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Hello and welcome to the New Walking Club! Our goal is fitness and we can’t wait to get started! Although we did wait to get started. We waited until December. But when it comes to getting in shape, the Walking Club offers endless opportunity! And in our case, endless opportunity ends January 1st.
Here’s how it works: the Walking Club will take place every Tuesday and Thursday, except for Christmas, and every month not December. That leaves eight whole Walking Club opportunities! Please note: we will not walk on rainy days or snowy days. Please note the forecast: Dec 1-2: Heavy rain; Dec 3-5: Heavy rain; Dec 6-13: Rain to snow; Dec 14-April: Stormy, rain and snow, snowy, rain.
In addition we will not meet on days when the temperature is below 35 degrees at 6:30 am. Please note: the average temperature at 6:30 am is 33 degrees.
We will meet at the trailhead gate that crosses the railroad tracks. Please note: We will not meet if there is a freight train parked at the trailhead gate. Please Note: winter freight trains park at the trailhead gate from midnight through June.
Sponsored by HealthyLifeNow. Or, you know, HealthyLifeNextSpring. See you then!
If you liked this post, read about how Bossy’s Core Ball exercise includes chocolate and a martini.
Or read Bossy’s tutorial on how to jog.
Or read about Bossy’s History Of Exercise.
The post Bossy’s Apartment Building Has A New Walking Club And Here Is Their Invitation appeared first on Hacked By ReckLess.
Seasonal Depression — otherwise known as Seasonal Affective Disorder — is a depressive disorder occurring only specific times of year, such as winter.
Typical symptoms of Seasonal Depression include lack of energy, tiredness, sleepiness, and oversleeping with a side order of naps. Other symptoms include decreased focus, difficulty concentrating, and what was Bossy saying? Oh yes, Seasonal Depression.
People who suffer from Seasonal Depression often withdraw. Most often that withdrawal is from an ATM machine to pay for the wine that will combat the shift in mood because we all know booze is good for depression. In Backwards World.
Other signs one is suffering from Seasonal Depression include anxiety, weight gain, and anxiety over weight gain. Seasonal Depression is most common in women.
The cause of Seasonal Depression is often attributed to a disruption of one’s biological clock, which is responsible for our sleep patterns, cell regeneration, and the desire to have Ewan McGregor’s baby after watching Beginners for the fourth time this week because = Seasonal Depression!
The most popular cure for Seasonal Depression includes a light box placed on a tabletop a comfortable distance away — and you can type into this light box using the attached keyboard, creating your first blog post in the month since you put yourself to bed with Seasonal Depression.
And how are you, Bossy’s esteemed council? Please leave word.
If you liked this post, check out the time Bossy outran depression by watching Oprah.
Or see a photo of Bossy’s Great Dane Stella the day in 2009 when she was depressed about her sports team.
Last night Bossy watched the Ken Burns’ series on PBS, The Roosevelts, which is to say Bossy and her mother and her daughter were ignoring the show and talking about boys.
But when Bossy did turn her attention to the television, everything sounded vaguely familiar, as if Bossy had written a book about the Roosevelts herself. And then Bossy remembered she did write a book about the Roosevelts, dressed as a blog post answering the question: What if the Roosevelts were around today?
To help with that task, Bossy turned to Facebook.
You see, this was Franklin Roosevelt:
Franklin Roosevelt was a strong athletic man with an air of confidence and can-do charisma that stemmed from a sheltered, privileged upbringing. Partially responsible for shielding Franklin Roosevelt from distress or failure was his mother, Sara Delano:
Sara Delano married James Roosevelt who was recently widowed and nearly thirty years her senior. They had only one child, Franklin, due to a scare during childbirth. Her presence as a mother was always domineering, and Franklin learned it was easier to be stoic and keep his true emotions and thoughts hidden from general scrutiny.
For instance, when Franklin fell in love with his distant cousin, his mother wouldn’t know about it until the young couple announced their engagement. And the woman Franklin fell in love with was Anna Eleanor:
Anna Eleanor Roosevelt, or Eleanor as she was called, was unlike any other woman Franklin had ever known, in all her guileless brilliance. Both Franklin and Eleanor had emerged from well-to-do-backgrounds but had a special commitment to social responsibility. They forged a partnership both at home — raising five children — and professionally, with Eleanor acting as Franklin’s trusted confidante and advisor as he rose up the political ranks.
Eleanor was happy in her role as wife and mother. It allowed her to escape the great sadness she felt in her childhood, most of which stemmed from an alcoholic father who was a colossal failure compared to his brother, President of the United States, Teddy Roosevelt. In addition the always gawky and awkward and gangly and lanky Eleanor felt she could never measure up to the extreme beauty of her high society mother, Anna Hall:
Subject to fits of depression, everything in Eleanor’s adult life was going swimmingly until Eleanor discovered letters that proved Franklin was having an affair with her own social secretary, Lucy Mercer:
Eleanor was so devastated by her husband’s betrayal that she decided to stop having the sex she never wanted to have in the first place. For the rest of their married life, Franklin and Eleanor would sleep in separate bedrooms.
And speaking of things going swimmingly, it was in a lake, just a few years later, that the always virile Franklin Roosevelt contracted polio at the age of 39. In constant denial regarding his paralysis, Franklin received daily physical therapy and for a time retreated to Warm Springs, Georgia, where the mineral springs were known for their restorative power.
But Franklin didn’t recuperate in Georgia alone. No. By Franklin’s side was his near constant companion, his secretary Margaret Alice:
Marguerite Alice “Missy” Lehand was wildly in love with her boss. Having never married, she not only acted as secretary to the President, but devoted herself to fulfilling all the duties of a wife, like entertaining. Entertaining Franklin.
Eleanor was well aware of Missy’s constant companionship and supported her relationship with Eleanor’s husband since Eleanor herself was busy representing Franklin’s political platform across the country, being the more able-bodied presence compared to her husband, who never went out in public in the wheelchair he needed almost constantly.
But Eleanor didn’t mind her autonomous role as Franklin’s go-to guy, because Eleanor had a go-to guy of her own. And that go-to guy was a woman. Lorena Alice:
Lorena Alice Hickok was a journalist who met Eleanor at the Democratic National Committee headquarters where she was researching a story. The two forged an immediate friendship, where friendship equals they sent each other love letters.
And it was this cast of characters who, among a nation of others, were responding to Hitler’s march across Europe, leaving a swath of destruction behind him.
Will Franklin Roosevelt lead his country into war? Will he sleep with his secretary Missy? Will Missy have an emotional breakdown when she finds out Franklin was elected for a third term? Will Eleanor put her tiresome mother-in-law Sara in her place?
Mere hours before daybreak and an appointment that would have decided things for her, Stella shut off her own light. She did it with grace and dignity, on her terms, at the Bossy family house with her people lying on the floor around her.
Ironically it was a woman named Kitty who was responsible for Bossy’s Great Dane. It was 2005 and the Bossy family had just lost their aging dog to cancer. This prompted Bossy to launch what she calls the research process, even though Bossy’s mom refers to it as good as done.
Bossy had always wanted a giant dog, which are hard to come by in mutt form, although the Bossy family tried. One such try was from a shelter approximately three miles past Jupiter. Her name was Heidi, and her dubious heritage was described as Great Pyrenees, a guess that was supported by the promising size of her 8-week-old paws.
The wrinkle in this story revealed at Heidi’s first veterinary appointment. “Actually she’s not eight weeks old, she’s four months old,” the vet said. This meant Heidi wasn’t large for her age, but small for her breed. And her breed wasn’t Great Pyrenees, but rather Setter.
But back to 2005. Bossy had long admired Great Danes, who are known for their calm quality. A mellow dog matches Bossy’s lifestyle, where lifestyle equals napping.
And so Bossy busied herself with researching how she could acquire a Great Dane sometime in the distant future when the Bossy family felt ready to get another puppy. And the distant future took five days. The reason it took five days is because the family was on a camping trip, and thought it more stable to acquire a puppy when not living in a pitch of nylon.
Once home from camping, Bossy scoured the globe for a reputable Great Dane breeder. Bossy was already well versed in dog breeds and their historical functions, generalized dispositions, activity levels, varying temperaments, skeletal structures, and the potential problems within each of these categories. When Bossy was a child she would carry around a dog-eared edition of a Dog Breed Encyclopedia, spouting the traits of her favored dog du jour. Bossy would deposit crocodile tears on the notes she scattered for her parents which issued threats such as, “I am huving a nirvis brake down, can I pleze huve a dog?”
In short, Bossy speaks breeds — which is why she was quickly referred around the breeders’ tightly woven network until finally locating a litter of puppies in a neighboring state. And those puppies were brought about by Kitty, a nurturing grandmother of both humans and Great Danes, generously sharing her house with both across several generations.
And that’s how it came to be that Bossy and her mother and her daughter climbed in Bossy’s Honda and drove for seven hours to select their puppy.
Actually, Bossy and her mother and her daughter weren’t so much tasked with selecting a puppy, as selecting a collar. Bossy had been given the pick of the females, which were identical except for the color of the collars that flopped loosely around their sweet baby necks.
The thing about selecting a puppy is a puppy often selects you. While Bossy flung herself at Green Collar Girl and Red Collar Girl, administering temperament tests and logging the critical results as a nurse would an Apgar score, one particular puppy’s affinity for Bossy and her mother and her daughter became plain. “Who’s this who keeps returning to our chairs?” Bossy’s mom finally asked.
It was Yellow Collar Girl.
Sixteen hours later, Yellow Collar Girl became Stella, and she was loaded into the back of Bossy’s Honda for the drive home. As her tribe of Danes disappeared in the rear view mirror, Stella surrendered her past in one elongated sigh much like a 1940’s film star, before collapsing in a heap for the remainder of the ride.
Once home Stella was introduced to her new extended family and the house she would occupy for the next nine years. When the neighborhood tour did not include the pond she left behind, she lifted her long snout and voiced her disappointment with a deep lilt resonating upward from her toes. “Oh man,” Stella said.
This is how the Bossy family found out Stella could talk, which she did in perpetuity. And for those sentences too complicated, the Bossy family would happily articulate on Stella’s behalf, imitating her compelling intonation. Stella enjoyed the constant soundtrack of her own voice as provided by her family, and she would whip her head around to learn exactly what it was she herself was thinking.
Never showy regarding those ignoble dog tricks that earn a smart distinction, Stella quickly learned everything that was expected of her and executed those things without fail. She was trained to walk off leash although wore one on neighborhood walks for the benefit of those passersby who would gawk, mistaking her for a deer.
Left alone in the front yard, she would lounge and sniff and run circles around the tree without benefit of a dog fence, despite the sidewalk pedestrians who would beckon to her, and despite the proximity of street and all manner of enticing wildlife that always lingered on the other side.
Stella was an agreeable housemate, shrinking her size to fit any situation. For the entirety of her life she cherished two toys, both carried constantly, and neither, nine years later, the victim of a careless puncture.
She never complained about the endless march of boring pellet food she would scrape around a steel bowl kept the height of a second story apartment, and she would lap her tepid water in a deafening, comically prolonged way as though draining the Bering Sea.
When the Bossy family sat for their own meals, Stella would dutifully stand between her two kids, resting her head on a trestle under the farm table, like a horse in its stall. Stella enjoyed being a part of all aspects of the Bossy family industriousness, where industriousness meant lounging around sofas.
The only thing short about a Great Dane is their lifespan. In the same accelerated way a Dane matures physically and mentally in their first year – increasing their weight 100-fold – so does old age arrive too soon.
In her final months Stella was as healthy and sound as her early days, albeit slower and requiring intervals of epic sleep. But in her final weeks the body that served her so well became difficult for her to lift and negotiate, and she began the retreat of the elderly, turning her attention inward.
The Bossy family was determined to spare Stella a tortured exit. The texts and phone calls flew back and forth among the Bossy family, detailing the subtle vagaries of her good days and tired days in an effort to help decide her fate.
In the end, the Bossy family made Stella an appointment for a Saturday morning.
On Friday afternoon she was eating heartily and enjoying a stroll around the back yard, which confused the family decision. Bossy drove to the family house in order to analyze things and spend the night spooning Stella. In the brief hours between late afternoon and early evening when Bossy arrived, Stella began a swift decline. No longer able to stand on her own accord and clearly uncomfortable, talk turned to lifting her into a car and not waiting until morning. The only consideration was Bossy’s daughter, who was not home and had not said goodbye. Suddenly Stella, who was lying in a heap in the center of this impossible conversation, cleared her eyes, stood up, and walked over to her foam mattress renamed in her puppyhood baby duck bed.
Stella, in her final hours, navigated her death in a way that spared the Bossy family of anxiety-producing decisions, anxiety-producing logistics, and anxiety.
Stella waited until Bossy’s daughter came home, slipping in and out of sleep, occasionally shifting her crumbled limbs while her family quietly surrounded her. Stella didn’t so much take her last breath as expel the air she no longer needed.
Bossy calculated that Stella was a few months shy of her first birthday when Bossy began this blog. For over six years there wasn’t a post generated by Bossy that wasn’t overseen by Stella, who would stand for hours next to Bossy’s typing elbow.
Stella had a sense of her role here, providing an endless source of fodder and being an eager participant whenever the camera emerged.
So thank you, dear Bossy’s council, for being avid and loving supporters of Stella these past years. Truly. Bossy’s Dane wasn’t just Great, she enjoyed significant internet reach and Google presence.
Farewell, Stella. You were a force, a big silly, a dear girl, our comic relief. Your voice will always be in Bossy’s head. And we will miss you.
Hello, and welcome to I Am Bossy, a humor blog without the blog posts! Luckily the blog is still funny. Even if currently written and archived entirely within the confines of Bossy’s own head!
Bossy hasn’t been writing lately because of the following items, in no particular order except from most important to even more important:
Working. Bossy has been working full time at an Institutional Investment Firm. If you don’t understand what Bossy could possibly provide in skills to an Institutional Investment Firm, you are not alone! In fact you are joined by Bossy, along with everyone who works with Bossy! The good news is, after nearly two years, Bossy is beginning to understand her field. The field very close to her apartment.
Dating. This past year Bossy placed her profile on several dating sites, where profile equals Bossy avoided using photos of her profile.
And so it was that Bossy found herself on dates with the three-dimensional versions of the flat men featured on the websites. Due to Bossy’s superior vetting, most of her dates were not disappointing in their representation. The exception to this rule are the men Bossy seems to favor, who all have rather troublesome medical conditions such as penniless or married.
Cycling. Cycling is exactly like riding a bike, except it costs more to buy the padding you need for your ass. Bossy began cycling at the beginning of the summer and now goes on 60-mile rides, which is like riding one mile sixty times, or like listening to 120 songs, or watching two movies, or four Project Runways.
Redesigning. Bossy is in the process of redesigning this blog so she doesn’t lose all will to live every time she spies the many defunct features in the left column and don’t you look over there either. Bossy’s redesign process will swap out the existing orange and red banner for a tediously similar orange and red banner, as well as offer Bossy readers the social media sharing and liking tools that will be obsolete by the redesign’s completion!
Please don’t lose faith in Bossy and her ability to make a comeback. Bossy will reconvene her esteemed council beginning September on a regular posting schedule so check back often! Bossy has lots of stuff to tell you and is no longer paralyzed to say it.
Mothering. You’ll be happy to know Bossy is still the mother of two kids, even if they are no longer kids.
Bossy’s daughter turned 18 this summer, finally joining her brother in his 7-year established adulthood. This fall Bossy’s daughter is a senior in high school, ushering in a year of lasts for Bossy and her (Un)husband, who have had one or the other child in school for the past twenty-three years. Bossy’s daughter is facing the college search process, the college application process, the college acceptance process, and college. Meanwhile Bossy’s son, who graduated from Columbia University two years ago, is equally contemplative regarding his next move, which will likely situate both goofs in a University near you Fall of 2015.
And lastly, Bossy’s Dane isn’t just Great, she is now elderly.
If you liked this post, click this link to read about the celebrities Bossy would reject on a dating site.
The post How Bossy Spent Her Summer Vacation – And The Two Years Leading Up To It appeared first on Hacked By ReckLess.
You see we have these things called clocks and no one looks at them because we have phones. Yes phones are for talking to people who aren’t there, but they’re also for telling time. No you don’t actually tell time anything, but rather telling time is the process of knowing what time it is. And you know what time it is because you look at a clock. Shall we begin?
Clocks have numbers on them. Except sometimes they don’t:
And each number represents an hour which is one hour long. An hour takes an hour, which is also sixty minutes. A minute takes a minute and is made up of sixty seconds which are a second long. That’s like bah-duh. That’s a second. One Mississippi is also a second. Two Mississippi is two seconds. And 3600 Mississippi is one hour. Or you could just look at a clock.
Time is arranged in the hours it takes to get from midnight to midday and back again. There are twenty-four of them. The first twelve hours are described with the numbers one to twelve, and so are the second twelve hours because we’re not as smart as Europeans. From midnight to midday is referred to as AM, which stands for after morning. No, wait. AM stands for before noon but BN was already taken. No, wait. That’s BM.
We need to know what time it is because we need to go to work to make the money we will deposit in the bank where people work to make the money to spend in Forever 21. When we arrive at the proper hour, we are said to be on time. When we get something done, it is often in time. When we refer to something that already happened, we say it was at the time. When we repeat something, we say it is all the time, and arguably the best song ever written is Time After Time.
In addition there is a hard time, a matter of time, a set time, a point in time, big time, from time to time, to make time, borrowed time, one more time, killing time, give it time, in spare time, and it’s about time — which this post was!
Stay tuned for more episodes of Alien School: Explaining Stuff to Aliens.
If you liked this post, read Once Upon A Time Bossy tried to find cute espadrilles.
Look! It’s time for Ten-Word Tuesday on Wednesday! That’s because Thursday is the new Friday! Shall we?
For the past week, Bossy has been sleeping with Keith Richards. In doorstop form. It all began when Bossy borrowed Keith Richards from Bossy’s friend Barbara because Barbara said, “It’s actually a very good read.”
Which brings up an interesting point. Actually is never a word you want associated with your achievements. It’s like the time Bossy invited her neighbor Tracy over for appetizers, and Tracy said, “Actually the roasted beets with goat cheese you just spent two hours preparing in very small batches in the heat of summer is pretty good.”
Actually that was the last of Bossy and Tracy.
But back to the
doorstop book. Bossy borrowed it from her friend Barbara with the promise to return it at the end of the weekend. That was two years ago. And while on the subject: Dear Barbara. If you’re looking everywhere for your Keith Richards autobiography — for instance because you need something to serve as a counterweight for the Cape York Meteorite — Bossy apologizes for its absence. At her current rate of reading, Bossy should have this item returned to you when Bossy’s clock strikes heaven-thirty.
So why is it taking Bossy so long to finish? Maybe because the only time Bossy can read is when Bossy climbs into bed. And Bossy doesn’t so much read in bed these days as read in bed through her closed eyelids. And weirdly when one reads through closed eyes you remain on page 32 until a millennium swallows an eon.
It’s not that Keith Richards isn’t fascinating. Here’s what Bossy learned so far:
Bossy can sum up her Keith Richards autobiography in this way: If a tornado is approaching, please hide beneath this book.
Which is what today’s Ten-Word Challenge is all about. In exactly ten words, can you tell Bossy about the book you’re reading — or detail your summer reading list?
And be sure to check back later for the best book descriptions on the web!
If you liked this Ten-Word Tuesday, you may want to click this link to read how Ten-Word Tuesday began with over 300 comments!
Bossy is going to tell you about her dream because people love when you do that.
Okay. It took place last night. In the dream, Bossy got a puppy. But not just any puppy, it was a cross between a daddy longlegs spider and a stick figure drawn by an embryo:
Bossy soon realized that although her puppy seemed to have the constitution of a blouse fiber, it did in fact need the typical puppy things, such as food and water and relieving itself out of doors:
At first Bossy seemed to be meeting the challenges of her new docile puppy, who Bossy flanked during its daily routines, hoping the wind wouldn’t kick up:
But then the puppy developed more energy as puppies do, and it wanted to run off alone for great distances, its indecipherable form impossible to track with Bossy’s naked eye.
Bossy weighed the benefit of slipping her puppy into a baggie with something to eat, but she quickly realized the puppy needed certain creature comforts. Such as air:
Only when Bossy’s puppy took off like a tissue across a windswept plain with no hope of catching it did Bossy realize she should have built a fish tank for her puppy! Absent the water. And the fish. Because Bossy’s puppy would have been happy within this safe ecosystem. Assuming Bossy could fashion a lid impervious to her puppy’s escape.
But just then Bossy woke up.
Bossy can sum up what her puppy dream means in this way: Bossy wants something that feels tenuous and hard to contain.
Which is what today’s Ten-Word Challenge is all about. In exactly ten words, can you tell Bossy about one of your dreams, or the meaning of one of your dreams? Or you can analyze Bossy’s dream!
And be sure to check back later for the best Dream Analysis on the web!
If you liked this Ten-Word Tuesday, read Bossy’s Ten-Word High School Friends Edition.
Or read about hangover cures in Ten-Word answers.
Or read Bossy’s Ten-Word Exercise edition.
And stick close, Bossy readers, because in a few short days Bossy will be blogging every minute of the multi-state college tour Bossy is taking with her daughter!
Hello, and welcome to four-one-one-four! But you can call it Sister Mercy April is finally here. Unlike the first of every other month, April 1st marks the day we tell children the world is canceling summer. This is known as April Fools’ Day!
April Fools’ Day goes back to the ancient Romans, who celebrated the Spring equinox with a religious festival they named Hilaria.
Marking the end of winter’s gloom, the Hilaria festival featured the usual ancient Roman amusements, such as walking the length of the village crumbling under the weight of the Goddess statue you’re made to carry:
She’s Cybele, the mother of all Goddesses, even though in other civilizations she was known as Gaia, and Rhea, and Demeter, and broken:
But Hilaria was also known as a lighthearted holiday that encouraged masquerades, rejoicing, and public sacrifice:
Next stop in our history of April Fools’ Day, Chaucer’s Canterbury Tales was misinterpreted so that readers thought Chaucer pinpointed March 32nd as being the day a vain cock was fooled by a fox:
Which brings us to our final explanation of April Fool’s Day: most European towns throughout the Middle Ages celebrated New Year’s Day on March 25th — and France’s celebration lasted one week, culminating on April 1st. And it is said that those who celebrated New Year’s Day on January 1st made fun of the French and their foolish April 1st New Year: