Tiny little reveries

Gone Like a Cat Outta Hell

2020-08-15T17:06:00.003-07:00

Today is Saturday and it's 114 degrees outside and I really want to be kicking back in my Clampett Oasis right now.

Instead, I'm ready to go on a trip that I'm not sure is happening (and by ready, I mean mindset, not packed), wondering whose yard the cat that rejected me is in, and pondering if men over 50 find hairy legs attractive these days.

Maybe I should start at the beginning.

When I last left you, I mentioned an injured stray kitty (who I've named Pretty Boy because he's so pretty I thought he was a girl and yes that's a politically incorrect thing to say, but lighten up, he's a cat.) which I found in my brother's yard last Friday.

If you remember, I discovered I could bring him in to our local Animal Foundation and they would treat him if he wasn't too badly injured and neuter him and release him back where he was found.

Tuesday morning, while he ate his wet food, I was able to grab him and put him in a cat carrier so I could get him down to the Foundation. He was not happy.

Complication - on Monday when I got in my truck to go to two back-to-back doctor appointments, my battery was dead. I had to borrow my sister-in-law's car to get to my appointments.

So for Operation Kitty Rescue on Tuesday, I had to rely on my sister to come and take me and kitty to the Animal Foundation, then go back to my brother's and arrange for my truck to be towed to the shop near my sister's house (after having my brother help me unsuccessfully try to jump start it).

I can't believe I've become the needy problem child in my family.

Anyway, so I hung out at my sister's house for the day while I waited for news on both my truck and the kitty.

I called the Animal Foundation late in the day to check on Pretty Boy, and was over the moon when they said he had a cut on his paw that was infected and that's why his leg was swollen! He had some other cuts and abscesses but he was going to be fine and I could pick him up on Friday.

I was so happy that kitty was okay, I can't even tell you. He became my mission and right now I just really need to feel like I rescued a lost soul and made his life a little better.

Pretty Boy was indifferent to my kindhearted mission.

I picked him up from the foundation and talked to him through the holes in his carrier the entire drive home. I only got thumps by way of reply, as he tried to escape his cardboard cage. He clearly was mad and not speaking to me but I was not discouraged. I just knew as soon as I got him back to his comfy little shed home, he would realize his wounds were healed, his life was better, and we would be buds.

When we arrived home, I opened his carrier in the shed and tipped it a little so he could climb out. He sniffed at his bowl of dry food and water, then climbed back into his hiding place at the back of the shed. I figured I'd leave him be and check on him later.

When I went out a couple hours later, he was gone. I checked about every hour till about 9:00 PM Friday night and several times today and there still is no sign of him. He took off like a cat outta hell.

(By the way, I did not have my camera at the ready to get a picture of Pretty Boy and that picture at the top of my blog is a stunt double.)

My idealistic mission of giving Pretty Boy a better life is in the toilet and I've been depressed since last night. I've been rejected by a stray cat that had no where else to go.

But what did I expect? Why would he want to stay at the place where some gray-haired lady overfed him to earn his trust, tricked him into confinement, then had his balls snipped?

It's like me and my ex all over again. Figuratively speaking.

Side question - Now that I have two ex's, do I need to specify which one I'm talking about? Like Ex1 and Ex2? I think not, since I don't really talk about Ex1 much. Ok, good. Glad we worked that out.

Then today, a lady from the Animal Foundation called me and said the kitty was not supposed to be released to me yet! He had an infection that required a different antibiotic they had to administer and he was supposed to stay there for another 2 to 3 days!

Perfect. So not only did I lose the cat released to my care, but he may get sicker because now he won't get the antibiotics he needs. It's not my fault they released him by mistake...but still. I feel like I failed Pretty Boy.

The lady from the Foundation actually drove to my house to give me the medication to put in his food in case he shows up. Preferably, she wants me to try to catch him and get him into a carrier again and she will come out and pick him up. Then they can monitor him for a few more days.

Pretty Boy is going to hate me.

I shall update you with any new developments in this story.

Remember way back at the beginning of this post I said I was ready to go on a trip I didn't know if I was taking? My sister and I were planning on visiting my mom in California this weekend, but only if my sister has Sunday, Monday and Tuesday off. She would not know her schedule until today and if she had those days off, we were going to pack like maniacs and get out of town when she got off work later.

Turns out, she did get those days off, but we can't go because I'm now on Pretty Boy watch.

No good deed goes unpunished.

Aside from being rejected by my husband and a stray cat, the last pathetic thing happening in my life is my sister is going to be working a side gig where she can use her aesthetician license and do facials and waxings part time and said she wants to practice on me.

I thought, free facials and eyebrow shaping? Just in time for my Match.com profile picture - sign me up!

Then she tells me I need to grow out my bikini line and leg hair because it needs to be like an inch long or something in order for her to wax it.

Seriously?? Can my battered self-esteem just get one freaking break??

So no Match.com anytime soon for me unless I find an over 50 guy who digs hairy chicks. And they are probably out there. And no, I would not want to date them.

(I am kidding about joining Match.com, by the way. It is the last thing on this earth I want to do right now. Besides looking for a cat when it's 114 outside.)

Oh, but I did get my car battery replaced for free, so that is one good thing that happened in all of this. So I should count my blessings.

Signed,
Pathetic Cat Loser (see what I did there?)

In case you missed these:
Going Through It
The Day My Dog Made Enemies of Pretty Much Everyone
My Life Imploded But I Got Some Free Makeup

Going Through It

2020-08-10T14:20:00.000-07:00

A couple Fridays ago, I had the bright idea of having a margarita "party" in my brother's backyard.

By "party" I mean my sister, sis-in-law and maybe one neighbor.

I wanted to set up a few wading pools under a camping shade awning and have a budget pool party, Beverly Hillbillies style.

My plans were thwarted when I could not find wading pools, plastic or blow-up, at any store in town. I guess with everyone entertaining themselves at home, I was not the only person with this idea. Or perhaps people were buying them for their intended enjoyers - kids. Darn kids always messing with grown-up plans.

So I figured we could just sit under the shade, cool our feet with the hose and still enjoy our margaritas. But my brother couldn't find the shade awning in the garage.

At that point, my vision of a poolside party became booze and a hose, pretty much, so we moved the party inside. The important thing was we still had margaritas.

My brother felt bad about my pathetic little party and the next day ordered an inflatable pool for adults from Amazon. This past Friday we set it up.

That's what I'm talkin' 'bout! All I needed was a pair of Ellie Mae shorts.

It doesn't look like much, but let me tell you, in over 100 degree temps, that little pool felt heavenly. It was just my sister-in-law and me this time (can't imagine why no one wanted to come when our last pool party was such a raging success).

We stayed out in it, under the shade, sipping wine spritzers, listening to music, and having heartfelt talks for four hours that afternoon. The only reason we got out was because the sprinklers came on. And also the looks my dog Gypsy was giving me (the first picture in this post).

Best purchase of the summer!

That was my Friday. Saturday I did my early morning walk in the park. One of the soul-soothing routines I have settled into.

Soothed. Definitely soothed.

Sunday was a repeat of Friday afternoon's pool fun only this time my sister-in-law brought her friend Lulu over. She is quite the character, Lulu.

I first met Lulu over 20 years ago when my kids were young and my brother and sister-in-law lived with me for a little while after my first divorce.

I remember I was giving her a ride to somewhere and I had all three of my kids in the back seat. They were probably 5, 7, and 8 at the time and were particularly squirrelly that day, poking at each other and noisily arguing.

My admonitions and threats were not effective in getting them to settle down. Then Lulu says, "You best knock it off or you're gonna git a whoopin'!"

The back seat went silent, then erupted in laughter and my 7-year-old said, "What's a wooo-pen?"

Lulu looked at me like she was about to demonstrate the definition. That's my oldest memory of Lulu. She's in her 60's now.

So Lulu came over Sunday and we had a lovely time eating shrimp, slurping wine coolers and debating the pros and cons of having men in our lives. She's pro (in general, Lulu is very pro man, so pro, in fact, she almost got in trouble a few years back for pinching the butt of a cute grocery store employee) and of course at the moment, I'm con.

While I was in the pool, waiting for my sister-in-law and Lulu to join me, I snapped what I thought would be a photo of me happy and having fun. I felt relaxed and grateful at that moment and I smiled and took the selfie.

When I looked at the picture after, a wave of depression came over me. I didn't look happy at all. I was barely smiling (though it felt like I smiled) and my eyes were just sad.

(For those that know me, I'm not talking about my current FB picture. I took that one poolside on Friday and I think I look fairly happy in it. Sunday's however, not so much.)

Anyway, I'm doing all the things one should do when going through a painful marriage break-up. I do meditations. I say affirmations. I visualize what I want for my life. I listen to podcasts about healing and moving on and getting over being hurt. I do all that.

But the thing is, to get past a painful event in life, you have to go through it. "Getting past" it implies you breeze by and say buh-bye to the image of it in a rear view mirror.

Really, you have to feel every painful memory, every negative thought, every regret, every unspoken conversation that seeps into your head and heart, until you acknowledge it for what it was and and let it go. That's "going through" it and coming out the other side of it.

I guess I'm still in the thick of "going through" it. It is easier being under a different roof, but all the hurt and memories still haunt me day and night. Mostly night.

I was messaging with a friend and telling him about my "Splitsville" playlist. Yes, that's what I call it and it's filled with angsty ballads with a few kick-ass "woman done wrong" songs thrown in.

I shared with my friend a couple of the ballads, specifically "Tin Man" by Miranda Lambert and "Blue Aint' your Color" by Keith Urban.

He said I shouldn't listen to sad, depressing songs and should be listening to more upbeat music.

Here's what I told him:

Yes, I lol'ed, don't judge me.

I actually wrote that the day before I took my sappy selfie, but seeing my sad face made me think of what I had typed to him and I read it again. I realized I needed to listen to some of the shit I say.

So now, I intend to acknowledge, embrace, feel and thank all of those painful memories and thoughts so I can let them go and come out the other side of all this.

All the while blasting my sappy songs, thank you very much.

Continuing with the sad trajectory of this post, I have to tell you about the injured stray kitty that hobbled into my brother's yard on Friday.

A couple weeks ago, when I was rummaging through my brother's shed in search of a wading pool that he had bought several years ago but that we concluded must have gotten punctured and thrown out, a cat shot out of the shed and hopped the back wall.

I mentioned it to my brother and he said the cat had been in and out of his yard over the last few months and he figured it was a stray.

I didn't see the kitty again until Friday evening, during our poolside wine chat. She hopped into the yard and hobbled over to some bushes and hid. She was not injured the last time I saw her, but this time she held her right front paw up and would not put weight on it.

I went over to the bushes where she was and tried to get a closer look but was met with growls so I left a bowl of water there and backed off. (My son was bit by his cat last year and it got so infected he had to have surgery and continues to have issues with his hand.) I did not want to get bit!

She stayed under the bushes for the next hour, so I offered her a little wet dog food and she ate it like she was starving, which maybe she was because she was skinny. But she still growled at me and wouldn't let me get close enough to look at her paw.

Just before we went inside, the kitty left the bushes and hobbled into the shed and hid way in the back where I couldn't even see her. I put her water dish in there and left her for the night.

The next morning after my early walk, I went to the store and bought some canned cat food and brought her some for breakfast. She ate but still growled at me. At dinnertime I again brought her some food and she growled, but did let me get my hand near enough to her face that she sniffed me. Then she looked at me with the biggest, most beautiful light green eyes, stared at me for a few seconds and backed away into her hiding spot.

Sunday morning I fed her again and got the same response. By the afternoon though, she had hobbled out of the shed looking for a cooler place to lay and she actually meowed at me which I took as a sign she wanted to communicate. I gave her a little more food as she lay under the bushes again, in the cool dirt.

By evening she was back in the shed, but laying on a rug I had put down for her, instead of in her hiding place. I fed her again and this time she let me scratch her ears and pet her head a little. After which, she growled at me. I tried calling a bunch of animal rescue places but they were closed on Sundays. Animal control told me I could drop her to any vet and they would administer care and get her somewhere to be adopted. That is not what the vets I called told me and I called several that were open on Sundays.

That was last night, so today after I fed her breakfast, she actually let me full-on pet her - head scratches, back petting - the works. So I'm hopeful I can get her in a carrier and get her in somewhere for some care.

The thing is, in my present situation, I can't adopt a cat or pay a vet bill for a stray. But I can't just let her suffer. She won't survive without a home, hobbling around like that and she's probably hurting. The only place that would take an injured stray kitty is the Animal Foundation so I will bring her there in hopes her injury isn't too severe and they can fix it and put her up for adoption.

Of course, after I found a place I could bring her, I went out to try to get her in the carrier and she's back in her hiding spot where I can't even see her and she wouldn't come out, not even for a snack. I have two doctor appointments this afternoon so I could only have brought her to the Animal Foundation this morning.

Now the plan is to try to get her in the carrier tomorrow morning after she eats, and when she seems to be feeling the friendliest.

I really hope the Foundation will deem her worthy of fixing and not tell me she's beyond help and has to be euthanized. Her leg might be broken and I don't know if they will commit to that kind of care.

I feel like my current happiness is wrapped up in whether I can save this kitty and if I can't save her I'm going to lose it right there at the animal shelter and be a blubbering mess.

Wish me luck please.

Signed,
Miss Sappy

In case you missed my last two posts:
The Day My Dog Made Enemies of Pretty Much Everyone
My Life Imploded But I Got Some Free Makeup

The Day My Dog Made Enemies of Pretty Much Everyone

2020-08-03T17:01:00.001-07:00

It was a pretty eventful weekend over here in Splitsville.

Friday, as I sat at my makeshift desk on wheels and looked across my tiny, borrowed room at my makeshift bed in the corner, I began to get a little down about my current situation.

Don't get me wrong, I'm enormously grateful to my brother for giving me a place to lay my head, but I was feeling a little cooped up and needed a change of scenery for a day.

I called my sister and we decided I would stay at her house Saturday night.

I feel like my siblings have joint custody of their wayward sister right now, which is unsettling because I've always been the one in the family that provided a home for everyone else. It's astounding how life changes in mere seconds.

Before I headed to my sister's Saturday, I took my little dog, Gypsy, for an early morning walk in the park near my brother's house.

We are quite a sight, Gypsy and I, both harnessed up for our walk.

Oh yes, I have to harness up too, by way of a fanny pack containing my phone, driver's license, hand sanitizer, car keys, and inhaler. Then there's the collapsible dog water bowl and container of dog poo bags which hang off my fanny pack. To complete the look, I keep a water pistol in my pocket to blast Gypsy when she goes into a barking frenzy at the sight of another dog. Oh wait...I forgot to mention the straw cowboy hat I wear to keep the sun off my face. (Hashtag: I'mACatch)

I look like a prospector with a belt full of tools hanging around my waist. Which I guess makes Gypsy my unpredictable horse.

Prospector Lori and her sidekick, Gypsy coming to a park near you.

After our relaxing walk in which I spent most of the time avoiding any path that had another dog on it to keep mine from making an embarrassing scene (who am I kidding, at this point I'm looking at embarrassing in the rearview mirror), we headed to my sister's.

My sister did not tell her husband, John, that I was bringing Gypsy with me. John doesn't care for Gypsy. The feeling was mutual and stemmed from a camping trip last year when we all rented a cabin together in Utah and everyone brought their dogs. For some reason, Gypsy nipped at John's ankles every time she saw him.

I'll have to tell you the story of Gypsy some time. There's a reason she is the way she is and she's actually greatly improved from when I first got her.

Anyway, during our visit Saturday, Gypsy's feelings towards John softened and she tried really hard to endear herself to him, but he just wasn't having it.

I don't think my brother-in-law wants his picture in my blog, so I had to block it out. A rooster is perfect because during the shutdown, my sister cut his hair in a mohawk. He shouldn't be mad about this picture at all.

For a while I thought John was softening a bit towards Gypsy too, but Gypsy put the nail in the coffin of their friendship by squatting on the carpet right in front of where John was laying on the couch.

Yup. She peed. On my sister's carpet. In front of the guy who didn't like her and didn't want her there.

Perfect. My list of places I could escape to with Gypsy was quickly shrinking.

And even before the pee incident, Gypsy made enemies of both the cat and my sister (although my sister forgave her later as I will explain).

The only member of my sister's household not mad at Gypsy was her dog Buddy. He lives up to his name. He followed Gypsy around the house, with his nose millimeters from her butt the entire time.

Making enemies is exhausting.

But back to the cat. My sister's cat, Bo used to be a flight risk, so she kept him inside and only let him out into their small yard if he were on a harness. He's improved though so now he's allowed to wander around the yard unshackled for 20 or 30 minutes at a time.

When Gypsy arrived, she made a beeline out the doggie door and into the yard, where Bo was enjoying his precious yard time. Bo took one look at Gypsy and his tail poofed up like Monica's hair in Barbados. Bo must have threatened to shank Gypsy, because she high-tailed it back in the house and none of us saw what happened to Bo.

We didn't think too much of it as we visited for the next 20 or so minutes. Then my sister went outside to bring Bo in because his prison yard time was up, and she freaked out because he wasn't out there.

We looked all over the house and couldn't find him. My sister was worried that Gypsy had scared Bo so bad he jumped the wall and escaped from the yard, so we walked up and down the street calling him. No go for Bo.

I was helping my sister paint her nightstands, so we continued on that project, with one of us breaking every so often to go outside and call for the cat. After about two hours and still no sign of him, we knocked on neighbors' doors asking if they'd seen him and drove around the neighborhood looking for him. We made flyers and put them on the mailboxes and she posted a picture of him in the Next Door app, hoping someone had seen him.

Through all of this, my sister was cranky and short with me and Gypsy and I was just beginning to think I was going to be sleeping that night in my little cot in my borrowed room and not in my sister's guest bed. That thought made me cranky too.

I can't blame my sister for being upset though. It wasn't the first time a cat went missing while I visited her. Back in her old house, way back when I was still coloring the gray out of my hair, I was at her house and she had just applied my hair color when we heard a cat crying.

The sound was coming from beyond her backyard wall and sounded like her cat. She begged me to go walk around the corner with her to check. So me and my head full of auburn hair dye followed her around the corner and towards the sound of the crying cat. Sure enough, it was her cat and he was caught in a storm drain.

Long story short, neither the fire department nor animal control would help us get him out. We called our cousin's husband because he was the most likely person we could think of that might have a tool to pull off the storm drain cover so we could get the cat out. Meanwhile, a crowd of neighbors had gathered and I felt utterly ridiculous, standing there with hair dye drying on my head and staining my face.

My cousin's husband did, in fact, have just the right tool and he saved the day and the cat was rescued. Not too long after that, the cat disappeared again and was found several weeks later several miles away, by a good samaritan who recognized him from a lost pet Craigslist ad.

So my sister had reason to worry on Saturday when Bo disappeared, is my point. She was completely upset and freaked out until she heard a sound that changed everything. A meow that sounded like it was coming from the heavens.

Cat on a hot potshelf

Turns out Bo was too fat to jump on the wall and escape the yard so he hid out on a potshelf in my sister's kitchen and was there the entire time, never once bothering to answer as we called out for him for three hours.

My sister was relieved and Gypsy was off the hook so all was well and I did get to sleep in an actual bed, which really was heavenly.

My story of the shenanigans at my sister's house isn't quite done yet though.

My daughter Rachael stopped by during the whole missing cat kerfuffle and once he was found and my relieved sister could relax, we all had a cocktail. My sister began dispensing marriage advice to newly married Rachael.

Specifically, how to get your husband to put his dirty underwear in the hamper and not on the floor two feet from the hamper. This problem plagued my sister for several weeks when she was first married.

That quickly changed when she started picking up the dirty underwear, folding them neatly, and placing them back in her husband's underwear drawer among all the clean ones.

Problem solved.

That piece of advice is not unlike advice she gave me to do to my now ex, while I was still living with him, but after I discovered his betrayal.

She suggested I buy a pair of men's boxer shorts, dirty them up a bit, and throw them in his dirty clothes hamper for him to find the next time he did his laundry (because obviously by then I was certainly not doing it). Just to fuck with him.

It was a deliciously wicked idea, but I moved out before I could pull it off. I'll file that one away to use on the next guy, should it be necessary and if there ever is another guy.

So that was Saturday.

On Sunday, Gypsy and I stayed away from cats and dogs and other enemies and spent a quiet day at home. I earned my keep by helping my sister-in-law, Emma, clean her oven and the kitchen blinds and by making dinner.

Then we drank a bit too much wine and I helped her do some computer stuff that was a little too technical for her and we giggled about the finger-shaped mouse icon not being on the right "spot" to get the task done. I used my country bumpkin accent which we found way more hilarious than I'm sure it actually was.

Then it was bedtime. And that was pretty much my weekend.

How was yours?

Signed,

Prospector Lori

My misunderstood Gypsy.

My Life Imploded But I Got Some Free Makeup

2020-07-27T21:07:00.010-07:00

It's been longer than I intended since I last wrote. Yet, shorter than I expected. I know that makes no sense.

But the thing is, when traumatic things happen in my life, I tend to submerge, isolate, withdraw, and all those emotionally unhealthy synonyms one does when they are hurting.

The last time major upset happened in my life was in August 2017 and it took me over two years to start blogging again.

Recently, something equally traumatic happened and I'm pretty proud of myself that on the two month anniversary of the night my life imploded, I can find it in myself to blog again.

I won't air the dirty laundry here, but the Cliff's Notes version is that my heart was broken in a million pieces, my marriage is over, and I went from preparing to buy a home of my (our) own, to living on a cot in a borrowed bedroom.

Lines from an email I wasn't supposed to see, his guilty look, and the words, "she's an old friend..." will stay with me forever because in those few seconds, I knew my life would never be the same.

(Okay, so maybe just one tiny little dirty sock is swaying in the breeze of this post. But I think I'm entitled.)

Anyway...I intend to move on. And I purposely didn't say "I'm trying to move on" because I read this article about the difference between saying "I intend to" and "I will try to" and there's a big difference.

"The tryer fixates on the difficulty of the task, and hopes for relief in the form of success. The intender fixates on success and navigates any difficulty arising on the way."

Brilliant, right? That quote is from the article I linked to above, from one of my favorite websites, Raptitude. All of his posts are worth reading.

It's all about intention. And I intend to move on. I intend to focus on the steps I'm taking for my happiness. I intend to keep blogging.

On the topic of moving on, I'm currently staying in an extra bedroom at my brother's house. There isn't a bed in the room so I had to improvise and thought (in my Pollyanna optimism) that I could sleep on an air mattress temporarily because I've done it camping many times.

I couldn't get the air mattress completely full, despite pumping it for like an hour. (Insert inappropriate joke here.)

It seemed full enough, so I threw my poofy mattress cover over it, made it up with sheets and laid down.

Me and my dog flopped and bounced on that thing all night like we were in a waterbed. When daylight broke we looked at each with the exact same bleary, irritated expression.

The similarities in our experience ended there. She jumped right off the floating torture device, shook away the horrid memory of the night and trotted out to see what's for breakfast.

I, on the other hand, could not find a solid surface I could grasp to hoist myself up from my sitting position about 8 inches off the floor. The most solid thing was the floor itself.

So I rolled off the mattress, got up on my hands and knees and lumbered up from there.

That, my friends, is not how I wanted to begin every day for the next 2 months of my newly single, self-esteem battered life.

And now I'm stuck with the damn thing because Walmart will only exchange an air mattress for another air mattress. Something about germs and Covid. Which makes no sense because no matter what I trade the air mattress for, they'll still be stuck with an unsellable air mattress.

Now I'm using a twin camping cot my brother had, with a queen foam mattress topper on it, folded over for extra padding so I don't feel the bar that runs horizontally across the middle of the cot (and why do they do that??). My sleeping area is actually about 2/3 the width of a twin bed. Probably about the width of a coffin. Perfect.

Meanwhile my king size adjustable bed with hypoallergenic perfectly firm mattress and gel cooling mattress topper is sitting in my storage unit.

My life right now is an exercise in patience and gratitude. Patience for the day my daughter closes on a house and I get my own room and bed, and gratitude that I have a roof over my head under which I'm not reliving pain and anxiety every single day while I look into the face that betrayed me.

So I'm okay on my little cot in my borrowed room.

Before I sign off for the night, you all might be curious about my friend Itchy, from the drug store and whether or not I got my free makeup bag and did I have to scratch any parts of him to get it. Figuratively speaking.

I know you're on the edge of your seat and you must have checked back on my blog every day since that post waiting to find out. (*guffaw with eye-roll*)

Turns out that Itchy is a pretty nice guy. I went back to the store on the day he said the bags would be in and they hadn't gotten them in yet. I returned a few days later when he said they were expected again and still they hadn't come in.

He felt bad so he gave me a makeup bag of samples that normally they sell for $20 or something, for free. Here it is so you can see it.

The products are pretty cool too.

I was in another aisle when he brought the bag up to the register and I heard him tell the cashier it was for me and not to charge me and then he said the thing that made this gray-haired lady's day.

"You'll know who she is, she's blonde."

I could have kissed him.

Signed,

Newly single and easily flattered (my new match.com user name)

Post-Pandemic Margarita Preparations

2020-05-17T20:50:00.002-07:00

How are you holding up? I mis-typed that as "holing up" and corrected it, but really, either of those fits.

What is this, week 7...or is it 8, since we've been staying home? I'm not sure, but it's long enough that calendars have lost their point and even homebodies like myself are ready to venture out a bit.

I'm glad restrictions are starting to ease up some. I'm ready to get gussied up and go out for margaritas.

My dilemma right now though is I have absolutely nothing to wear when the time comes that I actually CAN go out for cocktails or...anything for that matter.

I hate most everything in my closet and most things are the wrong color for me (or will be soon) because like I mentioned a while back, I'm letting my gray hair grow out from my dyed auburn.

My grey grow-out started pre-pandemic, so I've got a good 3 inches already. As I look in the mirror every day and see those white walkers creeping down my scalp, I realize I better step up my game in the wardrobe department or I'm going to look and feel very old.

I know, I know...that's not a very modern thing to say right now, when gray hair is trendy and we're in the age of "you're only as old as you feel". But the reality is, it's only trendy if the gray hair comes from a bottle. When it's sprouting wild right out of your head, it doesn't feel trendy at all. It feels hella old.

To add to my gray hair woes, I have snaggle-toes, home-cut bangs, extra pounds, and no suitable summer wardrobe.

I suppose that's the song of every woman in America right now.

It actually sounds very petty for me to even complain about those things in the midst of this pandemic, when there are people who have lost their jobs, businesses, and worst of all, loved ones. My heart goes out to them. It truly does.

But...can we get back to the pedi things (pun intended) for just a minute? My sister and daughter had similar insignificant complaints so they came over yesterday and we painted each other's toes and fingers.

I even made cucumber water, like we were in a fancy salon. It was so nice to have some girl time and also not to have snaggle-toes anymore.

Nothing says "I lived through a pandemic and I'm ready for summer now" then pretty pink toes.

We also did a little online clothes shopping yesterday. I always thought I was an apple shape because I gain weight around my middle. But I was reading this post about dressing for your body shape and there was a link to a body calculator where you key in your measurements and it tells you your shape.

Turns out, I'm a rectangle.

Small hips and rear and not a clearly defined waist are traits of a rectangle. As rectangles get older, they may put on weight in their bellies, making them think they are apples.

Feed a rectangle a cookie and it turns into an apple. Isn't that a children's book? Wait...no, that's Feed a Mouse a Cookie.

Anyway, I'm trying to buy clothes that flatter my shape and work with what I already own, while not going too crazy with it, because budget.

I ordered a few tunics from Amazon and some capris from Kohl's. I'll let you know how that goes. Since it's so exciting and all.

The other thing I've been doing recently, along the lines of preparing to be seen in public again, is buying cheap costume jewelry.

Like the always gorgeous Dolly says, "It costs a lot to look this cheap."

My cousin's daughter-in-law sells jewelry and everything is $5. It's really cute stuff in any style you can think of.

Just don't get it wet and it lasts and stays sparkly and shiny for longer than you would think for that price. Like years.

She does Facebook lives and displays the jewelry and people comment if they want to buy it and she ships it. Here's the link to her group if you want to check it out Lovely Little Jems VIP.

A few pieces for your viewing pleasure. I bought the bottom two and maybe one...or two...or a few...more things.

I've bought more jewelry than I should, especially since just a few months ago I cleaned out my unused jewelry and had a yard sale.

But you know what? Tastes change. Wardrobes change. We change. If buying a few inexpensive baubles in anticipation of going out for a post-pandemic margarita, makes me feel less...grey...then I refuse to feel guilty for restocking my earring holder.

Did that sentence make any sense at all?

Let's see. I covered pedicures, clothes, jewelry...what's left?

Oh yeah. Extra pounds.

I blame those on roller coaster stress eating. At the beginning of the pandemic, I felt like we had to ration food, so I ate less and actually lost a couple pounds.

As the days dragged on though, I realized snacks were abundantly available, and I abundantly availed. Booze was available too, although you actually had to go out to get it. Fred risked his life going inside the grocery store for two boxes of wine for me a few weeks ago and since he stocked me up, I availed of that too. I mean, he risked his life and everything, how could I not?

In addition to the wine and snacks, I started eating meat again (after five months of only eating fish). I felt like I could stretch meals better if Fred and I ate similarly, so I gave up my vegetarianism. The result of all my food debauchery is I gained those pounds back and maybe a couple more.

It also doesn't help that I've been trying new recipes and generally just spending more time in the kitchen. And that's where the snacks are, so.

I made homemade tortillas for the first time and Fred, who prefers to eat food with barcodes on it, actually liked them more than store-bought. I used this super easy recipe that uses olive oil instead of lard.

As part of my post-pandemic margarita preparations though, a week ago I went back to my healthier eating. That was about the time the meat shortages became a thing, so that worked out well. Fish and tofu seem to be abundantly available.

Last night I made meatless manicotti which, surprisingly, is Fred's favorite dish. He's very much a meat and potatoes man, with the exception of manicotti.

With me not eating meat again, I'm back to making 2 different entrees for dinner but I make enough for 2 nights at a time, so that's means I only cook 2 dinners 3 nights a week.

That's way too much math.

Hey, now! That's a good story problem for you home-schooling moms. "If Fred only eats meat and Lori doesn't eat meat, and Fred won't eat the same meal more than twice in a row, how many meatless meals and how many meals with meat does Lori have to cook each week?"

Look at me, helping the home-schooling community. And you thought this blog was about petty stuff.

That math doesn't actually add up because I forgot to add that one night is "fend" night, which means "fend for your effing self, I'm effing tired of cooking."

Best not include that in the story problem.

Yes, that's a paper plate - don't judge me!

The last post-pandemic margarita preparedness thing I still need to to do is buy a new blush.

I ran out of my current blush a few weeks ago and the rare times I had to go out and look alive (so people didn't think I was sick) I had to use my backup blush which is really too orange-y for me and I've kept it only because it was a pricier brand and not a color anyone I knew wanted to take off my hands.

You can't shop for a new blush color online, you just can't.

I saw a drugstore ad in the paper today, that if you bought $30 worth of cosmetics, you got a free makeup bag filled with sample products. Who doesn't love those?! And I could totally spend $30 because I also need under-eye concealer and wrinkle cream.

It's been a rough pandemic. And also, yes, I'm an old lady who still reads the Sunday paper.

So today, I gussied up a little bit (and by "gussied" I mean I wore pants with a zipper and put on mascara), added a few pieces of my cheap jewelry, and went into the store.

Sidebar: I always giggle when I type "gussy" because it reminds me of the time I texted my boss about the office Christmas party preparations and I said "I'm leaving early to go home and hussy up for the party." I meant "gussy" of course. Stupid Autocorrect.

Anyway, back to my gussied self and the drugstore. I didn't want to spend $30 unless I was going to for sure get my free bag. Because budget.

I found a guy stocking lotion and asked him if they had any of the makeup bags left. He said they had run out, but more were coming in on Wednesday and he would set one aside for me.

My cheap jewelry and I must have given off a vibe because he was a little bit flirty and I think he scratched his crotch while we were talking. He probably thought I was hussied up too.

But will I go back to visit Itchy at the drugstore on Wednesday to get my $30 freebie even though he may possibly be expecting a hook-up?

You bet your itchy balls I am!

Because budget.

I'll let you know what happens with that.

I'll have to stop this titillating account of my weekend now, because I'm hungry and leftover manicotti is calling.

I'll leave you with a picture of a shameless hussy leaving the drugstore pleased with herself about hopefully scoring a free makeup bag of goodies.

Signed,
Smug Hussy

If you want to share, here's a handy image for you. And hey, thanks for that!

Image modified from Tai's Captures on Unsplash

A Riveting Tale of Our Weekend

2020-04-21T11:00:00.000-07:00

How was your weekend?

Ours was quite boring by most people's standards, but I was perfectly happy with it and I'm going to tell you about it because really, nothing else is going on over here.

We took the dogs for a walk and saw colorful, happy messages on the sidewalk, which I loved.
Then as we passed by the house on the corner, where the prettiest rose bushes are, I noticed an empty plastic pot laying half in the yard and half on the sidewalk.

It was the kind a nursery plant comes in and the roses looked freshly planted so I figured it was a discarded pot and they just missed it in their post-planting clean-up.

I picked it up to take it and Fred said I shouldn't because what if they wanted it and it was still partly in their yard so it was theirs. He had a point. I mean, I hadn't met these neighbors before, and I didn't want them to think we were pot-stealers.

So I knocked on the door to ask if they minded if I took the pot. The lady who answered didn't mind at all and in fact, asked if I would like some aloe vera plants because she had too many.

Well of course I did. She ended up giving me two large aloe plants and I felt like I needed to offer something in return, so I asked if she had hand sanitizer and she said she was running out and couldn't find any.

I told her I could make her some, since I had finally gotten ahold of some 70% alcohol. She gave me her empty sanitizer bottle and I went home and filled it up with homemade sanitizer and brought it back to her and now I have a friend on the corner named Hilda.

I really hope our dogs never poop in her yard.

This past Christmas, I told Fred all I wanted was a game that he would actually play with me. I like card games and he doesn't, but he's expressed interest in board games so I told him to pick one out and then he has to play it with me and that's my present.

I'm very easy to please.

So he bought me a game called Carcassonne, which involves meeples and tiles with towns and roads and stuff and has rather complicated instructions. Of course, being a prior nerdy Dungeons and Dragons game player that he is, that's what he would pick.

After our walk Saturday, we finally played it for the first time. I was happy to find that it was not that complicated and dare I say, it was even fun. Especially because I won.

Disclosure: He helped me. I had spatial reasoning issues and kept placing road tiles where they would dead-end into a city wall.

So that was Saturday.

On Sunday we went to a farmer's market.

We've been diligent about staying home these last couple months, but I really wanted to find some other sources for fresh vegetables and fruits, aside from the grocery store. Plus, I wanted to support local businesses and growers. We decided we would go and if it was crowded, we wouldn't go in.

Turns out it was very small which would make social distancing a little difficult, but there were only a few other people there, so we went in with masks on.

They made everyone wash their hands before entering which was great. The employees were helpful, like this little lady who helped us pick out a homemade jam.

The place was full of colorful characters.

When we were ready to check-out our helpful jam picker was attentive to our every need.

As quaint as it was though, it was a tad overpriced, as I guess a small farmer's market would have to be. I did buy some collards, a watermelon, and some carrot cake apple jam (which was delicious).

When we got home, I washed everything thoroughly and cut into the watermelon.

It was very dry and possibly poisoned with radiation.

Despite the $6 nuclear watermelon, I'll probably go back to the place later in the summer, just to visit the employees again and take in the country charm.

So that was our exciting weekend.

How was yours?

Meowt,
Lori

New Normals

2020-04-16T16:57:00.000-07:00

I'm anxious. Are you anxious? I'm anxious.

Something about not being able to run to the store for an ingredient I need without donning a hazmat suit first makes me anxious. So I don't make the recipe because I can't get the ingredient and who wants to battle stores right now anyway.

And not being able to make that recipe makes me feel like I have no control. And feeling like I have no control makes me anxious.

Is this your brain right now too?

I take deep breaths. Many, many deep breaths. It helps.

All things considered though, we're doing pretty good. Fred is still employed. I'm still working online...when I can focus enough to, anyway, and also when I'm not trying to reorder grocery items that we couldn't get on our last order.

Our evenings are nice though. It's become a thing now for us to go out on the patio after dinner and Fred shoots a tennis ball from the K9 Kannon™ for Prince to chase.

It's Prince's favorite thing in the world to do and we used to only do it at the park a couple times a month. I have no idea why we never did it at home in our own yard.

So I sit with my wine and watch the hummingbirds and finches on the feeder and nag Fred about being careful where he aims the Kannon to avoid hitting the birds' nests. (He hit the branch of one accidentally once and disturbed the nest so much that its owner sat up on the highest branch and warbled his displeasure for a good 20 minutes afterwards.)

While Fred fires off the Kannon and Prince chases the ball, the other two dogs bark at people walking on the path behind our house.

I had a video of all the shenanigans but buggy blogger had issues loading it. You'll have to settle for this picture of the Kannon (because maybe you're wondering what the heck it is) and Prince anxiously awaiting the next launch.

Let 'er rip, dad!

I'm sure the neighbors are thrilled at our newfound evening pastime. Nevertheless, It's now a permanent event that Prince will absolutely not let Fred get out of. It's a new normal in a good way.

I'm hoping this pandemic brings more of these positive new normals to our lives. New habits we continue doing when all of this is over because they make our lives a little happier.

We have some serious conversations during our evening patio-sitting-ball-throwing time.

We were talking about retirement and I was about to repeat a piece of advice from a well-known retirement planning expert.

I said, "Well, Susie Derkins says it's better to ... " I never got a chance to finish the sentence.

"Susie WHO?" Fred said, laughing.

Oh. Right. Orman. Suze Orman.

Fred laughed about that for days.

It's an understandable mistake though. I mean, Susie always gave Calvin sound advice, right?

Then there's our random patio ponderings, like when we wondered what our latest adopted doggie might have looked like as a puppy.

She's a Chinese Crested mix, so I asked almighty Google to show me "Chinese Crested puppies."

Google must have only heard the tail-end of what I said because the next thing I know, I'm looking at search results for "dead puppies."

"NOOOOOOOOOO!" I never closed a search window so fast in my life.

Do you remember the Dr. Demento show? It was a radio show that came on here in Vegas, but I think it was National. Anyway, he played well...demented...songs but not in a psycho way, more of a funny way. One was called Dead Puppies Aren't Much Fun. Which, in hindsight, is a little twisted.

So then we pondered Dr. Demento.

So yeah. Patio ponderings and ball shooting is our new normal. How about you all? Any positive pandemic new normals in your life?

I leave you with a picture from a calendar I made Fred for Christmas, featuring (of course) Prince. This is April's picture. That's Gypsy (the Chinese Crested) in the sidecar.

I hope you're all safe and well.

Anxiously,
Lori

They'll Eat Me First in a Zombie Apocalypse

2020-03-26T10:38:00.000-07:00

Well, if a global pandemic doesn't get me to blog, I don't know what will.

Even my dog is paranoid of catching it. She was sleeping soundly until I sneezed, then shot her head up and gave me this look, "Cover yer mouff, mom. Gawd!"

When I last left you, it was December and I wrote about our TomHanksgiving.

But the whole world has changed since then and no one wants to be Tom Hanks's neighbor right now.

Too soon?

Actually, I think he and his wife have recovered by now.

Seriously though, I don't take the Covid-19 virus lightly. Sure, the memes are funny and I share them shamelessly because laughing gets us through crisis, no? (to use Tom Hanks phraseology)

But what has happened in China and is happening in Spain, Italy, India, New York and other parts of the world is heartbreaking and I hope anyone reading this is safe and as well as you can be right now.

Here in Nevada we aren't officially on quarantine yet, but non-essential businesses are closed, groups of 10 or more gathered inside or out is illegal, schools are closed, and they're telling us all to stay home.

As an introvert, this means zero difference to my lifestyle, other than we order our groceries online now.

Well...that and I can't go out shopping with my sister. Or eat out. Or hug my daughters when they come by. Fred and I are in that "high-risk of complications" category, hence we're overly cautious.

So there's a few differences that suck. But for us, all in all, staying home is right in our wheelhouse.

How about you all? How are you doing?

More importantly, how's your toilet paper stash? Who knew it would be a hot commodity? I said the below to Fred, before I threw out the finished roll, and voila! Another toilet paper meme was born. You're welcome.

I'll tell you one thing though - this whole coronavirus situation made me realize how much we need an emergency kit in our house and I'm definitely going to put one together.

You know...after this emergency is over.

I would do it now, except you can't find any emergency supplies at the moment because of all the other emergency preparedness slackers out there who waited till the last minute to prepare, like us.

Well, that and the damn hoarders.

Anyway, I wasn't sure what should go into an emergency kit, so I went to the source everybody trusts, the U.S. Government. They have a list here https://www.ready.gov/kit.

While you're looking at the apocalypse supplies you need, you can also browse the list of possible emergencies in which you may need them, in alphabetical order. Oh look...pandemic. It's right under nuclear explosion.

That's some scary shit right there and I decided that Fred and I needed to make an immediate emergency plan and put together whatever supplies we were able to gather at that moment. Like, right then.

It was a hard sell, since it was a Saturday afternoon and he was laying in bed watching Big Bang reruns, but he eventually humored me and we went through our camping bin to see what we could use.

Flashlights and a radio, both with dead batteries and no new batteries to fit them.

Good start.

Oh and also, half a roll of squashed toilet paper with a couple pine needles in it. That was actually useful in our current situation.

After taking stock of what we didn't have, we argued over how to store our emergency kit, where to store it, and what food to put in it.

I don't know how preppers stay happily married, I really don't.

The end result is, we don't have an emergency apocalypse kit, but we do have "hole up and stay inside for a few weeks" kit, so for the moment we're fine. And still married.

I'll leave you with a clip of what goes on in our home office pretty much every day, even before the pandemic. Fred and I may not be preppers, but we make each other laugh.

Good thing having fun is a sought-after skill when picking community members in the zombie apocalypse.

We're gonna get picked last - I know it.

I wonder if our pellet guns will finally come in handy.

Anyway, I hope the video makes you smile and I hope you're well and safe and have what you need for now.

Signed,
The one who gets eaten first

TomHanksgiving

2019-12-17T13:36:00.001-08:00

Can we pretend we're back at the end of Thanksgiving and not actually a week out from Christmas? Because then this post wouldn't be so very outdated.

I think I mentioned in my last post (or maybe I didn't...I don't remember) that my brother had the idea to go to a buffet for Thanksgiving, then afterward, see the Tom Hanks movie about Mr. Rogers.

I was all on board for the movie, but uncertain about a buffet for Thanksgiving. I know this is Vegas and all and we have some pretty good buffets, but...for Thanksgiving? I was skeptical.

But we decided to try it anyway and you know what? It wasn't bad. Not as good as home cooked, but pretty dang good. And the nice thing is that you don't just get the traditional Thanksgiving stuff, you also can have Chinese, or barbeque, or Italian, or whatever other food you have a Tom Hankering for.

The best part is since we ate early they still had free brunch champagne available, so hello cranberry mimosas (which I must say were the perfect libation to accompany turkey).

After stuffing ourselves, we walked across the casino to the movie theater and lay in recliners and saw A Beautiful Day in the Neighborhood. How not one of us fell asleep, I don't know. I guess because the movie was captivating enough to hold our attention.

What a genuinely kind man that Mr. Rogers was.

As I watched the movie, I decided two things.

One, that I would speak more slowly, more succinctly, and with intent. He was the master of that. He took his time to make his point and he didn't ramble.

I started applying this with people I don't know. Not that I walk up to people I don't know and just say succinct things because that would be weird. What I mean is, with people I just met. Because I tend to feel anxious around people I have to interact with, but don't know well. I always feel like I'm saying all the wrong things.

But if I slow down and think about the moment and what absolutely needs to be said and just say that, I feel less awkward.

Obviously, I don't apply that advice to blogging.

The second thing I decided is to give my attention fully to the person in front of me.

When Fred reads this (not Fred Rogers, my husband Fred), I know he's going to look at me like...

Because I still need to work on applying this with him. My husband says fascinating things, really, he does. But sometimes he starts saying them when I'm already reading a fascinating post or article on my phone and I know I need to put down the other fascinating thing and listen intently to his fascinating thing, but I don't always do that.

I'll work on that, honey.

But back to Mr. Rogers. When he spoke with someone (even strangers), he was fully invested in the conversation. Listening more than speaking, asking questions - he was present.

I'm a good listener, much better listener than speaker, actually. But when I'm pressed for time or the talker is telling a long story or saying the same thing, just in ten different ways...I start showing the body language of someone who wants to escape. You know - looking around, turning my body half away from the talker - things like that.

I'm going to try not to do that anymore and just listen. If I have to cut them short due to time, then I'll just say that, as kindly and Mr. Roger-ly as I can.

After our turkey buffet and Tom Hanks movie and life lessons, Fred said we should dub the occasion, TomHanksgiving.

Those are the kinds of clever and fascinating things he says.

The day after our TomHanksgiving, we had a regular Thanksgiving at my brother's house because even though he said he wanted a hassle-free holiday this year, the truth is, he loves to cook.

So he made a turkey and ham and I brought side dishes and we had a second Thanksgiving.

I was happy to cook on our supposedly hassle-free holiday though, because my brother had a stroke in October last year, two weeks before his 60th birthday. By Thanksgiving, he was still recuperating and was in no condition to cook.

We weren't sure if he would ever feel like cooking again, to be honest.

But he slowly got better and began to feel more like himself. We were grateful enough to warrant a hundred Thanksgivings, so two was perfectly acceptable and I gladly cooked for him.

My brother had a Tom hankering for ice cream. And that's even funnier this time around because my brother's name is Tom. But then...it's possible I'm the only one who finds this blog funny.

In between TomHanksgiving and now, my sister had a birthday which we celebrated very low-key at her house, by watching Girl's Trip and Kidnap and trying peanut butter flavored whiskey.

It was delicious! We decided I would bring over my Raspberry Chambord when she hosts Christmas eve dinner, and we would have peanut butter and jelly cocktails.

I'll let you know how that turns out. Meanwhile, here's the birthday card I gave her.

Also, the other thing that happened between TomHanksgiving and now (and can I say that too many times? I think not), is I traveled wayyyy out of my comfort zone and helped put together a fundraiser for the American Lung Association.

I met this MMA fighter, Rudy, who has a lung disease that's put a stop so his MMA career. But instead of feeling sorry for himself, he decided to have an MMA exhibition (where mixed martial arts fighters grapple each other) and charge people to watch and half the proceeds go to the Lung Association.

I'm wearing my jaunty-hide-the-gray hat.

I have to write another post that tells how we met, because we run in completely different circles. But anyway, I helped with the planning of this thing, because that's my strong suit. He gathered the fighters and got some publicity for the event, because that's his strong suit and together with some other talented people, we pulled off a pretty cool event.

It was a lot of work to commit to right before Christmas, but it felt rewarding, I have to say.

When a group of people put their mind to something and work together, great things happen. It sounds cliche, I know...but it's true.

That sounded very Mr. Roger-ly, didn't it?

Well. Now you're all caught up.

I'll probably get my "what I did for Christmas vacation" post up sometime in February, so you'll have that to look forward to.

Not-so-succinctly and very, very, lately,

Lori

Making Fairy Gardens with Mom and Other Stuff I Did Last Week

2019-11-21T22:12:00.000-08:00

I think I'm doing pretty good with my renewed blogging efforts, considering I'm coming back from a two year stint in no-blog land.

My mom was visiting until yesterday so instead of blogging, I was busy making fairy gardens, watching movies, shopping, looking at old pictures, and getting our eyebrows done at Ulta. In short...having a grand 'ole time with me mum.

So, busy week with no time for blogging and now I'm going to cram it all into one post and tell you about it. Go refill your coffee (or cocktail)...I'll wait.

Firstly, I mentioned we were looking through old pictures. My uncle had converted some old slides to digital a few years ago and my mom hadn't seen them. Here's one of them. That look on my chubby little baby face is the same look I have when I don't smile in selfies. Still, it's one of my new favorite pics of me and my mom.

Me and mom in 1965

Second, bus stations are unpredictable places. Mom comes in by bus because she doesn't drive anymore and it's only about a 3-1/2 hour ride (including a 30 minute stop about halfway). It's air-conditioned or heated and the seats are comfortable so she mostly reads or does puzzles.

The bus ride isn't bad. It's the bus stations that are a bit sketchy. Which is why I try to get there early so she doesn't have to hang around there alone.

Case in point - while my daughter and I were waiting for her bus to come in, an older guy asked us to watch his stuff while he went outside to smoke. He said he had been visiting his daughter and he was on his way to Phoenix to visit another family member. He didn't have any front teeth so it was hard to completely understand him. He wasn't asking for money, but he did mention he had spent all his money on clothes for his grandkids and that his daughter hadn't fed him.

I don't know if he was telling the truth or not, but I felt bad for him. It's a long bus ride from Vegas to Phoenix with no money in your pocket for food along the way. Plus, his bus didn't actually leave until the next day, so he was going to stay overnight at the bus station.

I gave him all the cash I had, which was only about $15. I'm a sucker for a sob story. Fred constantly brings up the time I gave away his cheeseburger to the Hamburgler as a reminder of my gullibility (Fair warning - I use the word "hubby" too often in that post. If you have an aversion to the term, I'd advise you not to read it.) There's also that time I gave my address to an inmate in Kentucky

But the bus station guy really did seem sincere. When I brought my mom back to the station a week later to go home, he wasn't there. I hope he got to Phoenix.

Then there was another guy (on the same day) who told us to like and subscribe to his YouTube channel (the name of which I don't remember). Good on him for making the marketing attempt, but I don't know what kind of channel it could be where the bus station demographic is his target audience.

So yeah. You never know who you're going to meet at the bus station.

In more upbeat news, when we got home, we made fairy gardens, drank wine, and watched the Country Music Awards. What homeless people? By the time he got to Phoenix, I was drinking.

A little Glen Campbell humor there.

Now on to fairy gardens. My mom is in a garden club and one of the members had made several little fairy gardens and my mom was enchanted with them and decided we each needed to make one.

Have you seen pictures of fairy gardens? They're basically miniature stuff that you make or buy and you set it up all cute in some moss or rocks or real dirt with plants, and because it's so cute and inviting, fairies will come and live there.

If no fairies show up, you can always buy some.

Either way, they're cute to put out on your patio or as a centerpiece or something. I love miniatures, so I was on board instantly and off to Hobby Lobby we went for supplies.

So here's some fairy garden pictures.

My daughter couldn't find a fairy she liked at Hobby Lobby, so she bought an ornament of a girl and then fashioned fairy wings from a silk autumn leaf. I raised a clever girl.

Is there poolside drink service in this fairy joint?

She used a basket as the base of her garden, and for the fairy house, she cut an opening in one of those round wicker balls (whose original purpose I don't know. I also don't know how to say that grammatically correct. ly.).

Do you see the little hammock inside it?

She made the chair from backyard twigs and a rock. For the table, she used a round wood trunk slice you buy at Hobby Lobby and glued twigs to the bottom.

My garden was a fairy campground because I wanted to use this little trailer and accessories my mom had bought me a couple years ago. I glued tiny ornaments to my tree so my fairies could be all festive.

See my fairy portal up there by the Christmas tree? And that sentence smacks of paganism.

How else will the fairies get to Fairy Springs without a portal door? Duh.

And what's a fairy campground without a fairy clothesline to dry the fairy wings?

Why yes, that IS a tiny toilet turned flower pot.

If I were a fairy, I'd never leave.

My sister did something really unique with her fairy garden. She turned it into sort of a memento garden. She had some things she collected over the years, like little stone animals and charms, so she put them around as decorations. For the house, she used a log cabin Christmas ornament. I love how it turned out!

Oh, how I love this!

She's showing a bit of thigh there. Frisky little fairy.

The thing about fairy gardens is that guys don't get it. My sister texted pictures of our gardens to her husband and his only comment was, "How come your fairy is the only one that looks suggestive?"

After that, we dubbed my sister's garden Frisky Springs.

That little book charm next to her fairy is something we got at Disneyland back in the 60's. When you open it, there's tiny pictures of Disneyland inside. Anyone remember those?

So that was fairy garden night. The next couple nights, mom and I watched some movies. We watched Cross Creek, a movie based on the memoirs of Marjorie Kinnan, who was the author of The Yearling. It was nominated for Oscars or something in 1983. I never heard of it, but then, I was busy graduating high school and gettin' the hell out of dodge so I guess I was a bit otherwise occupied in 1983.

Anyway, it was a charming movie. Then we saw The Beautiful Fantastic, also on Amazon Prime. It was quirky and slow-moving and I adored it.

We also saw two "old people who find love again" movies, in which the main actress is befriended by a younger man (not the love interest) who somehow teaches her something about life. I can't remember the names of them, but they were both pretty good. Wait...one was Mrs. Palfrey at the Claremont. Actually, she didn't find love again in that one (spoiler alert), but there was a young man friend.

I should totally write movie reviews.

The point is...it was good times watching movies with me' mum.

At some point during mom's visit, I did get this picture of her, me, and my daughter Rachael, which I love because we all have the same nose. I have always disliked my nose and wished it were thinner but looking at this picture, I realize it was passed down to me from a beautiful person and I passed it on to a beautiful person, so...it's not so bad.

Three generations of noses. I love how only the Millennial knows where to look for the selfie.

To wrap up the week (and I actually left a few things out because the fairy pictures took a really long time to crop, resize and load), after I saw my mom off at the bus station, my daughter wanted to make sugar cookies. While we were opening the wine and getting ready to mix the cookies, our doorbell rang and it was our neighbor from the street adjacent to ours.

He had left his front door open and his parrot flew out and he thought it flew into our yard and wanted to go in the backyard and check.

I felt for him because back when I was first married to husband #1, we had just got a cockatiel and the same thing happened to us. Stupid birds.

We lived in an apartment at the time and there was an alley behind us, then houses behind that. Our cockatiel, Bogie, flew out the front door towards the houses, so I went knocking on people's doors trying to track him down. I had no luck, but when I went through the alley to go back to our apartment, I spotted him up in a tree that was in someone's yard, but growing right up against the back fence so I could get to it from the alley. I called and called to him and he wouldn't come down, so I had to run back to the apartment, grab a stepstool and his cage, then run back to the alley. I used the stepstool to help me climb up on the fence (bird cage in one hand) and raised my other hand as high as I could with my finger outstretched, hoping he'd come to me.

He did, just as calm as can be, with nary a thought about the bother and time he had cost me. That's birds for you.

But back to my neighbor. I understood how he felt, is my point. We let him check our backyard but there was no sign of his bird, whom he calls Muffin, by the way. He left his number in case we have any Muffin sightings.

It's important you know how much I want to say "giggity" right now.

Speaking of muffins, one thing I meant to tell you is that while my mom was here, I took her to Ulta so we could get our eyebrows shaped and she proceeded to confess to the eyebrow-shaping girl that she was going bald "down there". My mom being the one going bald, not the eyebrow girl.

I can't wait till I'm 80, have no filter, and can confess things like that to strangers.

And also...does that happen when you get older? You lose hair in the nether regions? The statement definitely caught the eyebrow girl off guard.

Do you have eyebrow issues? I do. Or I used to. They were a mess. Now they look all shaped and nice. I was instructed to leave my eyebrows to a professional. I can totally do that, at only about $22 for a brow wax and shape.

If you need eyebrow advice, I highly recommend a visit to the Benefits Brow Bar inside Ulta. I had no idea there were so many eyebrow products. Which is why mine looked so god-awful, I suppose. I have to find a before picture for you to appreciate it. That picture up there of our noses is an after picture.

That's all I have for you today. I gotta go because Fred and I are supposed to go dinner at a friend's house and I need to put their wine and cheese in a pretty gift bag or something.

Signed,
Frisky Brows

Smarties and Hippies and Peepee Dogs

2019-11-12T11:34:00.000-08:00

Hi. It's Wednesday. I did some stuff since my last post and it's all random and silly, so this post will be all over the place.

Wait, where you going?

Firstly, remember when I asked the question, "Does buying a smart car make you smarter?" Remember that from oh...three years ago?

Yeah. That answer is a hard no.

It probably makes sense for some people to buy a smart car (such as teenagers, those on a serious budget, those who don't want to give people rides anywhere, hippies, and I'm sure many others I've left out), but for a 6 foot 3 man who likes to nap in his car on his lunch break...not so much.

It's one of those things you find out after the fact. Fortunately though, not long after we bought that car, Fred's company closed their Vegas office and set up their employees to work from home, so now Fred has a commute of about 20 feet to get to work and can nap on his lunch break in his own bed.

We hung on to Smartie as a second car which was convenient, but with Fred working from home, really not necessary.

So last week we sold Smartie to our daughter, Sissa. She's a hippie, so it's perfect for her and she's been borrowing it anyway, so it just made sense. She's taking a road trip and staying away for a couple months for some work gigs.

Hippies and Smart Cars were meant to be.

Selling Smartie meant a trip to the DMV, which is always a delight. I went with her because I had to sign the title and I was paranoid I would sign it in the wrong spot because I did that once when we sold an RV.

The guy we sold it to was in the middle of saying, "You have to be careful where you sign on the title..." as I confidently signed where I thought I was supposed to.

"She already messed it up," he said, looking at me accusingly. I felt stupid and that whole fiasco meant I had to go to the DMV and request a new title or some special form or something. Anyway...it delayed the process.

Sissa didn't need delays since she was leaving for California within a few days, so I went with her to the DMV.

For those of you with grown kids...do you ever NOT give them advice and share your wisdom? Oh, I was sharing like a boss that day. When she bundled all the DMV papers up in a haphazard stack, I had to point out that some of them needed to stay in the car and some of them needed to be filed somewhere not in the car.

"I know, mom."

I momtrolled the heck out of her that day and I shouldn't have because she's been all over the world and managed just fine without my advice. But moms worry, so we advise because it's all we can do to feel like we have some control over their safety when they're grown and off on their own adventures.

Anyway...I also gave her a map. Remember those? I felt like in case she was somewhere that didn't have signal, she should have one. She looked at it like it was a newly unearthed ancient Roman artifact.

I showed her how to use the grid to find a city. She marvelled. At least it was one piece of wisdom I could share with her that day that she didn't already know. Mission accomplished.

She's leaving today and I'm going to miss her. She's been home from her travels for a year now and I knew she would take off again somewhere, sometime, but it's easy to get used to her being home.

In other news...we handed off one of our dogs, Gracie Lou, to my younger daughter, Rachael. During my blogging absence, she got married (Rachael, not Gracie) and Gracie Lou adores her husband and has always felt the same about Rachael.

Originally, Gracie was Sissa's dog. When Sissa was 16 or so, she worked at a vet and we adopted three dogs over the course of a few years, from that vet. They had all been abandoned there.

The thing about Gracie is that she's very stubborn and likes to sneak and pee in the house whenever she has the opportunity. If we stay on her about it and keep bedroom doors closed and block off certain areas, and force her to go outside regularly, we can control it somewhat. I love her dearly, but it's exhausting.

What also happens is that our other dogs, when they see a puddle of Gracie pee, think that's now the approved pee area and follow in her footsteps, like a peepee parade.

That's a fun thing to wake up to in the morning.

It seems she was most sneaky at night and there was no reason for it, because we have a doggie door so they can all go outside and peepee whenever they want.

I'm a light sleeper, so I would usually hear Gracie when she'd lumber off the bed in the middle of the night. I got in the habit of saying groggily, "Go peepee ousside, Gracie, peepee ousside," in hopes she'd realize I was aware of what she was doing.

Then Fred, who is a heavy sleeper, but somehow is able to wake up and immediately access what's happening in the room, would chime in too, "Peepee ousside, Gracie, peepee ousside!"

So Gracie suffered the indignity of our chorus of peepee reminders every single time she'd get off the bed in the middle of the night.

Needless to say, she seemed quite happy to move in with Rachael and her husband.

I am so fukken outta here.

She had already experienced several sleepovers at Rachael's house so she was used to life there.

Still though...when I brought her over there and was saying goodbye to her, she wrapped her little front paws around my arm in a farewell hug that almost made me want to bring her back home.

But I see her often and she seems happy, so it's all good. And the best part is, no more peepee parades.

Lastly, I wanted to tell you that Fred and I walked in the Lung Force walk here in Vegas. It's an event that brings awareness to lung disease. People who have a lung disease, or want to support those who do, or remember those who died from one, all go on a mile walk. Each person who walks is encouraged to raise funds for the American Lung Association as well.

It was a fun experience, in an atmosphere of love and support and I'm really glad we participated. Here's a collage with some highlights.

That's all I got today. My mom is coming tomorrow for a visit and our main objective is to make fairy gardens. Hopefully, I'll remember to tell you about it.

Now go peepee ousside.

Momtrollingly,
Lori

Altered gorilla pic courtesy of Pixabay.

White Walkers in Jaunty Hats

2019-11-04T18:28:00.000-08:00

I'm at that stage in my big Gray Hair Grow-out (or as Fred likes to call it, The White Walker Attack), where my hair is beginning to look pretty shitty.

I have about an inch of gray up there, so I decided it's time for the hat phase of this whole operation.

I'm really glad for the cold weather because wearing a hat in cold weather is perfectly acceptable. Yeah, I know - it's acceptable in any weather, but I've never been a hat person.

Only when I'm camping do I wear a hat all the time. And maybe for sun protection when I take a walk, I'll throw on a baseball cap or something, but to just wear a hat as part of an outfit...not so much.

But now...it's definitely time for a hat to hide these hideous white walkers. So Saturday night I told my husband I was going hat shopping with my sister the next day.

"What kind of hat?" he asked.

"A jaunty one," I replied.

"Jaunty? Like a 1940's gangster?"

"No, less bolero and more cap." Actually I wasn't sure what a "jaunty hat" looked like, so I did the Google.

Hey! It's an Andy Capp cap.

Okay, yeah, that's kind of what I had in mind. Then I scrolled a little further down in the Google results and saw the Urban Dictionary definition of a "jaunty hat".

Fashionistas, celebrities, and HOBOS??

You don't see too many fashionista hobos out there. Now, celebrity hobos...that's a different story. I could name a few:

Actually, nevermind. I Googled "celebrities who became hobos" and most of their situations are due to addiction or mental illness and it's quite sad and I won't make them the butt of my joke.

Just know they exist. But I'm not sure if any of them are hat-wearers. Margot Kidder maybe. I could see her sportin' a stylish cap.

Anyhoo...I didn't actually click the Urban Dictionary link to see who else wears jaunty hats at a cheeky angle, panache-ly. But I'm sure "women hiding their white walkers" is mentioned.

I kind of dig the crocheted hat in the Etsy result, only in a different color. But you have to place those at just the right cheeky angle, or they stand straight up on your head and you look ridiculous.

Scrolling a little further (but surprisingly, still on the first page of Google) I found this:

I better change my Tinder pic pronto.

So I guess jaunty hats aren't as admired as one might think. Still...I'm willing to risk the popularity of my Tinder profile in order to hide my white walkers.

The end result of my Google search and bedtime jaunty hat conversation with Fred was that I would go hat shopping with my sister.

And I did, on Sunday. I didn't find a huge selection of hats at the three stores we went to, but I ended up buying a cap-style hat at Target that was jaunty enough, I think. Although after seeing it, Fred says his new nickname for me is Comrade.

I call this "Jautylicious." But very tongue-in-cheekily.

Today I got dressed all cute (with boots and everything), donned my jaunty hat (see above picture), and lunched with a new friend so we could plan a fundraiser.

I'm like Lady Grantham now.

So that was my weekend (mostly) and today. I'll fill you in later on the fundraiser thing and any other highfalutin activities in which I partake.

Jauntily,

Lori

P.S. I feel like I need to throw this in here so a person Googling "white walkers in jaunty hats" won't be disappointed.

So there you go.

P.S.S. Also, if you don't watch Game of Thrones, White Walkers are undead people that live in the cold. Or something like that.

Still The Same Beeping Life

2019-10-10T10:26:00.001-07:00

I was heartened to see that yesterday's post had ten views. Ten people are still interested in my blatherings. (Is that a word?)

Or maybe they glanced, saw my gray roots picture and were blinded by the light reflecting off my silver hair and couldn't actually read my post.

(Can you tell this whole I'm-growing-out-my-gray-hair thing is pretty much an obsession for me right now?)

Anyway...heartened. So I'm pressing on with my blatherings.

Our smoke detectors started beeping their low-battery warnings in the middle of the night again. (ALWAYS in the middle of the night - what's up with that anyway?) That's always a delightful experience, because our dogs completely freak out whenever that happens.

Casey, a black lab, just stands there and trembles, which is heart-breaking. Prince, a chihuahua and Fred's pride and joy, barks, then runs under the bed. (I feel I need to reacquaint you with all our animals because it's been two years).

But Gypsy, a Chinese Crested mix, (she's new since I last wrote and how we acquired her is a long story for another time) has the most annoying reaction of all. It's not just barking, it's crazed, wide-eyed barking that does. not. stop. And in fact, gets worse as Fred brings the ladder in, yanks the detector off the ceiling, and buries it in the nearest covered container in the garage he can find (because they continue to beep warnings even after you take the battery out) until the next day when he's more awake and can locate and install batteries and put it back up.

Because we're all about safety over here.

Besides her barking, the other annoying thing Gypsy does is blame the guy with the ladder who is trying to remedy the situation, for the unpleasant and scary interruption of her slumber. And by "blame" I mean she aggressively goes after him and bites his ankles.

So that's pleasant for Fred.

And for our neighbor, for that matter, who no doubt hears all the ruckus in the middle of the night and who has no pets and gee, I wonder why someone would choose not to have any pets?

That's the same neighbor I mentioned here, who was less than enthusiastic about our Christmas crackers the year we moved in. No doubt he feels he dodged a bullet by not becoming friends with us.

Anyway...back to the smoke detectors. They gave their low-battery warnings, but we had just changed the batteries a month before and they were brand new batteries, so something was amiss.

We're renting so I let the property manager know and they sent out a guy yesterday. I knew that would mean beeps and ladders (not to be confused with Chutes and Ladders) and very freaked out dogs again. So I put the mongrels outside and blocked the doggie door until the smoke detector guy was finished.

This is Gypsy. She always has a frantic look about her.

This went over very well, as you can imagine. They could still hear the beeps outside and every time one sounded, Gypsy frantically barked and clawed at the doggie door, Casey trembled, and Prince ran off into the yard, looking for a bed to crawl under.

We were all relieved when the smoke detector guy left and I'm sure the feeling was mutual.

Turns out, smoke detectors have an expiration date. They have to be replaced about every seven years. Although our smoke detector guy (is there a word for such a person?) said really, they recommend every five years but being in the smoke detector replacing business, he probably has a vested interest in folks doing it sooner.

So that was my day yesterday. Riveting, I know.

Today I have to go through some crap in the garage because I'm doing a yard sale with my sister-in-law this weekend and I need to get the crap ready and make signs and do all that stuff that is so annoying and time consuming about having a beeping yard sale.

See what I did there?

So I better go.

But first I leave you with a picture of what I see when I walk into my kitchen, at any given time of the day, even after I've cleaned it up.

Dog food everywhere. Always.

And dog toys. And dogs.

The number and types of dogs may have changed, but the fact that my life revolves around dogs has not.

Still the beeping same,
Lori

I'm Back and I'm Going Gray

2019-10-08T13:17:00.000-07:00

There better be some F-ing coffee

Well hey. Haven't done this in a really long time.

Some shit happened in my personal life and I just didn't feel like blogging anymore. That was like...two years ago.

Things have been better for a while now and I've thought of all kinds of things to tell you and all kinds of stuff has happened worth writing about, but procrastinator that I am...here we are two years later.

Anyhoo, I'm just gonna start by telling you about my latest decision.

I'm letting my gray hair grow out.

I started graying early and I've been coloring my hair for thirty years to cover it up and I'm tired of it. I'm done.

I last colored it Saturday, September 7th and as I'm painting on the color, the fumes are making me cough and I thought, "hey, this can't be good for my lungs." Nevertheless, I finished the application and while the color was sitting on my hair, I Googled "how to transition to gray hair" and let me tell you, there is no shortage of opinions on the topic.

It seems that for anyone who has done it, at any age, it's a traumatic experience. Some women do low-lights or high-lights to sort of blend it a little as it's growing out, but they complained it was damaging to their hair and really just prolonged the process.

I've opted for the bite-the-bullet-and-just-do-it method, combined with a short haircut and a hat through the worst of it.

Fortunately, cold weather is coming so a hat is perfectly acceptable and I won't sweat my brains out under one. Because menopause.

I've just begun the process, so I have less than a half inch of gray right now and already I'm questioning my choice. But there's no going back. I've decided. Reading other women's experiences gave me fortitude and I'm doing this.

Here's me today. You can see the white cap beginning. Also, you can see I need a new desk chair, thanks to my cat.

I haven't cut it short yet (my hair, not this post..obviously). I'm waiting till I can't stand that gray/auburn demarcation line before I take that leap. Cutting my hair might seem drastic, but I really want to speed the transition up as much as I can and watching my gray travel half-inch by half-inch down beyond my shoulders will drive me nuts. I mean...it's just hair. It will grow. And I won't keep it short I don't think. Once it's all gray, I'll probably let it grow.

I actually toyed with the idea of shaving my head. But that's a bit too extreme for me.

I saw a woman in the grocery store last week and she had long hair that was gray to about her shoulders, then a beautiful mix of gray, black and purple and it was stunning! I told her so too. She said it was awful growing it out, but she doesn't regret doing it and loves the unique look now.

I would totally add pink to mine.

So that's the latest and I'll update as the situation warrants.

I just noticed that almost every sentence in this post starts with "I". Self-indulgent much?

I gotta go cause I have to drive across town for a breathing test. The reason for that is another story for another time.

If anyone is reading this...thanks for indulging me.

Me, me, me-ingly,

Lori

Six memorable summer moments I didn't blog about

2017-08-03T12:17:00.001-07:00

This is the opposite of a rough summer.

It's been a rough summer for me. Recouping from my surgery is harder than I thought, then (and I haven't told you this yet) I had a coughing fit about 10 days after the surgery, and fractured a vertebrae in my lumbar spine.

A post about that is forthcoming, but the point is...rough summer.

But I always manage to laugh stuff off best I can, because what else are you gonna do?

So I'm linking up to Mama Kat's Writer Workshop this week for the prompt: List your top six favorite summer moments so far. Only, these are more just memorable moments from this summer, that I meant to blog about, but didn't.

1. Memories

My uncle texted me a picture of myself when I was around 12 or 13, that I hadn't seen in a long time.

This was my attempt at Farrah Fawcett hair

My sister said I looked like a member of the Manson family. Thanks, sis. Also, she's kind of right.

Lordy, I remember those glasses. They were photo-something lenses that darkened in the sun and lightened indoors. They seemed like a brilliant idea when I got them, but in P.E. class, when I was outside for a long time, they turned really dark and I always looked like a fly face. Ah, the memories.

2. Aliens

In May (that's summer, right? sort of?), my brother and I drove to Roswell, New Mexico, for my niece's graduation. Everything about that place is quirky. Of course, we had to visit the alien museum. The highlight of which, was this:

3. Incidents and Accidents

On the last day of May, I had my surgery, and although surgery is...well, it's surgery... there were some funny moments (I wrote about some of them here). It just so happens that my son broke his hand a few days before my surgery, so here's what it looked like when he came to visit me in the hospital:

We're pretty smiley, for a couple of injured folks.

We look like an ad for an injury attorney.

4. Annie Aged-ly

A few weeks after my surgery, my sister and I drove to my mom's for a visit. Mom and her husband are always at war with the squirrels in their garden. I went in the kitchen one morning for coffee, and saw this:

Mom doesn't care for varmints.

It kind of shakes you up when you always thought of your mom as an animal lover, then you see a sight like that. I stay out of her garden now, though.

5. Sibling Love

Both my girls are world travelers these days, so when they are back home at the same time, it warms my heart. I thought I would capture a tender moment of them taking a nap together, but apparently, only one was actually asleep. Just as I snapped the picture, this happened:

6. It's my birthday and I'll wear a brace if I want to

So, my birthday was in July and despite the neck brace and back fracture, it wasn't too bad. First, I got some free makeup from Ulta:

Then I treated my Flintstone feet to a pedicure:

My dog is ecstatic, as you can see.

And finally, dinner with the fam at the place that makes my favorite cocktail:

Italian margarita at Olive Garden - yummm! Also, their alfredo sauce is the bomb!

So there you have it - six memorable moments of my summer. Riveting, I know.

How about you? Any memorable moments this summer to share?

I Almost Rescued a Bird

2017-07-25T15:14:00.000-07:00

Go away, crazy lady.

When I last left you, I had fishing line sticking out of my neck and a $109,000 surgery bill. Well, not really a bill because insurance....but still.

You'll be happy (or maybe just grossed out) to know that after tugging on the fishing line a little bit each day over the course of a few days, the thread finally just slipped out. The thing was about two inches long.

When I pulled it all the way, I half expected to involuntarily shout my innermost secrets, like a Chatty Cathy doll.

(Giphy.com)

But nothing so exciting happened. I was just glad to not be walking around with a string sticking out of me. I was glad when menopause hit for the same reason. (Think about it for a minute...you'll get it.)

As for the surgery bill, I'll spare you the details, but the hospital accepted whatever the insurance company paid them, which was NOT $109,000. They figured it out amongst themselves.

(Giphy.com)

(I made the gif from the Citi commercials with the two neighbors. Have you seen it? It's pretty funny.)

As incensed as I was about the high cost of healthcare, all I really cared about was that we didn't have to pay any more than we already had. Gee, I wonder why that career in activism hasn't taken off yet for me?

I would like to mention though, that the piece of metal and screws in my neck cost $56,000. I'm thinking I could have picked up something from Home Depot for a helluva' lot less. But what do I know?

Anyhoo... didn't mean to go off on that tangent. I really just wanted to tell you what happened to me today.

I almost rescued a bird.

Yesterday, I took two of my dogs for a walk on our usual route and I saw a baby dove sitting in the rocks in a common area in our development. (If you don't live in an HOA in the suburbs, common areas are landscaped areas that aren't someone's yard. It's where I prefer my dogs to poo.)

It had feathers and was walking around (the bird, not the poo), so I thought maybe its mama was giving it a flying lesson and he was being stubborn and lazy and his mom was all, "Fine. Sit there then. When yo' scraggly-ass is hungry, you know the way to the crib."

So me and the doggies and our bag of poo finished our walk and I dropped them at my house and picked up my other two dogs (cause that's the official dog-walking procedures around here) and we walked the same route and I checked on the birdie again. He was still sitting there.

I thought about rescuing him, but other than a cockatiel I raised for about five years, I don't have the best track record of keeping birds alive.

When I was about 10, we acquired a baby chick (I don't remember how) which I kept in a cardboard box in the bedroom I shared with my sister. I was really excited about it because the next day was Show-and-Tell at school and I was going to bring Chickie and be the envy of my friends. But I was scared of the dark and for that reason, didn't close our bedroom door that night.

Did I mention we had two cats? I woke up to find the box toppled over and Chickie's feet and beak laying in the hallway. How we slept through the massacre, I don't know. Chickie didn't even last 24 hours under my care.

Then years later, when my kids were young, my first husband bought us a parakeet. I thought it would be fine because we didn't have cats. We had a very gentle border collie. I took the cage down and set it on the kitchen table, and put the bird on the top of the cage to perch while I cleaned the cage.

The events following happened very fast, but I think the bird tried to fly off the cage and that triggered the border collie to try to bite it and yadda, yadda....another dead bird. That one lasted less than a week.

Then some years later, when Sissa was a teenager, I was picking her up from school and her and her friends had found an injured pigeon. I didn't want to just leave the thing in the street to die and my daughter was pleading with me, so I took the pigeon to the nearest vet (who looked at me like I was crazy, by the way), and he said it would heal on its own and we could try to care for it until it could fly away.

So we got it home and while Sissa was carrying it inside, it escaped, crawled under the house, and probably died. Can't blame him for trying to escape -no doubt he'd heard of us. The place where birds check in and never leave.

Fast forward to the present day and you can understand why I was hesitant to attempt a bird ~~death sentence~~ rescue.

There was shade and water from the plant bubblers, so I left the little guy there, but kept thinking about him all night.

I took my dogs for a walk today and when we passed by the spot where I'd seen him, I looked for him.

He was still sitting there. He wasn't all half-passed-out or anything. He looked like he was just chillin'. He cocked his head and looked at me all, " 'Sup?"

Actually, it was more like, "Back off, lady!"

But I couldn't just let this baby dove die from starvation and the elements because his mama abandoned him. As opposed to you know, dying from exposure to me. My husband has a friend he's known since high school who has successfully rescued several birds so I planned to ~~pawn the thing off on him~~ ask him for advice.

So I rushed the doggies through the rest of their walk and we high-tailed it home.

When we got home, I dug a cat carrier out of the garage (ironic, I know), hopped in my truck and headed back over to my ~~prey~~ the little guy.

I don't know what the neighbors thought about the crazy lady with the cat carrier, tramping through the bushes calling, "Come here, baby! Come here, baby! Where's your mama? Where's your mama?" In the rain, no less.

The little guy's mom was probably watching from a tree, going, "Bitch, back off! Git the hell out with yo' mama shamin' self. This here is how we roll in bird world!"

It was apparent I wasn't going to catch him without a second person, so I gave up for the moment, got back in my truck and Googled "abandoned baby dove," so I would know what to feed the thing if I ever could capture it.

I'm glad I had the sense to Google it, because I found out that it's common for young mourning doves to be found walking around on the ground. They fly out of their nest then don't know how to fly back, so they stay put and their moms feed them and look out for them until they can fly. A little like human kids when they first move out of the house.

So I decided to leave the little guy be and hope for the best. Apparently, mourning doves are one of the most prolific birds in the U.S. They're like the rabbits of the bird world. Their parents can always make more, hence their lackluster parenting methods.

Incidentally, they get their name because the cooing sound they make sounds like lamenting (I got that from here), which is appropriate because if he gets stuck with me taking care of him, he will be lamenting all right.

For now, the birds are safe from me. I'll be checking on the little guy tomorrow, so updates will follow as they become available. Hopefully, I'll find time in my busy unemployed day to blog about it.

Signed,
Bird Hitler

Surgery is Expensive. Also, I didn't Win the Lottery.

2017-06-22T18:50:00.000-07:00

We didn't win the lottery. I say "we" because my brother, sister, myself, my mom and stepdad have an agreement that if any of us wins, we will all split the money.

So when my sister and I drove out to California to visit my mom this past weekend, we bought tickets.

And now, here I lay in my bed with my little laptop tray, surrounded by sleeping dogs in my mess of a bedroom, checking lottery ticket numbers. In my pajamas.

Could I BE more pathetic?

I was beginning to feel better from my surgery, but then I got this dry cough that may or may not be turning into a cold, and I feel kind of crappy.

So I'm horizontal for a day or two and not in a good way. Maybe I was trying to do too much with my dog walks and road trips two weeks after my neck was sliced open.

Speaking of which, my scar is looking pretty good, except there's this little piece of suture sticking out and I have to tell you - I want to pull it so dang bad. It's all I can do to resist it. The sutures are supposed to just disintegrate on their own and they all have, except for this one little piece. It's like fishing line and I really just want to pull on it, but am afraid what I might dredge up. I mean, what's the other end attached to?

So for now, I'm resisting. Updates as they become available.

Aside from checking lottery numbers and refraining from unraveling myself, I managed to get a little paperwork done today. I went to my insurance company's website to check the status on my hospital claim. Do you want to know how much it was?

A hundred and nine thousand dollars.

Yes, I'm serious.

Do you want to know how much the hospital estimated it would be and what my copayment (which they made me pay the day before the surgery) was based upon?

Eighteen thousand dollars.

So here's a question - WTF???

Did they find six other people on which to perform the surgery and slap them all on my bill?

And guess what else? They don't automatically send you the itemized bill of all the charges. Oh no. You have to call and ask for it. So you can bet your patootie I did. Sure, the insurance company is paying for it, but damn. I'm insanely curious how they can justify that kind of cost AND how they can be THAT way off in their "estimate".

I'll be watching the mailbox for that puppy. Because apparently, I've got nothing better to do.

Speaking of doing things, I've suddenly begun getting "looking for sex" emails. Like five a day. I didn't really get them before, so I'm not sure what's changed. I suspect nefarious activities on the part of the hospital. Based on your answers to their very personal pre-surgery questions, I bet they sell your email address to spammers.

Recouping from surgery gives one loads of time to concoct conspiracy theories, by the way.

Anyhoo...you'll be happy to know, that's all I got today.

Losing it,
Lori

Credit for photo of woman who didn't win the lottery: Pixabay

What They Don't Tell You When You Have Surgery: A Post-Op Post

2017-06-16T11:12:00.000-07:00

I had neck surgery about two weeks ago.

The whole business of surgery is unsettling. You don't really know what goes on in that operating room when you're passed out from anesthesia.

Despite my trepidation though, I knew it was time to have surgery. I had a couple discs in my neck that had been causing me problems for a few years and it finally got bad enough that I felt like I didn't have much choice.

Source: Giphy.com

I never realized all the prep work that comes before a major surgery. The day before the procedure I had to pre-register at the hospital, fill out a bunch of papers, and have some blood drawn. The nurse handed me a bag containing six packages of giant, super-thick anti-bacterial wipes. I was to shower that night, wait two hours, wipe my whole body down with them, and wipe down again in the morning before we left for the hospital. Then she said, "They leave a sticky residue behind, but don't wash it off."

If I had a nickel for every time I heard that.

After the explicit wipe-down instructions (there was even an accompanying handout with a drawing of a human body and numbers on all the body parts to make sure you don't miss any nooks or crannies.), the nurse asked me a bunch of questions and typed the answers into her computer.

"Have you had any prior surgeries?" she asked.

"Yes, breast implants 15 years ago," I answered,

"Any sexually transmitted diseases?" she countered.

I'm sure they ask that second question of everyone, but the fact that it flew out of her mouth right after my admitted boob job was a little disconcerting. I wanted to say (in my best English accent), "Well, that wood make me quite the accommodatin' lass, now woodnt' it?"

Source: Giphy.com

But I have a lousy English accent so I was only a riot in my head. Although Mr. Accommodated thought it was hilarious when I told him later.

The next morning we arrived at the hospital bright and early at 5:30 AM. I stripped down, changed into the gown, got into the bed, and awaited my fate.

If I had a nickel for every time...

Anyway, the anesthesiologist came in a short while later and introduced himself.

Talk about unsettling. The first thing I noticed was the size of the camera lens on his phone. It was huge. The guy was a serious Instagrammer or Snapchatter or whatever. Not something you want to see when you're about to be put under by the guy. I pictured shenanigans like this going on:

Whatever went on during surgery, all I know is I woke up in recovery and wow, did my back hurt! They said it was due to how they positioned me on the table, but they did all that after they knocked me out so I had no idea what that position was. Again, unsettling.

I was on a morphine drip though, so I couldn't figure out why I would have pain anywhere in my body. I mean it's MORPHINE, for crying out loud. It was several hours later, after they had moved me to a room, when a CNA discovered that every time I pushed the button for the morphine, half of it was dripping on the damn floor and not into my body.

SON OF A.....!!

Turns out, the tip of the morphine tube was broken, so the IV line was leaking where it attached to the tube. Well, that explained why I still had pain.

Things looked up after they got that figured out.

But back to the things that go on in the operating room that you don't know about. I woke up to a spooge-like substance in my hair. Big, gnarly, gobs of Something-About-Mary dried spooge, in various spots, all over my hair.

Source: Giphy.com

Once again, I wondered - what the hell went on in that operating room?? Okay, so it probably wasn't the same substance as Mary's, but what did they do, run out of towels and use my head to wipe some sort of surgical gel off their hands?

I found out later it was glue to hold nerve sensors onto my scalp. Good to know, but they might have warned me about the after effects. It took my sister-in-law forever to comb it all out.

Fortunately, I only had to stay one night in the hospital. The nurses gave really good care and were wonderful, but I just wanted to be home in my own bed, where I have a say in what substances wind up in my hair.

While I was getting dressed and gathering up stuff from the room to leave, I was barfing from the pain pill I had taken earlier that morning. Apparently, I'm a light-weight when it comes to pills. I hoped that by the time I had to sit in the wheelchair and be wheeled out to the car, my nausea would have passed. No. As she pushed me through the halls towards the lobby, I barfed continuously into the little plastic bin the hospital always gives you to take home. Now I know what those are for.

As if that wasn't bad enough, when we got to the main lobby doors, she stopped pushing, thinking it would be easier for me to barf in a non-moving environment. She meant well, but it resulted in me sitting there, right smack in the middle of the main entryway to the hospital, retching and barfing my guts out into my little plastic bin, while people sidestepped around me.

I felt like a weird greeter, right out of American Horror Story.

I barfed all the way home (but at least I didn't wee-wee. Get it? Little piggies?)

Anyway, I'm doing much better now. I have to wear a lovely neck brace for at least 6 weeks which makes me itchy when my neck sweats, but I can deal with that temporarily. There are worse things, right?

I can't really sit at my desk comfortably, but Fred set me up with a computer tray thing, so now I can recline on my bed and type on my laptop for a few hours at a time without much discomfort. And I know it will get better over time.

So...now that I've filled you in on my little drama, I'm linking this up to Mama Kat's Writer's Workshop for the prompt: Write about something you learned in May. Because if I don't link up somewhere, nobody actually reads my shit.

Accommodatingly,

Lori

Credit for nurse photo: Pixabay

Three Things I Never Thought I'd Have to Do as a Parent

2017-05-11T12:57:00.000-07:00

Being a parent is hard. Even if you go into it, expecting it to be hard... it's harder than you ever imagined.

Oh sure, there's joys and rewards and in the end, you wouldn't trade it for anything, blah, blah, blah.

But there are some things you end up doing, as a parent, that you never, ever, EVER, thought you would have to do.

For instance:

1. Make your kid apologize to a neighbor for having dumped a bag of paper shreddings in their yard.

When Sissa was about 14 or so she had a friend over to spend the night. The next morning, there's a knock on our door and I find two cops standing there, with some paper shreddings in their hand. Apparently, she and her friend (who was moving away in a few weeks) wanted to do one last "epic" (her word) thing together and decided that sneaking out in the middle of the night to empty a bag of shredded paper she had found in my office, all over the neighbor's front yard, was just the parting exploit they needed.

How did the cops know the shreddings came from our house, you ask? They pieced some strips together and our address materialized before their eyes. FYI - shredding doesn't protect your personal information. At least not with teenagers in the house.

2. Release a bunch of mice in an empty desert lot behind a Pet Smart.

I might get in trouble with PETA for this one, but desperate times call for desperate measures. Before we moved into our big house (the one where some kids broke in and had a rave. I'm thinking, Karma.), we we're living in a small rental house. For some reason that I don't remember (I'm sure some begging was involved) we agreed to buy a mouse who we named Harvey.

Harvey was fine alone, but for some reason we acquired two more mice, which were female. I think you see where this is going.

We kept the female mice in a separate cage and the kids were under strict orders to not let them mingle. (Right about now, Fred is laughing hysterically at the words "strict orders".)

Apparently, the kids threw a little mouse party in the empty bathtub and allowed the furry nymphos to frolic together. We all know what happens at mouse parties where booze and boy-girl shenanigans are allowed. Mouse babies. Lots. and lots. of mouse babies.

We gave some to Pet Smart and kept some for a while. But mice are stinky, even with regular cage-cleanings. When we bought our new house I was determined the mice would not be moving with us.

We tried to give them to Pet Smart again, but this time they said they had too many mice already and wouldn't take them.

So...somewhere in an empty lot behind a Pet Smart are a bunch of homeless mice, drinking Schlitz Malt Liquor and reminiscing about the orgy they once all had in a bathtub.

3. Pick up your teenage daughter from a school yard in the middle of the night.

Yeah, it's the same daughter mentioned earlier. She was - I don't know...in her teens - and had spent the night at a friend's house (a different friend) and the two of them and the friend's brother decided it would be fun to sneak out and go hang out in a nearby school yard. I'm sure the word "epic" was used.

The school police were patrolling the area and saw them and called us. They had tried to bring the kids back to the friend's house, but after banging on the door several times and ringing the doorbell, couldn't wake up the friend's parents. !!!!???

When Fred went to pick her up, he asked the police what the kids were doing when the police caught them. The cop chuckled and said, "Playing Duck Duck Goose."

I guess it could have been worse.

This list could go on, but really each of the things I thought I would never have to do as a parent, is a blog post all on its own. So I'm stopping at these three. Most things, over time, become a funny story even if they weren't funny at all at the time. Of course, there are also the things that are never funny. The things that keep you awake at night when you look back on them and are too hard and too personal to write about...

But this post isn't about those things. It's about the stuff that's funny later. I saw this on Facebook the other day and thought it sums up being a parent pretty good:

Happy Mother's Day to all you moms, or dads who are also moms. May all your bad parenting moments become funny anecdotes later and not actually screw up your kids.

How about you guys? Do you have any things you never thought you would have to do as a parent?

Nostalgically,

Lori

This post was brought to you by Mama Kat's Writer's Workshop and her prompt: write a list of things you never thought you would do when you became a parent.

Credit for wide-eyed parent photo: Pixabay

Just Another Weekend Full of Epiphanies, Chores, Peppercorns and Coneheads

2017-05-08T09:21:00.003-07:00

Well, it's another red-letter weekend over here at Laidoffsville. Below are the highlights.

The Big Garage Clean-up

On Saturday I decided to organize the left side of our garage because it's been a big jumbled mess for a few months now and I finally got tired of it.

When Fred saw what I was doing he asked what the trigger was. He hates when I start a project like that because he knows he's going to get sucked into it somehow.

And of course, he would, because there's a box full of stuff he unloaded from his car before we sold it (last summer) that I've been bugging him to sort through. Did I mention since last summer?

But the box wasn't the trigger. I told him the mess was just bugging me and I wanted to get it done. He knows me though. He asked me again what triggered me to suddenly decide this was the day I was going to clean the garage when I hadn't even mentioned it the day before.

He was right. There was a trigger. I was feeling like a complete failure because the day before, I had planned to earn a little money doing some freelance blog post writing. Only I couldn't write. Wasn't feeling it. At all.

So I binge watched The Blacklist instead and then hated myself for it because where is my self-motivation? Then that whole thought process led me to the conclusion that maybe I lack the discipline to be self-employed and work from home and I should just look for another job.

So I got on Craigslist. Hey potential employer, how about you just suck my soul out through my left eye socket for that $10 an hour you're willing to pay?

This is what having your soul sucked out looks like.

So then I went back to the writing site and tried it again (because if I'm going to work for peanuts, it may as well be work I enjoy and don't have to shower and get dressed for), and still wasn't feeling it. Then I had an epiphany. And let's see how many sentences I can begin with "so" and "then". Jeez.

My epiphany was this: I'm good at helping others be great, but not at being great myself.

I'm motivated and proactive and all organization and efficiency for an employer, but when the employer is me... I'm pretty much a slacker. How does one fire oneself?

So (the answer is one. One more.) with that, I drank a bottle of wine, had some pizza and called it a night.

Then came Saturday morning (okay, two). I awoke with the innate and overwhelming need to accomplish something. To be great at something. I needed some gratification, dammit.

That was my trigger. After explaining all of this to Fred, he gave me that "what is WRONG with you, woman" look that I'm all too familiar with, and went back to bed.

What is WRONG with you, woman??

The garage turned out pretty good. What we really needed was a yard sale, but that wasn't happening right away, so the best I could do was rearrange, throw out, and donate some stuff. The point is... I felt like I accomplished something and that made me feel better about my employability, self or otherwise.

Not terribly dramatic, but what do you expect from a slacker?

I could end this post here, but I need to tell you about the peppercorns and Coneheads. Because red-letter.

The Peppercorn Incident

Fred and I went to Winco on Sunday. If you don't know about Winco, it's a grocery store with low prices, great produce, and my favorite - the bin section.

They have an area where they sell all sorts of things out of bins. You scoop out how much you want, put it in a bag, write the code number for the item on the twist tie, and they weigh it and ring it up at check-out. I don't buy everything from the bins, but certain things, like specialty flours, spices, and nuts, are really inexpensive.

Fred hates the bin section. He says the time it takes to scoop and bag is "Twenty minutes of my life that I can't get back."

Nevertheless, I needed peppercorns so we headed to the bins. I had to explain to Fred what peppercorns are and how I put them in my pepper grinder and of course he had to ask, "Wouldn't it be easier to just buy a container of ground pepper?"

He just didn't get it. So while I made him help me scoop, label, and twist tie my little bag of peppercorns, I educated him all about how much cheaper peppercorns were this way and how much better fresh ground pepper is and yada, yada, yada, we finished and went through check-out.

My damn peppercorns were $9.96.

I looked at the receipt and they were over $15 a pound! I went straight to the customer service desk and had them double-check it. Yup, that was the price.

I returned the peppercorns.

Fred gloated all the way home.

The Coneheads

We have a nickname for one of our neighbors that lives up the street. They have young kids and apparently feel that placing a couple cones in the middle of the street means their kids can ride their tricycles and Barbie cars in the middle of the road, with no parental supervision, and be adequately protected from getting hit by a car.

Oh, and to add to the fun, they park their big-ass toy hauler in front of their house and allow their kids to dart out into the street from behind it. Because, you know, the cones are there.

All of this goes on while one parent is either busy doing something inside the toy hauler, or not visible at all, anywhere outside.

A few months ago Fred was driving home one afternoon, going very slowly because he saw the cones, and one of the kids shot out from behind the toy hauler in her Barbie car, right in front of him. Fortunately, Fred was going slow enough that he was able to stop in time. The dad then came running out towards Fred's car, and started yelling at him to be more careful! Fred suggested that, gee, maybe they should supervise their kids.

Despite having that near-miss (and others, I'm sure), they continue to let their kids play in the street. On our way home from the grocery store, sure enough, there was the toy hauler, the cones, and various little kids on little vehicles, including Barbie Knievel.

It was a welcome distraction from Fred's peppercorn gloating, but still... the Coneheads are a source of annoyance. They definitely aren't on our Christmas Cracker list.

So that was my weekend. How was yours?

Your Barely Employable Slacker,
Lori

How a Pedicure Confirmed My Bitchy Resting Face

2017-04-27T12:26:00.006-07:00

I love getting pedicures. Nothing makes a girl feel more girly than smooth heels and painted toes.

Last year after we moved, I felt like a needed a mini spa-break, so I tried a new nail salon right by our house. I had a lovely nail technician we'll call Sebastian.

Sebastian was quite the salesman. It started immediately when I sat down in the comfy massage chair and he handed me a card listing about 90 different kinds of pedicures. They ranged from the budget- friendly "we file your daggers and clean your toe gunk" to the more indulgent "we exfoliate, decrystallize, and massage until your legs are butta' ".

I really just wanted a simple pedicure, but Sebastian said I could really use a good foot sloughing, so I picked a treatment somewhere in the middle. Come to find out, he was quite direct about what his customers needed.

Sebastian is the king of the upsell

I settled in as my foot pampering began. We started to chit chat a little and he began asking questions about my skincare regime.

Uh-oh. I could feel another sales pitch coming on.

Sebastian: When was last time you had facial? (Don't lie - from the size of your pores, it's been a while.)
Me: I don't remember. (Hmmm, do I NEED a facial?)
Sebastian: We have special on facial and pedicure. You get discount. (Note to self: add newly invented special to the treatment list card.)
Me: I don't...

At the first sound of a protest from me, Sebastian jumped up from his little stool, came over and stood by me, and began peering closely at my face. I was a little uncomfortable at first, but then again...the man was cleaning my toe jam, so I suppose we were looking at personal space boundaries in the rear-view mirror.

Sebastian: Awww, yeahhhh, your pores clogged. We use very good product. It lift all dirt and toxin out. Your skin glow! You won't believe difference! (Have you looked in mirror lately?)
Me: Maybe next time when I have more time...(Jeez, is my skin that bad???)
Sebastian: No extra time! I apply mask now and it sit while I do toes. Your skin glow! You will love! (Think I snagged her...)
Me: Okay, why not? (Would you just shut-up about my pores, please?)
Sebastian: (Suckaaaaa!)

So Sebastian washed my face and brushed on some product that he told me the name of but I can't remember. Then he put a paper mask over my face. I had my eyes closed while he was doing this and didn't realize that the mask had eye-holes cut out of it.

He returned to his stool and resumed working on my toes, while I sat there thinking I had a mask over my eyes. Finally, he said, "You can open your eyes if you want."

I reached up and touched my eyes. Oh. Eyeholes. I felt like a doofus.

I feel ya, dog.

While my skin was de-gunking and my toes were de-hobbitfying, Sebastian and I chatted. His father owned the salon, his siblings worked there too, he was married with three kids, he works a lot. Sebastian was a pretty nice guy and I was beginning to forgive him for his hard-sell tactics.

Soon, he finished my toes and peeled the mask off my face.

He began exclaiming and oohing and ahhhing as he slowly pulled the paper off, "Ohhhhh, look at all that! You had lot of dirt, loooottt of dirt!" (He dragged out the word "lot," excessively). "Ohhhhh, you won't believe...wow...looooottt of dirt!"

Lot of dirt. Got it. Thanks.

He showed me the paper mask.

It looked like something an archaeologist unearthed. The frown shaped mouth is evidence of my "bitchy resting face". You know - the natural state of one's face when one isn't smiling.

It's a thing. And it's now confirmed I have one.

It's Homobitchirestingfacapian. (Pronounced homo-bitchy-resting-face-apian)

Apparently, the condition of my pores was quite intriguing to Sebastian. He went on and on about how much dirt was stuck to the mask.

Did I mention the salon was crowded? Every seat was full. I was thrilled that a roomful of strangers were now intimately acquainted with my supposed lackluster skin cleansing habits. "Hey Sebastian, since my pore gunk is so fascinating, let's pass the mask around so everyone can see, like they do with the gifts at a baby shower," is what I thought to myself.

After he finished marvelling at the evidence of my filthy face, he handed the mask to me, "Here, you take home."

Yeah. No.

What was I supposed to do with it? Like I had just the spot for it up on my mantle, right next to my gallbladder in a jar.

"Thanks, I'm good," I said.

"Okay, I take picture for you," he said. And that's how the above picture came to be. Because I honestly would never have thought to take a picture of my pore gunk. So you have Sebastian to thank for that.

Before I left the salon, I looked in the mirror, certain that I must look hideous with my large pores and now, no makeup.

But, you know what? My skin looked fabulous! I mean, it really was glowing.

Son-of-a-gun. Sebastian knew what he was talking about, after all.

Despite his overexuberance about my pore dirt, and his relentless upselling techniques, I still go back to Sebastian. He gives a heck of a pedicure and I found his directness a little endearing.

Or maybe I'm just a masochist.

Filthily,
Lori

This post was brought to you by Mama Kat's Writer's Workshop prompt to write a post inspired by the word "break". As in "spa-break". It's a stretch, I know.

Manly Pink Toes image (source)

How to Walk Four Dogs in 33 Easy Steps

2017-04-20T11:37:00.002-07:00

I've taken to watching an episode or two of The Dog Whisperer on Saturday mornings. Because, you know, we have four and they don't respond all that well to our commands - whispered or otherwise.

The problem is that we don't treat them like dogs. They're more like noisy, messy roommates.

So the other day when I was taking two of my roomies out for a walk, I decided to try ole' Cesar's method of using body language to adjust their behavior. Specifically, pulling back on their leashes to keep them from gallumphing off ahead of me, like they always do.

That picture up there is Lucy, who gallumphed herself into getting wrapped around a pole, which happens frequently.

Cesar's method wasn't working very well, but it was really hard to try to train both dogs at the same time. I decided to scrap the plan for the moment and try it another time with them, one at a time.

And that's when I realized which of Mama Kat's writing prompts I would tackle this week. Write a post inspired by the word "incomplete".

Incomplete. That pretty much sums up our dog training regime.

To illustrate, below is a narration of one of our walk adventures. (You can read more adventures in dog walking here and here, by the way.) I posted it on my personal Facebook page a few months ago and since it fits, I'm reposting it here.

For those of you who read my personal blatherings and my blog blatherings - sorry for the rerun. But at least in this post, you get the benefit of a picture so you can see who each culprit is.

An example of our incomplete dog training (alternate title: How to Walk 4 Dogs in 33 Easy Steps):

Step 1: Gather the dog leashes and harnesses which are in a big tangled mess from the last time you walked the dogs.

Step 2: Untangle the mess while tripping over the dogs as they jump, spin, run, and bark around you, because they know they're going for a walk.

Step 3: Try to put the harness on dog 1 (who is offended by leashes and harnesses).

Step 4: Study the harness while turning it over in your hands for 5 minutes, trying to remember how the hell it goes on the dog.

Step 5: Go find dog 1 who has, by now, run and hid from the harness.

Step 6: Try again to put the harness on dog 1, who has decided to lay down.

Step 7: Realize the harness is too small.

Step 8: Take the harness off and adjust it.

Step 9: Go find dog 1 who has run and hid again.

Step 10: Repeat steps 6 - 9 twice more, then give up on dog 1 for now and decide to walk dog 1 and 4 together, after walking dogs 2 and 3.

Step 11: Put different harness and leash on dog 2, who is generally cooperative.

Step 12: Quickly grab dog 3, who is always excited to go on a walk but likes to play "catch me if you can" when it comes time to put his harness and leash on.

Step 13: Praise yourself because you bought him a new, easy harness and he's leashed and ready in a few seconds.

Step 14: Curse yourself because you still have to get your shoes and jacket on, find your keys and phone, and grab some poop bags, all while holding the leash of dog 3 because as soon as you let go, he'll want to play "catch me if you can" again.

Step 15: Finally ready, try to get out the door with dogs 2 and 3 (who keep walking back and forth in front of you and tangling up their leashes), while explaining to dog 4 that she has to stay behind and wait her turn.

Step 16: Regain your balance as dogs 2 and 3 struggle to be the first out the door.

Step 17: Watch leashless dog 4 squeeze past you and run out the door to the end of the driveway. Make repeated, frenzied, and eventually menacing, commands for her to come back.

Step 18: Curse under your breath as she completely ignores you.

Step 19: Put dog 2 back in the house.

Step 20: Walk to the end of the driveway with dog 3 in tow, so you can grab dog 4 and put her back in the house.

Step 21: Watch dog 4 begin to run into the street.

Step 22: Begin to chase dog 4, yelling at her because a car is coming.

Step 23: Grab dog 4 and toss her back into the house, yelling at her to "stay", and call dog 2 to come outside (this may take a few minutes as dog 2 tries to figure out who the heck you want to "come" and who has to "stay").

Step 24: Walk around the block with dogs 2 and 3.

Step 25: Get almost home, then watch as dog 2 takes a large dump in your next door neighbor's front yard, getting dog poo all over the leash because (once again) it is tangled around her.

Step 26: Try to keep the dog poo part of the leash off dog 2 and yourself, keep a grip on the leash of dog 3, and scoop up the poop, all at the same time.

Step 27: Curse under your breath and pray your neighbor isn't watching out the window.

Step 28: Bring dogs 2 and 3 in the house.

Step 29: Wipe dog 2 down with doggie wipes, in case any poo got on her. Throw the dog poo bag in the outside trash, and wash the dog leash.

Step 30: Give up on walking dog 1 at all because by now, you're in no mood to struggle with the damn harness. Put the leash on dog 4.

Step 31: Curse as dog 4 runs around the coffee table leg twice and you have to untangle her.

Step 32: Walk dog 4 to the corner and back.

Step 33: Throw all the leashes and harnesses back in the closet, in a big tangled mess.

I don't know what Cesar Millan would think if he came over for a visit. Between their walk behavior, entitled attitudes, and complete disregard for orders, our dogs could easily be the stars of The Dog Whisperer: What the Hell Happened Here?? edition.

Oh well. Add it to the list of things to work on.

Incompletely,
Lori

5 Tips for First Time Cruisers

2017-04-15T17:33:00.003-07:00

In my last post, I mentioned we took a cruise and had a little misadventure in Puerto Vallarta.

This week, I thought I'd share a few of the highlights of our trip, in the form of general tips for any other first time cruisers out there. Because I don't mind getting laughed it.

I know you're thinking, "All right already with the damn cruise!" This is my last cruise post, I promise.

1. Proofread any texts sent during the sail away party.

The sail away is a big deal. It's when you first pull away from the starting port and everyone is up on deck, all excited and happy (and 7 pounds lighter than when we dock a week later) at the thought of a responsibility-free week filled with food, fun, and adventure.

And booze. Don't forget the booze.

Aren't the anti-barf bands I'm wearing on my wrists sexy?

I was just starting on my second of the above pictured cocktail when the DJ started playing the song We Are Family by Sister Sledge. So of course I thought of my family back home and decided it was a good time to share my ~~buzz~~ joy with them and let them know how much fun it would be if we all went on a cruise together.

This is what I sent:

My auto-correct is a lot more fun than I am.

That was supposed to say, "It's making me miss you guys," and not imply I wanted to get naked and honk things.

So, my future cruisers, enjoy the sail away party, but... proofread.

2. Be adventurous and try new foods and drinks.

A cruise is the perfect place to try new foods because there is so. much. food. And it's all free. So, when I saw Escargot on the menu in the dining room one night, I decided to try it.

I'm not sure if I would have been so intrepid if the little slitherers were still in their shells, but fortunately, these were de-shelled already.

Here's how that went:

Honestly? They tasted pretty good, but it's hard to forget the fact that they're snails. So, once was enough for me.

Then there is my husband, who's idea of "trying something new" is to dip his fries in ranch instead of catsup. Needless to say, he wouldn't try the snails.

But I have to give him props - he was a good sport in my endeavor to find an alcohol he might like.

In case I haven't mentioned it before - Fred's not a drinker. Not because he's on the wagon, but just because he's never found an alcohol he likes the taste of. So, because I wanted someone to commiserate with in my debauchery, it became my mission on the cruise to help him find a drink he liked.

Turns out, margaritas are probably his least favorite:

In the end, guess which drink he actually ordered two of?

That's it...come over to the drinking side, my pretty!

A strawberry daiquiri - probably the least manly drink there is. Go figure.

3. Read the ship's newsletter so you don't miss important events.

There's all sorts of fun activities and shows happening throughout the day and evening on a cruise. They list them all in a daily newsletter and deliver it each night to your room so you can plan out the next day accordingly.

I liked to circle the must-dos, like this:

Don't judge me - drinks are generally $8 - $10 a pop.

4. Don't feel pressure to engage in every activity.

Aside from Happy Hour, there are dances, games, competitions, classes, and loads of other things to do on a cruise. They try pretty hard to keep everyone entertained.

But sometimes you just want to chill out, and that's perfectly okay too. This was our favorite thing to do during the day:

Aren't we the exciting pair?

5. Things may not go as planned, so roll with the punches.

Remember how our hike in Puerta Vallarta didn't go quite as planned? I'm happy to say that our next two port visits went much better, although they did have their own surprises.

Oh, Mazatlan, what do you have in store for us?

In Mazatlan we visited Stone Island where we decided to kayak.

FYI - the ocean isn't a good place to learn to kayak. Or maybe the two of us are just too uncoordinated to figure out how to use the paddles in sync, stay upright, and battle the waves all at the same time.

I was optimistic we could figure it out, but Fred had his doubts after he slipped getting into the kayak and then couldn't sit up and was flailing on his back like a panicked bug until the attendant righted him.

When the first wave hit us, we were supposed to paddle together and ride the wave out to sea - or a few feet from shore, at least.

Instead, we immediately flipped over.

Fred declared kayaking done.

So instead we rode a banana boat. Have you ever ridden a banana boat? It's a long raft shaped like a banana that you sit on (one in front of the other), with a handle to hold onto. Several people can ride at once. The raft is attached to a speedboat with a long rope and you're pulled through the water.

This worked well because there was absolutely nothing required of us, other than to hang on tight. And surprisingly, that, we managed.

In Cabo San Lucas we looked forward to a tour in a glass-bottom boat.

Let me just tell you that the advertisement used the word "glass-bottom" a bit loosely. Yes there was some glass and yes it was in the bottom of the boat. But it was more like a small glass window that, if it weren't being used as a storage box and were clean, we may have been able to see out of it - bottomed boat.

But no matter, because we had the option of having the tour guide drop us off at a little secluded beach to snorkel and swim for a couple hours so we did that instead of finishing out the tour. And that was heavenly.

That's our cruise ship in the distance. We figured if the tour guide didn't come back to get us, we could always swim for it.

My point is...even if excursions don't go exactly as planned, be open to alternatives and laugh about the negatives. Because, hey, a bad day on a cruise is still better than a good day at home. Well, unless it's the Titanic...or Norovirus...but you get my drift (no pun intended).

This post is a loose interpretation of Mama Kat's Writer's Workshop prompt to share a spring break memory. I figured the cruise was our little break and it was in the spring, so...

Hey, if the glass-bottom boat guys can do it, so can I!

The Sunglasses that Sunk Us and Other Lessons Learned in Mexico

2017-04-06T18:39:00.004-07:00

Fred and I went on a cruise last week. Neither of us had ever been on one, so it was spectacularly exciting and we had a fabulous time, but as happens with all new adventures, we learned a few lessons.

Actually, we learned many, many lessons, but this post is about what we learned while in our first stop on the cruise, Puerto Vallarta.

But first, a little background. For a month or so before the cruise, I researched what sights we might want to see in each port city (it was a 7 day cruise to Mexico). There are all sorts of excursions available - some through the cruise line and others through outside tour companies - that had activities ranging from snorkeling, to boat rides, to historical city tours.

For Puerto Vallarta, I found information on a 2 mile coastal hike that starts from a little town called Boca de Tomatlan, passes by two pristine, nearly deserted beaches, and ends at the popular beach, Las Animas. (If you're interested, there's lots of great details about it here).

One of the views along the hike from Boca de Tomatlan to Las Animas

To me, a chance to burn some cruise calories, take in beautiful coastal views, frolic on a deserted beach, and enjoy authentic Mexican food, all sounded perfect. However, I'd have to convince Fred of its appeal. This is a man that names any hike I drag him on, a "death march."

One thing I had going for me was that, once we got to Las Animas beach, we wouldn't have to hike the two miles back. We could take a water taxi!

But one negative to the whole plan was that, to get to the starting point of the hike (the little town of Boca de Tomatlan), we would have to take two buses (a total of about 50 minutes travel time).

I wasn't certain of our success at navigating around the streets of Mexico with our extremely limited knowledge of the Spanish language. And by "limited knowledge" I mean Fred's grasp of the phrase "Las chichis grandes," which, when uttered on the streets of Mexico by a foreigner, may lead us to some interesting establishments...but probably wouldn't get us on the right bus.

Happily though, I didn't have to do too much convincing. Mr. Anti-Death March declared the whole plan an "adventure" and said, "If our daughter can manage to find her way around the jungles of Kauai, the streets of India, and the town of Phuket, Thailand, surely we can manage a bus ride and a hike in Mexico."

And with those words, my story begins.

Lesson #1: Don't pay $10 for sunglasses in Mexico.

Right after debarking at Puerto Vallarta, we stopped at the first kiosk we came to so that Fred could get a pair of sunglasses. In all my research about buying anything in Mexico, the advice was to haggle, haggle, haggle. But alas, I forgot, and we paid the first price quoted, which was $10 US dollars. Also, we probably should have sojourned a little further into the city to find a better starting price, to boot.

But, oh well, we thought. Nothing wrong with supporting the Mexican economy, right?

The sunglasses that sunk us.

The bus ride part of our adventure was easier than we thought it would be.With the help of a few friendly tour salesmen that bombarded us at the port, we found our way to the first bus stop. Sure enough, the correct bus came along pretty quickly. We told the driver where we needed to get off, and he let us know when we got to the correct stop. Then we only had to say the name of our destination, "Boca de Tomatlan," and an amiable passerby pointed to the next bus stop.

See the spray painted letters on the window? That's how you see if you're on the right bus. Also, there was a huge windshield crack on the driver's side, but you can't see it real well in the picture.

The second bus route was about 40 minutes long and took us all along the coast. It was a pretty drive, and passed by several resort hotels and sandy beaches. Soon we arrived at our small fishing town destination, Boca de Tomatlan.

Lesson #2: Be prepared to pay to use a public restroom in Mexico.

Of course, after our fairly long bus ride, and before beginning our trek, we had to pee. We bought a few snacks for the hike and the store owner directed us down a path toward the beach to use the restroom.

Just in case we missed the painted letters on the outside of the bathroom, there was a guy posted at the door to let us know 'tweren't free to pee. This was the case in Mazatlan as well, by the way.

I love the look on Fred's face. He's like, "Really? As I'm coming out of the john?"

Sidenote: Apparently, according the the Urban Dictionary, there is a second meaning for the word "tweren't," which, although being a body part one might interact with when using the toilet, is not the intended meaning here. Just clarifying.

After finishing the restroom business (no pun intended), we made our way to the starting point of the hike.

It was an odd path that took us through people's front yards, basically. But I guess the locals were used to it because most of them ignored the gringos trekking right past their windows.

The two gringos

One of the homes whose yard we passed through.

One of the amazing views on the hike.

At first, the path was right along the coast and we could see the azure water and hear the gentle waves below us. It was quite lovely and we were in high spirits (that sounded very Jane Austen-like, didn't it?). I couldn't wait to get to our destination beach and feel that cool water.

Here's a clip of Indiana Fred in high spirits.

And then the beach path began to climb upward.

Lesson #3: When it comes to hike descriptions online, the word "moderate" is very subjective.

I had done my research regarding this hike. At first I worried it might be too much for two osteoporotic, diabetic, old fatties like us. But I read personal accounts and Trip Advisor reviews and most of them described the difficulty level as "moderate," with some of the reviewers being in their 60's.

Surely, we could handle it, I thought.

When the path began to climb up and away from the coast, it became stone steps. Lots and lots of upward climbing stone steps that went on...and on...and on. Our legs began to ache and we rested often, hoping the next bend would bring a flatter path, but it never seemed to end.

We ran across four locals hiking, who looked to be in their late teens or very early 20's and at least one in their group was having just as hard a time as us.

Fred told me later that he honestly thought he was going to need to be airlifted out of there.

Sweaty, tired, sore, and feeling foolishly overambitious for taking on this odyssey, we finally arrived at the first beach on our route. There were several local families already there, so it was a bit crowded. So much for my earlier dream of frolicking on a deserted beach.

We were not even halfway through our hike, exhausted, and pretty disheartened because we didn't know how we would make it to the second and third beach.

Then we saw the most welcome sight of all...a water taxi! Fred and I took one look at each other and he took off running along the shore, waving his arms wildly, to flag it down.

So, I guess he did frolic on the beach...sort of.

The water taxi took us past the second beach and that one was deserted, and looked absolutely beautiful. Unfortunately, I have no pictures of that beach, the water taxi, Fred's headfirst dive into the water taxi, or anything else that happened after the kayak picture below. You'll soon see why.

After a five minute water taxi ride, we arrived at our final destination, Las Animas beach. I have to admit, it sure beat an hour-long hike.

Kayakers we passed as we hiked.

Lesson #4: Bring enough cash with you.

After getting off the water taxi, we could see several restaurants all along the beach. We headed for the one nearest the dock, with several outdoor tables right on the sand. We walked by an older couple sitting at one of the tables and said hello and it turns out they had done the hike too, only they actually hiked the whole thing and I have to say, didn't look near as wore out as us. (What is WRONG with us? Wait...don't answer that.)

I had to use the bathroom, and fortunately, since we were about to be paying customers, the bathroom didn't cost any money.

Let me tell you...you get what you pay for in Mexico. The bathroom was disgusting. The only toilet that was not plugged, didn't have a seat on it and there was no way I was going to sit my tired behind on it.

Ladies, have you ever tried squatting to pee, after a strenuous hike? It goes something like this:

Squat
Pee till your legs begin to shake
Stand up and rest
Repeat

It took me like, 15 minutes to pee.

But I'm getting off track. I was talking about enough cash.

You see, we weren't planning on buying souvenirs in Mexico. We didn't need anything, and any trinket we bought would probably end up in a yard sale a couple years down the road anyway. To me, memories and pictures were enough.

So when we were figuring out how much money to take with us to spend in Puerto Vallarta, we tallied up bus fare, one water taxi ride, lunch on the beach, a little extra for a cushion...about $70 US dollars seemed like enough.

We ordered lunch, then counted how much cash we had left, after the sunglasses, bus fare, snacks, and water taxi. We had $37 left.

Lesson #5: Understand the conversion rate and/or ask for the prices in US dollars.

$37! That was less than we expected, so we double checked the cost of what we had ordered (the menu was in pesos) and figured our lunch would come to about $27 US dollars. A bit overpriced for an order of beef fajitas, some ceviche, a Corona, and a Coke, but okay.

That would leave us just enough for a water taxi back to Boca and the two bus rides to get back to the port. We stressed a little, but after refiguring the pesos to dollars conversion (which we thought we had a grasp on) figured we would be okay.

Then the bill came. It was in pesos and since our money was tight and we couldn't afford accidentally over paying (the tip was included in the bill), we asked what the amount was in US dollars. The waiter had to check with the manager.

The bill was $37. Everything we had left.

This was Fred when he realized we may have to beg for money in Mexico. (Source: Giphy)

Talk about stressed! Granted, not having enough money to get back to your cruise ship is definitely a First World problem, but when it happens in a Third World country, it's a BIG problem, nonetheless. I thought we were going to have to literally beg for money from strangers. In Mexico. Now there's a twist for you.

After Fred choked on his overpriced Coke, he talked to the manager to see if he would take $27 and let us make our way back to the cruise ship, get more cash from our room, and return with the remainder. The manager was actually very gracious and kind and said that was no problem and we could do that. And we would have... but we didn't have to.

Which brings me to the last lesson in my story.

Lesson #6: There are kind and sympathetic people in the world and not everyone is out to scam you.

The nice couple that we met at the table next to ours evidently heard our whole sorry story. The man came over to us, handed Fred $20, and said, "Here. Pay it forward."

They were not passengers on our cruise ship, so there was no way we could immediately pay them back. We asked for their address so we could send them the money when we got home, but they refused (gee...can't imagine why they didn't want to give two needy, poor-planning, overspenders their address).

We thanked them profusely, of course! They saved us from begging on the beaches of Mexico, AND from having to take a water taxi, two buses, a regular taxi, and another water taxi, to bring the shortfall of money all the way back to the restaurant.

Later I wondered, if they had not overheard our plight, and we actually did have to ask them (or anyone else) for money, what would we say? And would they have even given us money, not knowing if we were telling the truth?

I guess the bigger question I was asking myself is...would I have given money to someone with a crazy, hard luck story like ours?

The truth is...I have given money to strangers with a story, but usually with the assumption that the story was just a ruse to get money. But now...having been in the shoes of a person in a scary situation who needs money...I understand that not all hard luck stories are scams.

Either way, there's nothing wrong with having a little "pay it forward" in the bank, so to speak. You never know when you might find yourself in a situation where you're at the receiving end of it.

So...between the grueling hike and our chagrin at the restaurant, we decided we really couldn't be trusted in Mexico and we had better head straight back to the safety of the cruise ship.

Somewhere in there was a happy hour drink special I really needed to get to.

A water taxi and two buses later, we made it to the ship, having never stepped foot in the ocean water that enticed us on the hike.

We headed straight for the ship's swimming pool.

One of FOUR pools on the ship.

Oh, and it was later that night that we realized, had we not spent $10 on the sunglasses, we would have had enough money. The sunglasses had sunk us.

By the way, those sunglasses broke the next day, in Mazatlan.

This post was brought to you courtesy of Mama Kat's Writer's Workshop and her prompt to write about something learned in March.

Also...if you like this post, please help someone else avert disaster by sharing!

Take a Bite of the Cheesecake

2017-03-02T15:08:00.004-08:00

My husband is a friendly guy.

He's friendly to just about everyone, strangers or not. He actually goes out of his way to be friendly.

In grocery store lines, he's the guy that looks for opportunities to make people laugh, and most of the time, he's successful. Except for one time when he was standing behind two big Samoan guys who were carrying gallons of milk.

Fred said, "Nice jugs!"

The Samoans were all:

They just stared at him. Maybe they thought he was actually talking about their pecks and assumed he was trying to pick them up (in the biblical sense). I'm not sure.

But that was a rare exception.

Most of the time he gets the whole check-out line, including the cashier, cracking up at his witty remarks. But his friendliness doesn't end at grocery store lines.

Last weekend we went out to The Cheesecake Factory for dinner. Shortly after we ordered, the waitress seated a woman and her pre-teen daughter at a table adjacent to ours. While Fred and I waited for our order, we could hear that the woman and girl were speaking to one another in German. Every once in a while they would glance over at us and smile and we'd smile back (as one does in such situations).

At one point, the woman asked us the meaning of something on the menu and Fred explained. More friendly smiles ensued - nothing out of the range of normal friendliness.

Then our dessert came.

Salted Caramel Cheesecake.

Courtesy of The Cheesecake Factory

And boy, did that get the attention of our German neighbors! We could hear them ooh-ing and aah-ing over it as the waitress put it on our table. So much so that Fred leaned over to me and whispered, "Should we offer them a bite?"

Now mind you...I'm dieting. And that day, knowing we were going to The Cheesecake Factory for dinner, and knowing I was fo' sho' going to order cheesecake ~~to split with Fred~~, I had starved all day and saved my calories for this dessert. Not that I looked online at their menu and pre-decided what I was having or anything. Because that would be obsessive.

So my first reaction to Fred's suggestion that we share my coveted dessert, was this:

Well, maybe not that bad.

But truth be told, I told Fred no, he shouldn't offer them any. Not because of pure selfishness or gluttony, but because of how I knew I would respond if the situation were reversed. If I were offered a bite of cheesecake from a stranger in a restaurant, I would decline out of politeness. Even if I really wanted a taste, I wouldn't. That's just my courteously deferential-edness.

My friendly husband did not share my reticence. He offered the two ~~cheesecake interlopers~~ diners a bite and they said, "Oh hell yeah," (internally) and they took him up on his offer.

I could tell they did not regret it for a second. I could tell it was a delicious cheesecake party in their mouth, and it made me happy that we could offer them that small unexpected bit of happiness. Then I took a bite of it and it tasted every bit as good as the look on their faces implied. We all shared a moment.

That simple little gesture from Fred got us all talking. Turns out, they were from Germany and vacationing here in Vegas. They asked where a grocery store was, and we told them. Then we got on the topic of dogs (as we often do) and chatted about that too, for a minute.

Shortly after, we all wished each other well, and Fred and I left.

I don't know if they had been to the U.S. before, or to Vegas before, or what their travelling experiences had been like until then. But I hope they look back on their 2017 Vegas vacation and smile at the memory of the friendly guy and his ~~greedy~~ wife who shared their cheesecake and some smiles.

There are two points to my little story. One is: Take a bite of the cheesecake!

People like sharing happiness (even if one of the sharers is a sugar-starved dieter). So when someone offers me a bite of something, instead of politely declining, I'm following the example of our new German friends and I'm taking a bite. I'm going to accept that little offering of happiness and make the offerer happy in return...for the most part (see disclaimer below).

The other point is: Offer a bite of the cheesecake!

Even a friendly little gesture can make a difference in someone's day. Whether it's a bite, a witty comment, a smile, or help getting something down from a shelf (a thing my husband often does in the grocery store because he's tall), offer it up and spread a little happiness.

Disclaimer: Upon further thought, you might want to use discretion before accepting random food (or drinks!) from strangers. In this particular instance, the dessert had just arrived, everyone used their own fork, and no one double dipped. More importantly, I was with my husband and pretty certain the two girls hadn't sprinkled a date rape drug on my cheesecake. So...use much discretion when considering this advice!

Anyhoo...I guess my story actually has three points. The third being that I have a very friendly husband who likes to make people smile. He makes the world a little happier and I'm lucky to know him. I learn from him every day. But don't tell him I said that.

This post was brought to you by Mama Kat's Writer's Workshop in response to her prompt: Write a post inspired by the word: friendly.

Greedily,

Lori