4 Cats & 12 Days

The holiday season is upon us. As I told you, I have 4 cats and apparently they are VERY excited this year about Christmas. They watched intently as the lights were put up, stared enraptured at the trimming of the tree, and reverently watched the placing of the nativity scene – BUT – they don’t fool me! All they were doing was casing the joint so that when no one was looking they could have their fun with the inside winter wonderland AND bring all their outside friends in to join in the fun. Well, sort of join in. I guess it is more like become an additional decoration.

I know it is not time for the 12 days of Christmas, but my cats were too excited this year and just couldn’t wait.

The Twelve Days of Having Cats at Christmas

On the first day of Christmas my sweet cats brought to me:

A big clump of thrown up hairball 

On the second day of Christmas my sweet cats brought to me:

2 biting fleas

And another clump of thrown up hairball 

On the third day of Christmas my cats brought to me:

3 headless moles

2 biting fleas

And another clump of thrown up hairball 

On the fourth day of Christmas my sweet cats brought to me:

4 baby birds

3 headless moles

2 biting fleas

And another clump of thrown up hairball 

On the fifth day of Christmas my sweet cats brought to me:

5 spots of pee

4 baby birds

3 headless moles

2 biting fleas

And another clump of thrown up hairball 

On the sixth day of Christmas my sweet cats brought to me:

6 bows unraveled

5 spots of pee

4 baby birds

3 headless moles

2 biting fleas

And another clump of thrown up hairball 

On the seventh day of Christmas my sweet cats brought to me:

7 chunks of garland

6 bows unraveled

5 spots of pee

4 baby birds

3 headless moles

2 biting fleas

And another clump of thrown up hairball 

On the eighth day of Christmas my sweet cats brought to me:

8 fish from my pond

7 chunks of garland

6 bows unraveled

5 spots of pee

4 baby birds

3 headless moles

2 biting fleas

And another clump of thrown up hairball 

On the ninth day of Christmas my sweet cats brought to me:

9 broken ornaments

8 fish from my pond

7 chunks of garland

6 bows unraveled

5 spots of pee

4 baby birds

3 headless moles

2 biting fleas

And another clump of thrown up hairball 

On the tenth day of Christmas my sweet cats brought to me:

10 frogs NOT leaping

9 broken ornaments

8 fish from my pond

7 chunks of garland

6 bows unraveled

5 spots of pee

4 baby birds

3 headless moles

2 biting fleas

And another clump of thrown up hairball 

On the eleventh day of Christmas my sweet cats brought to me:

11 filthy paw prints

10 frogs NOT leaping

9 broken ornaments

8 fish from my pond

7 chunks of garland

6 bows unraveled

5 spots of pee

4 baby birds

3 headless moles

2 biting fleas

And another clump of thrown up hairball 

On the twelfth day of Christmas my sweet cats brought to me:

12 half-dead lizards

11 filthy paw prints

10 frogs NOT leaping

9 broken ornaments

8 fish from my pond

7 chunks of garland

6 bows unraveled

5 spots of pee

4 baby birds

3 headless moles

2 biting fleas

And another clump of thrown up hairball

I hope you have as much fun this season as I am having!

Losing

If you don’t follow NASCAR, or watch morning TV, or read the paper, or cruise the interwebs, or listen to the radio, you do not know that:

 Jeff Gordon did NOT win last night.

There were only 4 drivers vying for the championship and he came in third.

You know who won?

The person I most despise in the history of not liking certain drivers as long as I have known about NASCAR.

He is an arrogant, mean spirited; creep of a human and I wouldn’t care if I never heard his name ever again. That is how much I loathe him.

So how does all this fit into my rantings of last week?

I am not sure.

It is like trying to trying to reconcile the difference between God losing to the Devil and I don’t know where to go with it.

But I did learn something.

Number One:  Like I said earlier, you should never bargain with God.

Number Two:  It is a dumb idea to base life altering decisions on something as senseless as a sporting event.

Number Three:  I believe now that I really, really just WANTED Jeff to win. Church had nothing to do with it.

Number Four:  Now I have to find another excuse if I don’t want to go to church because the cat is out of the bag, so to speak, and my husband stated that he refuses to let me use him as a reason anymore!

Number Five:  God must not care that much about NASCAR.

Maybe He had bigger things on His mind last night.

Maybe He just wanted me to come to the realization that church attendance cannot be bartered and if I DO attend, it must simply be because I want to – not because someone won a trophy.

But today, my head is still reeling by trying to make sense of who did win, and the jury is still out. I will let you know the verdict when I come to it.

Thank you for reading.

Coffee & Jeff Gordon

Since I have let you in on the insanity that permeates my grey matter about Jeff Gordon, I thought I would give you an update of the crazy that my mind jumps to, in that regard, in quiet moments of the morning.

It was a dark and stormy morning. (Heh, heh. I love that line) Really though, it was raining. I was in the hot tub as usual. No cats this time, the rain was harshing their morning walkabout buzz. So I was alone. Alone with my thoughts.

AND THEY WENT RIGHT BACK TO JEFF GORDON. Shit.

Like I didn’t have 16 million other things I should be thinking about.

My thought stream went in this direction – Jeff Gordon winning, possibly going to church again, the fact that I had gone to church most of my life, the raising of my daughter in church, the raising of my son not so much in church, the 3 of us travelling so much when they were younger, and the prayer we used to say (I still say) at the beginning of every journey.

Here it is:

Dear Lord,

Thank you for allowing us to go on this trip. (Always start out a prayer with a word of thanks. In my mind it butters God up for what you are going to ask him to do next!)

Please put your hands on the engine and keep it running smoothly. Keep it running exactly like the manufacturer designed it to run. (Seriously, I do not expect God to put his hand on the hot ass engine, but I don’t know how else to phrase it.)

Also, please keep the tires rolling smoothly. Please let them grip the road exactly as they were designed to do. Let there be no implosions, explosions, flats, or hydroplaning. (Yes, I try to cover ALL the bases.)

Please put your guardian angels roundabout the car so that we touch nothing and nothing touches us. (A polite way to say I DON’T WANT TO GET IN AN ACCIDENT!)

Help us to get to –‘insert destination’ – quickly, safely, and with no problems what-so-ever. (That is where, in my mind, I am including speeding tickets without coming right out and saying – Hey God, I am going to speed – please don’t let any cops see me do it! After all, I had impressionable children in the car with me.)

Thank you so much for everything. (Always end a prayer with gratitude too – just saying.)

In Jesus name, Amen.

There you have it. My no fail, never have a problem, travel prayer. Pretty nifty don’t you think?

And now I will let you in on why I recited it to you. Because remember, this is really about Jeff Gordon.

Somehow my warped intellect thought – “Hey, if that prayer has worked for you all these years, why don’t you try it for JEFF GORDON? He is IN A CAR after all!”

I know what you are thinking – WHY THAT IS SHEER GENUIS! (If you aren’t, you should be)

Jeff needs a ‘clean’ race to win. ‘A clean race’ is NASCAR speak for a race with no problems.

A car, a long, fast drive and the need to have no problems! Why WOULDN’T you think of my prayer?!

So this is how the prayer morphed this morning with only ½ of cup of coffee in me, while it was raining, and I was distracted by the fact that I was alone outside and 2 prisoners had just escaped the day before in my town and were still on the loose and I had no cats to guard my safety. (Which is why this all makes perfect sense now, right?)

Dear Lord,

Thank you for allowing Jeff Gordon (if you don’t say the whole name of the person you are praying for, God might think it was any random Jeff that may be on the race track!) to be in the Championship race Sunday. (See – I started with gratitude!)

Please put your hands on his #24 car and keep it running smoothly. Keep it running exactly like Hendrick Motorsports designed it to run.

Also, please keep his tires rolling smoothly. Please let them grip the track exactly as they were designed to do. Let there be no implosions, explosions, flats, or hydroplaning.

Please help his pit crew change his tires and give his car gas with record speed. Don’t let there be any loose or lost lug nuts, no bad track bar adjustments, and not too many pit crew over the wall – no problems what-so-ever.

Please put your guardian angels roundabout Jeff’s car so that he touches nothing and nothing touches him.

Help him be the first to go across the finish line, safely, and with no problems. Let him win his last race so he can be the champion in his final season and go out on top!

Thank you so much for everything you have done for me and I would be totally grateful if you answered this prayer. (Here’s the gratitude again – because you know – it will sway HIM to do what I want)

In Jesus name, Amen.

This incident tells me too things. I know too much about NASCAR and I should NEVER get into the hot tub before having 2 cups of coffee.

See you Sunday!

Hot Tubs, Jeff Gordon, & Losing Your Mind

This morning I got into my hot tub. It is usually a place that I contemplate the world for a few minutes each morning. I think about my loved ones and say a quick morning prayer for them, watch my cats wander around the ‘porch shelf’, relax, and generally get ready for the day.

This morning, NASCAR was on my mind. What the hell. Because rich people racing around a track – i.e. “it’s a left turn and another left turn, and another left turn” – is on my top 10 list of world changing activities that needs contemplating in the wee hours of the early morning? Definitely not.

But it IS on my husband’s top ten list.

Therefore I am constantly updated about each Sunday’s race, the drivers, and their standings.

This year Jeff Gordon is retiring – my husband’s favorite driver. So, I hear A LOT about Jeff Gordon.

Don’t get me wrong, I like Jeff Gordon as much as the next person that is an apathetic, indifferent, uninvolved, this ain’t changing MY life so why SHOULD I care racecar fan, but this retiring thing has put a crimp in my laissez faire, I don’t give a shit, attitude about NASCAR.

I WANT Jeff Gordon to win the Sprint Cup (dear god, I even know the trophy’s name. What is happening to me?) this year. I want him to go out a CHAMPION.

He seems to be a nice guy. So in my mind, he should win – because he is retiring.

I am close to retiring too – and I want to go out on top like I want Jeff Gordon to go out on top.

But something is missing for/in me. I could be philosophical about it all and give you a 3 page story about ‘this missing thing’ but I am going to narrow it down to this sentence for the sake of your sanity.

I need to go back to church.

Not want. Not should. Not could. NEED.

However my husband has this Sunday schedule that he likes to adhere to and I balk at messing up this schedule. Yes, I am just that wonderful of a wife!

So I make excuses not to go to church. I mostly use my husband’s Sunday Waffle House/Goodwill/Walmart run as the main excuse, but there are others. Lazy comes to mind as well.

Nevertheless today in my morning meditations/warm bath coziness time my mind came up with this:

“Lord, if you can somehow help Jeff Gordon win the championship this year I will tell my husband that I am going to go to church EVERY Sunday. Well, almost every Sunday.”

What.

The.

Hell.

(Yes, I AM cursing right after I tell you my prayer!)

How in the world did some bargain like that pop into my head? WTF

Number one – you shouldn’t bargain with God.

Number two – what a seriously STUPID bargain!

Number three – you shouldn't curse right after you pray.

Rather than just manning up (womaning up?) and saying to myself and the world (aka my husband) – I AM GOING TO CHURCH. I have to make a deal with God about NASCAR?

Why didn’t I make a bargain like – say – if I win the lottery I will go to church? How about a deal that involves my job giving me a $50,000.00 raise? Or perhaps I go to church after someone gives me a Tesla? Or ANYTHING else that made a little more sense than a NASCAR race that doesn’t affect ME at all??!!

You HAVE to say to yourself – WTF. You just have to!

But the bargain has been made. No matter how stupid or accidental. I am bound by the laws of God, man, and the hot tub.

Sunday is D-Day for me. May the best racer or potentially church going woman win.

Clarification of Things That Go Bump in the A.M.

Something happened this morning that instantly clarified the difference between first – men and women and second – morning people and night owls.

Heads up – I am the woman and the morning person.

6:45 am: As per our normal schedule my husband rises from his slumber and wanders in to the living room to kiss me good morning. I get up between 5:30 am & 6:00 am so I am usually on the couch watching the news.

6:46 am: As per his normal schedule he trundles into the kitchen to take his ‘morning meds.’

6:46:15 am: The refrigerator opens and he takes out his bottle of Perrier (‘Perrier - it just isn’t for rich people anymore!’) to wash down those ‘morning meds.’

6:46:25 am: Not as per normal I hear a BAM – then “SHIT!”

6:46:26 am: I barrel into the kitchen to see what has happened.

To the right I see my husband standing there just staring at the floor. To the left I see one of our cats (his favorite) crouched in horror behind the trash container. And in the middle of them both is the Perrier bottle on the floor surrounded by about a ¼ of its carbonated contents.

It didn’t take me 2 seconds (6:46:28 am) to figure out what had happened. The cat, in a vain attempt to gain extra treats, had jumped up onto the top of the trash can, misjudged, and slid headlong into my Perrier holding husband – who was not quite expecting this maneuver so was ill prepared for this sudden onslaught – and had knocked the Perrier out of his hand, so that it fell open on to the floor.

Here is where the clarification comes in:

Women know what I am thinking, “Quick get a towel!” (After snickering to themselves)

Men are thinking, “What the hell just happened?”

Morning people are thinking, “Why is he just standing there looking like a deer in the headlights? Let’s move people! Let's get this cleaned up!”

Night owls are thinking, “Shit, why did I even get up this morning?!”

There you have it. Differences you may have wondered about explained in a matter of minutes – in an easy to understand format. It doesn’t get any better than that.

It Has To Be The Age - Or The Booze

Today I officially turned 58. I hate it. I loathe getting old. When I was younger I loathed the THOUGHT of growing old and now that it is here my loathing has not diminished but intensified. Now granted, I am always told that the alternative is worse than getting old – but I don’t know anymore…. 

I also have heard that getting old involves losing cognitive functions. You hear and see that talked about everywhere. But not in my family. We just grow old – and older – and older – and then we die. Brain cells and bones intact. 

However, a dream I had this morning between 5:15 a.m. and 6:17 a.m. is making me question whether my brain cells are starting their mutinous decline – or whether I need to stop drinking. The answer could go either way – or both ways – I haven’t decided yet. 

 I want to tell you just how bizarre it was: 

It started with me going to college and I was going to live in the dorm – AT MY CURRENT AGE (a few years shy of 60!). 

No one seemed shocked about this and I was given a roommate assignment, a room assignment, and given a key. I moved a few things in and then got my purse and keys and went out to the ‘quad’ to see if I could find anyone I knew. (Because so many 60 year olds go to college?! What the what?) 

While wandering around I came upon a RV – our RV. (The RV my husband and I own and by the way – where is he?) 

So I think, ‘Hey, I have the weekend since school doesn’t start until Monday and it is only Friday.’ and I hopped in the camper (because I have the keys remember) and drove to a campground. 

I set everything up, the day ends and I go to bed. Alone. 

The next morning I awaken to a storm. I got up and started checking the camper out because I was kind of feeling soggy. It was then that I discovered that the RV had mutated overnight into some weird multi-level camper/tent thing and it was leaking horribly from the tent roof part. I checked everywhere to try to find a way to stop the deluge from continuously spilling inside and ended up finding some awning kind of a thing that I pulled over the tear that seemed to solve my problem.  

Relieved, I went back into the RV part of this RV/tent monstrosity so that I could make some breakfast and THERE WAS MY EX-HUSBAND!! What the hell??!! What was he was doing there? Of course I immediately wanted to bolt out of there – which I did. Thunder, lightning, rain and mud be damned! I had no idea what was happening and I wanted no part of it.  

Next thing I know I had somehow gotten back to the college and realized I had forgotten my purse in the camper and I couldn’t get into my dorm room (Shit). I was a mess! I needed a shower and non-rain soaked/muddied clothes! I turned around so that I could go find the RA to let me in my room and there was Drew Scott! (Yes that Drew Scott – HGTV – Property Brothers) 

Even in the dream, my mind went – WTF??!! 

But he appeared like he wasn’t shocked in the slightest at the situation and acted like he knew me! He asked if there was anything he could do for me. (Of course looking at him made me lose any thought of searching for an RA – who needs some college student to help when you have someone FAMOUS asking to help you!)  

I told him I was locked out of my room and that I needed to go get my keys so that I could come back and take a shower. I also stated that I would like to go to a CVS to get Goody’s powders. (Seriously? That is the best I could come up with?)  

He graciously said he would take me. We got into his car and started talking like we were old friends. I told him about what had just happened in the camper and he agreed about how odd it all seemed. But he assured me he would be more than happy to take me back to the campground (if we could find it) and that he would get my purse for me so I wouldn’t have to see my ex again. (I knew he was a gentleman!) 

We went to CVS and it was at that exact moment I suddenly decided I needed to shower and change my clothes immediately! I didn’t have time to get my keys and I didn’t have time to go to some campground that I had no recollection of how to get to!  

Courteous as always, he offered to take me back to his place, (WHOO HOO!) while patting me on my back to try to calm me down, so that I could shower. He added that he probably had some clothes that fit me. (What? Large old lady clothes? Where would he get something like that? But then again – he is rich!) 

That is when I finally asked him – “WHAT THE HECK? Why are you helping me? I know you are famous and have a skinny girlfriend (whose clothes would NEVER fit me) and you are probably in town doing a show! Why are you even here and making time for me???!!!” 

He calmly turned to me, smiled and said, “Well you seem fun. I like your sense of humor (had I even said anything humorous?) and the TV show is at a point that I don’t have to be there so I am bored.” (Giant WTF is happening here?) 

We drove to this house and he said he was going to Google the campground – but I couldn’t remember the name. (This totally makes all kinds of sense, right?) 

Drew looks sweetly at me and tells me not to worry that we will find the campground no matter how long it takes and then tells me where the bathroom is and provides me with a very nice bathrobe. (Those with money ALWAYS have nice robes) 

So, I go into the bathroom and turn on the shower to get the temperature correct and in walked a guy I work with!! I casually say, ‘Hi Mike! Are you visiting Drew too?’ (Like this is all perfectly normal) and he answers, ‘Yes! I just came in to brush my teeth.’ So he proceeded to brush his teeth and after he left I got into the shower… 

The end. 

I have nothing clever or witty or poignant to say here – except WTF. That really is all I have. 

It has to be the age….

Proof? There Will Be No Proof...

For years now I have been shaving my arm pits almost daily because I think pit hair is gross – even under men’s arm pits. But I was not made the boss of other’s armpits – in THIS universe – so I keep silent.  

But sometimes, I actually want to confront some stranger by walking up to them and yelling – “HEY BUDDY! You need to shave your pits!” I imagine that if I did though, that later as we were talking to the police, I would mutter, “And that is when the fight started.” The thought of being hauled off to jail over pit hair is ridiculous, so I pretty much keep my pit hair thoughts to myself. 

But, because I am Lord and Master of my own underarms I have lately started to wonder about them. I haven’t seen any hair under there in years! I haven’t felt any hair under there in years either! Nor has any pit hair clogged up my razor in my recent past. Probably because of my aforementioned impeccable hygiene routine, but I wonder… 

I kept thinking about our neighbor, Mrs. McCormick, who lived across the street when I was growing up. She once told us, at one of her tea drinking sessions with mom, that she did not have arm pit hair. My sister & I were amazed. We had never heard of such a thing! We were a hairy lot and the thought that one could go through life and have to never so much as graze an armpit with a razor was akin to actually finding out you were a princess, raised by someone in a far off country because as a child a witch threatened to do away with you before your 16^th birthday, and that you were now fabulously wealthy and going to rule a country.  

We knew how improbable BOTH scenarios must be - but it must be possible. We had human proof sitting right in front of our very own eyes, but we knew WE would never be so lucky. 

But time has passed and I began to wonder, if one person had no pit hair, maybe there were others – maybe she was a member of some larger secret group! A group that has to keep their affliction under wraps (so to speak) because if the world was privy to their mutation, they would be treated like aliens! Those free of the hair would be hunted down, poked and prodded, tested, and locked away in Area 51 while the government tried to discover their secret. They would never be allowed to rest – never be safe – never be normal – because all of humanity wanted to be arm pit hair free! Mrs. McCormick had entrusted us with information so monumental it reverberates in my mind to this day. But we kept her secret. We kept her safe! 

Mrs. McCormick had been armpit hair free all her life, but I got to thinking that maybe there was another group in the arena; a secret society that you could join as you aged. Maybe as you got older your pit hair thinned and died and generally gave up. If that was possible, I might be on the threshold of becoming their newest member! 

I had to know! Since it was the beginnings of fall and a time of sleeves, perhaps I could find out! I could get away with this stunt and no one would know since no one would see my pits because they were hidden under a cocoon of material! I could find out if I was one of them and still keep their secret. 

So last week I stopped shaving. I went cold turkey.  

It has now been a full 7 days later and as I perused my pits in the mirror – I.Saw.Nothing! I was elated! I was ecstatic!  

Now I am not going to definitively state that I am now a card caring member of the SHAP (Society of Hairless Arm Pits) – but I am closer now than I have ever been! 

I told my daughter today and she replied, “Lucky jerk.” Yes – yes I am. She was then sworn to secrecy. 

You who read this must keep the secret. Even if you don’t though, you will have no proof of this society – because – this post will self-destruct in 10 seconds. Close it now – before this happens. I don’t want you to get hurt. 

10

9

8

7

6……

I Lived

Hello All!

I just wanted to let everyone know that I lived! By the time the Cat-Scan was scheduled - I no longer felt the need for it.

I worked for doctors for 10 years. I know when the procedure scheduled will just waste your hard earned cash.

I may never know what really happened inside - but if it doesn't cost money to get better - does it really matter?

I am sure I will live to 100, after all, it is genetic in my family; and genetics beat medical procedures any day.

Humor In A Lab Coat

Although I said I would not blog here until I fixed myself, even in the brokenness, sometimes there is humor that even I see. Such is an email I sent to my sister today. It may have more information than you need about me, but you don't actually know me, so the information will be for a faceless blogger in a world full of bloggers.

If you don't find it as funny as I did as I was writing this, it is fine. I just thought I would share.


"OMG, this is too long to text – in my opinion – so I am emailing you. Do you hate doctors like I hate doctors?? Yes – you do, so you will completely understand my snotty sarcasm about this ordeal. 

Last Saturday, Skeet & I were sitting in a restaurant for lunch when a pain of immense magnitude took over my lower left body. Kind of like a I was being stabbed from my left front butt cheek (What is the name of that thing?) up at a sideways angle. The pain gave me hot flashes, chills, nausea, and the need to pee. I went to the bathroom and went #1 (which totally shocked Skeet because I NEVER go to the bathroom in a public place - so he KNEW something was really wrong with me), but the pain remained  - as did the need to pee. It subsided a little Saturday afternoon, but the general hurt and need to pee did not. I still hurt on Sunday, so thinking it was a UTI, I went to the doctor Monday morning. I got poked and prodded and violated (J) in the girly way and had a urine test and a blood test and all manner of things and they found NOTHING.  

So my doctor said that it could be diverticulitis (up until that day I thought diverticulitis was a blanket diagnosis that doctors used when people had pain, they didn’t know what it was, couldn’t figure it out and generally thought the patient was nuts – I know better now because I Googled it), a hernia (from what – lifting a cat?), a kidney stone (ouch!), or a problem with an ovary (Really? A dead shriveled lima bean sized object in my body that hasn’t served a purpose in 10 years?) and that to further diagnose me I should probably have a CT scan. They could do an ultra sound, but it would not show ALL the possibilities that my problem could stem from and a CT scan would. 

My mind instantly went to the fact that those things cost hundreds of dollars that I don’t have. But I was hurting SO bad, I meekly agreed, throwing caution and cost to the wind. I was told that they would have to pre-cert it and then schedule the scan and then they would give me a call with the appointment date. I figured a couple of hours to do that tops – or if they were slow, I would hear from them the next morning. I was sure they would hurry, after I knew the drill because I had worked in a doctors office for 10 years - AND because they knew I was in PAIN.

Remember – I went to the doctor Monday morning, September 14^th. I got the call today – Thursday September 17^th . THREE & ½ days later with the wonderful news that my appointment had been scheduled for – wait for it – Wednesday September 23^rd! What the fuck. 

Good thing it really wasn’t something deadly like my ruptured colon spewing toxins into my system (but it may be – we just don’t know!). I will either be well by next Wednesday – or I will be dead. 

P.S. Also during this time I went cold turkey on using chapstick. Watch out world I have pain going on everywhere!!!! 

P.P.S. Love you, mean it!"

So friends, this time if I really don't ever post again, you will know that my doctor did not get the CT scan done in time to save me...stupid doctors. 

But if I do - you can credit the old saying that what doesn't kill me, makes me stronger. I must be Herculean by now...

Not Finished Yet Apparently

Have you ever noticed that the universe sometimes has a way to tell you to get over yourself, pick up your big girl panties and just get on with it?

Just as I posted I am done for a while and about how my uncle and his PMA was a load of crap; suddenly a song I have never heard of pops up out of the most unlikely of places and tells me that my uncle was NOT the only person who believes in this mind set.

I still don't believe I have it in me to just switch my mind to 'Happy' any more than I can quit my job and you have no idea how badly I would like to quit working, but for a few minutes this made me smile at the coincidence of finding it in the exact moment when I gave up. Maybe I am the one that is wrong.

Interesting. Enjoy!

Maurice Chevalier: "Sweeping the Clouds Away" from "Paramount on Parade" (1930)  

https://www.youtube.com/embed/4AWElH-07mI

Silence of the Fall

I have been silent for so long now, you probably have forgotten that I even blog. 

I initially started this blog in an effort to help me convince myself that you can talk yourself into being happy. My uncle harped to me most of my life about PMA – Positive Mental Attitude. He believed that all you had to do was chant that mantra and all would be right with the world and if you said it enough and believed it hard enough you would be happy.

That is bullshit.

That is the same malarkey that the so called ‘Name It & Claim It’ preachers preach on TV. All they name or claim is your money.

I can’t make myself be happy any more than I can make myself be a cat just by believing it so.

Now, funny is funny and I do see things with a slant toward the humorous, but it is a cover. A mask I have worn for so long that I do not know the difference between myself and the mask anymore.

I am in a very dark place now. Darker than my usual place and I just don’t feel like pretending anymore.

So, as a last ditch effort, here is post that I hope will hold you over until I feel well enough again to write.

Fall:

I have been out of work for a couple of days. Now, that makes me happy – but I was not happy about the reason I was out.

I fell and apparently if you are over 50, you should not try to refill a hummingbird feeder, open a glass door and hold it open while trying to step over a dog as you are going down brick stairs. The cement managed to stop my fall immediately. And you thought cement was only for walkways. Who knew that it could save you from total destruction?

It definitely was not something fun enough to do again, but I did get to call in sick for a few days!

Yay, cement!