ad? Meh, fine, all you guys are put-upon and we nag the shit out of you and you agree to do it because, in the end, you get a speedy car. Just to be a bitch (and as someone who knows more about car models than a lot of guys), that rear window is a real challenge to see much of anything, so if it comes with a rear camera option, take it. I found myself going nuts trying to place the voice. (Dexter’s Michael C. Hall, if you were also wondering.)

But THEN, flo.tv? I hate you. Women remove their men’s spines and make them go underwear shopping. Huh. Does this actually happen in the real world?

Teleflora – women are backbiting bitches in the workplace, too. Sweet. I guess the beyotch getting evil flowers in a box from someone in prison was ‘justice’ but still. I kept hearing the arrows whizzing past me at the male target.

Intel – poor man’s Paul Giamatti. Sorta flat. Nice touch at the end though, putting people behind the trademark notes and electronics/brand.

Second flo.tv with the will.i.am re-mix was much better, but it’s too late, I already hate you.

All the Budweiser ads have been meh to me as well. The human bridge was kinda freaky, the Lost spoof was amusing but predictable.

Oh, and Danica Patrick? Please. Someday GoDaddy will just…GO. Away.

6:33 pm

Ads so far: LOVED the Letterman Show spot, with Oprah and Jay. Like, mind-blowing for a dedicated Dave fan. Awesome.

I liked the Dove for Men ad. I would buy it for the Wo.

Let me take a minute to school our friends at the Dockers home office. If you are going to run an ad (a rather weird ad, but it had a great lead-in with CareerBuilder’s startling workplace with underwear-wearing employees) that states “Free Pants” DURING THE SUPER BOWL, you are going to need a bigger server. I immediately typed in the dedicated URL and waited. And waited. After several minutes, it loaded. I clicked on “Men” and the whole fuckin’ thing crashed. Yep, it was me. Guess what – people watch TV and they multi-task. I guess if you wanted hits as your measurement of success – yay! You got it! But how annoying to not have the party ready when we all showed up.

The Doritos ads are… meh – though the shock collar one did make me chuckle. Right now I have two dogs begging to be fed, so I’m going to pause & be back shortly.


“I think Donald Sutherland is fairly sexy, in the same way I find Christopher Walken and Tommy Lee Jones all Old Man Sexy.”

“No, you find him sexy in a Kiefer Sutherland kind of way.”

“NO, he is like a wiser, more experienced, less DRUNK kind of Kiefer, and that IS sexy.”

I think if both the Sutherland men were smoldering their eyes at me and asking me to choose, I must say, my early-onset proclivity for Walter Cronkite and Ted Knight would win out.  That and the fear Kiefer’s foreplay would consist of ripping a lamp cord from its base and shouting, “WHO ARE YOU WORKING FOR?!!!!!”

The More Things Change…

…the more they stay the same.

On Friday, James was home & out front, cleaning out the gutters. You know, normal work for mid-November. (What is UP with the blowing hot & cold?!)  He suddenly darted in, whispering, “The Pee-er! She’s Back!”

Sure enough, we could see her blue-green coat through the now-leafless branches, rise as she stood up, and exited the neighbor’s yard, adjusting her kerchief and resuming her morning walk. Kinda strange, but there is a fire hydrant right there. I suppose she’s developed a…habit.

Then, tonight, I was driving home after some afternoon knitting with friends, and the road rises and falls as it approaches our house. I thought I saw a little red twinkle, and wondered if someone on the block had perhaps taken advantage of the nice weather and put their holiday lights up a bit early. Oh, silly me. One more small hill and it was abundantly clear that the lights were coming from emergency vehicles, blocking the street in front of Crazy Cat Lady’s house. A fire truck, a police cruiser, a paddy wagon and an ambulance. Light show spectacular. So here’s a snapshot of the crazy:

Just Another Saturday Night

Just another weekend in our mix of a neighborhood!

Oh, It’s A Mix, Alright.

I just went to the front door to put a Netflix movie and a thank-you note in the mail, and I saw, across the street, a figure standing back from the road, moving behind some shrubbery. Before I opened the door, I waited and watched. A spry senior citizen, in her magenta jacket, emerged. She adjusted the kerchief on her head, and as she walked back out to the road, finished tucking her shirt in her jeans. Striding off down the road, she continued on her walk.

Morning Constitution, indeed.

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