A Little of This, A Little of That...

Just a few idle thoughts from the snowbound.

If the power stays on, I may flesh the thoughts out... otherwise, it’s bullets, baby.

My electric company is sending me emails, reminding me to charge all my devices.

Okey-dokey!

This made me laugh pretty hard:

I really can't decide which one I like best!

Found this note on a desk at work:

Now, how exactly...? Hmmmmm...

Caught an 11-year old kid copping a feel on this while he thought no one was watching:

Just wait, kid. It'll only get better...

It's National Puzzle Day!! And there's a blizzard!

I have a plan...

Anyone else finding their imaginations running amok since the announcement of The Big Split?

Or is that just me?

(Two feet of snow be damned..., it's gettin' WARM in here!)

Frustrations of the Season

It hasn’t precisely been a bad summer… work is sucking eggs and Mother Nature is trying to either kill us or drive us insane with the weather patterns she’s created for Summer 2021… but there is plenty that is going right, as well. 

It’s just that this summer seems particularly rife with petty frustrations - things that shouldn’t warrant even a blip on life’s radar, but which nonetheless have assumed a significance that feels positively epic. My assumption is that things seem particularly irksome because we’ve had 17 months of playing tug-of-war with the universe and are all a little short of patience. 

Whatever the reason… I’m still ready to hit things.

So I’ve turned to Practicing Pollyanna.

Gritting your teeth because you just spent $30 and 5 hours getting, trimming, and prepping a board to repair your window frame, only to discover your father went rogue during construction and you can’t actually use your Wood of Great Effort and Expense?

     Jz Wants To: Beat someone with the now-useless trimmed and painted board.

     Pollyanna Sez: Find some clapboards to trim and jury-rig - and be grateful you had them.

Devastated that your special once-a-year birthday splurge on the chocolate-dipped-with-shots bowl at Coldstone Creamery ended up all over the parking lot? 

     Jz Wants To: Wail like an 8-year old

     Pollyanna Sez: Remind yourself that you’d eaten most of the ice cream and that at least the mess didn’t land inside your car. 

Frustrated that your lawn is nothing but dirt and crabgrass while your gravel driveway has filled in with a profusion of healthy grass?

     Jz Wants To: Rail at the universe and fret over the expense of chemicals and seed.

     Pollyanna Sez: Appreciate the fact that you were given free resources to perform transplants and giggle over the thought that your lawn is now sporting hair plugs.

Maddened by the fact that the only thing flourishing in your garden this year are the 4.5-foot tall coneflowers that are growing RIGHT where you need to place your 6-foot ladder?

     Jz Wants To: Trample the flowers in a fit of pique

     Pollyanna Sez: Grudgingly finesse the ladder into place… and admire the picture it makes.

 I hope July is being good to all of you!

Lexicological Land Mines

If you’ve read here any length of time, you’ll know that I tend to bumble my way through life. I’ve never really found my niche, nor have I ever really found my anchor. (Well, SP is kind of my rock but that’s a different type of mooring than I mean. He gives my soul a center … but I still haven’t found my place.) 

Despite the worries created by my aimless existence, however, one thing I can still claim to my credit is a very strong sense of self. I don’t always like the person I am, but I accept her. Even in my younger and more socially-eager days, I didn’t put a lot of effort into trying to change in order to fit in better. I may have spent a lot of time in thinky-thought, pondering how different I was from those around me, but it was a purely academic exercise. For all the why-ing and mandatory existential angst, I never seriously considered the need for any real change. I was me, they were them, we just all needed to figure out how to get along. (And I am only prepared to do my 50% portion of that, thank you very much.)

A positive side effect of this innate arrogance confidence is that it makes a person fairly adaptable. Self-acceptance leaves you with the space to accommodate differences and discoveries. For example, as I’ve said before, when I realized I was submissive, it was a bit of a surprise but it didn’t profoundly alter my sense of identity - it was simply another thing to incorporate.

Despite that lofty claim, however, there are some descriptors that are just never going to fly - and BG stumbled onto one of them the other night. He was doing his usual pre-playtime ramping up of the heat, a thing at which he is extremely skilled. This man can use words to reduce me to a puddle of goo quicker than about anyone I’ve known. However, words can be tricky. Many have a range of meanings and nuances and the primary definition for one person may not be the first to mind for another…

So, I’m reasonably sure than when he called me “subservient”, he meant to focus on the way in which I am “prepared to obey unquestioningly”. I, however, felt like he was calling me “useful in an inferior capacity”… and that is just not a sentiment destined to heat my loins. 

     “Different capacity” - I have no problem with. 

     “Inferior”? - It’s time for you to go home now…

But until we have a chance to get that sorted out, I politely requested that he rethink his use of that particular word. And thankfully, because he is also a thinking guy, he simply said, “Whoops! Sorry that struck a nerve. It’s submissive you are” … and moved right on to fueling more heat.

I love a man who understands the power of nuance... and how to avoid a landmine.

Yard Sale Adventures

I was committed to hosting one ("Location, location, location!") but not actually ready for it. The day arrived, however... and at some point, you have to just say, “All this is really going to cost me is some heavy lifting and a day” … and just go for it.

Monetarily, the results reflected my preparedness. I made some money but not a killing. 

The people-watching, however, was priceless.

A very handsome, engaging man (higher on the “attractive-to-Jz” scale than the new neighbor and more age-appropriate as well,) spent several lovely minutes beaming and telling me how happy I had made him by selling him my old wok. (If only it were always that easy to enchant men!)

A vivacious young woman in a vibrantly colored tube top jump suit (which she wore over an extremely pedestrian brassiere) hopped out of her car, marched straight to two of the larger items for sale and handed me the asking price with no haggling. (“These will be perfect for my work!”) Carrying the pieces triumphantly over her head (showing both an impressive amount of upper body strength and a significant increase of visible bra), she surfer-walked them to her car and then fought with her husky to “Move over and make room!” 

She made me smile - and feel very old at the same time…

One young boy was so enthralled with his new model car that he walked straight into the pedestal sink, forcing his mother to perform a leap of heroic distance to body-check the teetering porcelain before it toppled onto the lad’s brother.

A crotchety old lady bulldozed her way through my front hedges and complained about stubbing her toe on the big telephone pole anchor which is embedded beneath the hedges - the one that belongs to the utility company and which I cannot do anything about. (And by the way madam, why are you walking through my hedges in the first place?) She then bitched at me for not planting some grass seed to cover the large bare patches in lawn and turned, empty-handed, to barge her way back through the hedges - stubbing her toe a second time and turning back to yell, “See? This is a hazard!"

I called a polite, “Thank you for bringing it to my attention” while my sister-in-law, who is the most Christian of women, muttered, “Some people!” beneath her breath.

Not every encounter was that notable but they were all fun. Men hopping out of their trucks to ask if I have any marbles (“Nope, I’ve lost all of mine!”), women getting excited about potholders, that kind of thing. Mostly, we just met people and were reminded that we live in a community, not a bubble. We greeted and smiled, chatted and waved goodbye. 

Now it's time for the next step... the rented dumpster!

Happiness (these days) Is...

New Spudgers

My old ones were worn down to nubs, so my boss bought me a new set.

It was Christmas in July, I tell ya!

(Seriously - cracking open a laptop without a decent spudger is one of the world’s Top Ten Stinking Miserable Experiences.)

New Drill Bits

No more weeding through Dad’s box of old worn, dull, and completely unorganized bits in hopes of finding the right size. I now have my own bright, shiny, multi-purpose set and have already tackled several projects I’d been stalling on for want of the proper tool. 

(*insert emphatic nod and vaguely triumphant expression*)

Garden Tomatoes

Really. Does this even need explanation?

No. I didn't think so.

Oh, and did I mention I might have ordered a couple of jigsaw puzzles?

Snippet #47

I was texting with a friend who lives with his elderly mother. 

Naturally, the conversation turning to Stay At Home preparedness…

             Him: We do have disinfectant wipes, altho’ not a lot of them…

             Me: Yeah, I had to make my own with bleach solution. I got the ratio from the CDC.

             Him: Cool! We have plenty of hand sanitizer, tho’.

             Me: Missed that boat too. But I had recently bought a new bottle of isopropyl alcohol for cleaning computers, so I’m making my own sanitizer using that and aloe.

             Him: That’s resourceful! But if you start telling me about how you wove your own toilet paper with pulp made from downed limbs in your yard, I’m going to hang up on you…

             Me: Nah. You've given me an idea, tho'! 😋

Happy Thanksgiving!

Company has arrived, there’s been a revolving door of visitors coming in and out to visit the company, and the dog has been obsessed with re-staking his claim on my land.

Life is very good - and I wish the same for all of you.

Enjoy the day, no matter where you are!

Well, That's Done Now

*PHEW!*

It was fun, however. Thanks for sticking with me... 

(and please don’t expect me to keep up that pace!)

I’ll be back in a day or so, after I’ve rested and caught up with real life.

In Which I Resort To Bullet Points

I simply don’t seem to be able to settle down to write, but I’m tired of doing nothing but Star Trek Sundays (and yes, I’m one behind but there’s sort of a catch-up included in this post) so I decided to hijack an idea from one of the cooking bloggers I read regularly - Iowa Girl Eats. (Good stuff and a lot of DF/GF for those who need it!) It's both writing prompt and a bit of a cheat, since you don’t have to write much about anything, but that seems to be what I need at the moment, so here we go…!

Currently...

Time and place: 

        High noon on MLK Day, curled up on my sofa under a blankie, enjoying the sunlight through a window, as it’s only 10ºF (-12ºC) out there and I refuse to set foot outside my door.

Cooking: 

        Bone broth in the crockpot

Anticipating: 

        My first attempt at pastélon, which is planned for dinner this evening. I’ve never had this, but I like lasagna, pastitsio, and plantains, so I’m willing to give it a go!

Experiencing: 

        Tooth pain and the winter blues.

This is not an ideal combination, particularly if you’re hoping to write interesting blog posts.

Reading:

        Time’s Convert. Finally!

A follow-up to the All-Souls trilogy that started with my much-loved “A Discovery of Witches”, I’ve been patiently waiting for my turn on this for months! (As well as nobly ignoring my desire to blow raspberries at gg for having read it already.) But finally last night, my library let me know that it was available and I am All Over It Now. 

Listening:

        Mostly to the gerbils in my head - the ones pondering both my financial future and how I really feel about love. They’re loud, they’re circular, they're pessimistic, they’re annoying - and they’re also pretty danged insistent. I may may need to purchase some rat poison soon…

Bingeing:

        Re-runs of Two Fat Ladies.

No idea why, except they make me laugh. 

        

Avoiding:

        Reality.

I find this helps me enjoy life more…  ;-p

Crushing:

        John Cusack.

Does that really need explanation?

Anticipating:

        Playing hooky for a day with Kraken.

Sometimes we go far afield, sometimes we stay close to home, but it’s always fun to hang out with my friend, no matter what we do. (Mrs. Kraken just shakes her head and calls us “two peas in a pod”)

Craving:

        A spiral baked ham on ciabatta roll sandwich (with pickle and mayo.) I’ve had both of these items waved temptingly under my nose for most of the 6 weeks that I’ve been unable to chew either one of 'em. When we finally get this tooth thing under control, I’m gonna go wild!

Feel free to share any of your own!

(ok, technically, there are no bullet points - but you know what I mean!)

To Boldly Go...

If you’ve read here for a while, you may recollect that I’ve been on the hunt for a new masseuse for quite some time now - but I haven’t been having a lot of luck. Some of that is time, some of it is money, and some of it is simply a question of the stars not lining up for me.

I think that's about to change, however.

As I was weaving myself, my bags, and my sceptre of sprouts out of the farmers market the other day, a little sign way back in the corner caught my eye.

“Massage - A Dollar A Minute”

Being both sore of shoulder and in possession of a rare bit of spare cash, I decided to spring for a five-minute teaser. I dropped my purchases off in the car and came back to wait my turn. I listened politely to the woman’s spiel… She’s new to the area and just got her business set up so this seemed like a good way to get the word out about her services, yada yada yada… I’ll admit, I kind of tuned her out pretty quickly. Her office, while close to the farmers market, is fairly out of the way of my normal daily commute and I didn’t think it likely that she’d ever get much more than this five dollars out of me.

Until she started working on my back.

The noise and chatter of the crowded venue faded into the background, drowned out by the contented hum of pleasure vibrating through my body.

I moaned. I melted. I briefly contemplated proposing marriage.

When my five minutes were up, I wanted to cling to the chair like a two-year old and wail, “No! Don’t WANNA leave! You can’t make me!”

She was just that good.

As a result, I anticipate that I’ll be spending more time out at the far end of my home range in the future…. and I’ll be doing it with a smile on my face.

So the moral of the story is:

Don’t be afraid to spend that $5 to try out an unknown.

You may be pleasantly surprised!

Or, you know, not…

In Which The Farmers Market Almost Undoes Me

I live in a home of 1950’s construction - one with funny little nooks and cabinets hung in unusual places. There is a niche dedicated to holding what was a full refrigerator at the time but by now, that same space can only be filled by an apartment-sized fridge. Which is fine - I’m single, I only need but so much food at one time anyhow… except… at the holidays.

For a couple of weeks now, in anticipation of my Thanksgiving food storage needs, I’ve been methodically working my way through all the extraneous bits and bobs that can accumulate in one’s fridge. (Do you guys end up with two open jars of the exact same condiment too, or is that a super-power unique to me?) The cleaning-out went well and I was feeling confident about the available space situation when I headed out the door to the farmers market yesterday morning.

I will not describe the mad-house that was the produce area - suffice it to say that I consider myself lucky not to have incurred an unfortunate brussels sprouts injury. (Seriously, these things could be used as cudgels!) 

Instead, let’s just say that I fought the good fight and obtained everything on my list.

I realized as I was loading up my car, however, that I had a problem. My haul consisted of nothing more than brussels sprouts, a head of broccoli, one of cauliflower, some kale, and five sweet potatoes, yet I had two overflowing bags and a stalk of sprouts that, quite literally, was as long as my leg. (And I’m the one who needs pants with a 36” inseam, remember…) My produce took up more space than a 10-year old child… yet it all needed to go into my modest refrigerator!

So when I got home, Project Produce Deconstruction was launched. I took the crisp bunch of kale and began to chop and de-rib, reducing its volume from that of an over-sized watermelon to something that fit nicely into a gallon-sized ziploc bag. The broccoli and cauliflowers were ruthlessly de-leafed, resulting in two neat heads that just about fit into the crisper drawer and an armful of stalk and leaves for the compost heap. Then I cleared off the countertop, maneuvered the cudgel stalk of sprouts so it dangled over the edge onto the cutting board, and began to excise the buds. Loose leaves drifted over my feet and I quickly filled up another gallon-sized ziploc bag. (I also bagged up the crown of leaves at the top, as the woman at the market assured me they are excellent when sauteed. I am slightly skeptical but willing to try…)

At last, everything was in convenient storage containers that fit nicely into the fridge - and with room left over, even! So I gathered up the detritus and headed outside, where I briefly channeled royalty; processing across my yard with a scepter of stalk, an armful of flowing vegetable leaves, and petals of Brussels sprouts gently strewing themselves along my way. It was a very enjoyable moment of fantasy - which ended abruptly when my foot (in its imaginary dainty slipper) squelched into the compost heap. 

Grinning, I tossed my regalia onto the pile and went inside to restore myself by sampling another purchase - cinnamon chip brioche rolls. With butter. And a cup of coffee.

Equilibrium Restored.

Let the holiday cooking begin!

Klingon Turkeys

The Saga of the Kitchen Marathon

I’d promised to do some cooking for a family event this past Sunday. A little thought and planning during the week left me with a nicely-paced schedule for calmly and methodically proceeding through all the cooking during the first part of the weekend, ending with a triumphant delivery of the goods on Saturday evening.

Except then it turned out that Friday evening presented me with a window of exactly 3 hours between oppressive humidity and a week of rain - so I needed to hit a lick at my really shaggy grass. (“Shaggy” doesn’t particularly bother me, but “shaggy left to enjoy five days of rain” becomes more than I can handle.)

I flew home from work, donned some grubbies, and proceeded to mow as if all the hounds of hell were pursuing me. Then I drank copious amounts of water and collapsed onto the floor in front of the fan - which is pretty much where I spent the rest of the night. No shopping, no prep work.

So much for calm and measured - I started my Saturday already behind the eight ball.

Meaning I rushed - and in rushing, nearly fumbled the whole game.

It started with the sheets of meringue. They were scheduled to go in first, early in the day, since they had to cook on a low heat for a long time. But I didn’t have enough eggs to “bake first, shop later” so I had to brave the grocery store at an ungodly hour, with not nearly enough caffeine in me. But that’s okay. I wasn’t exactly on schedule but I’d factored in some wiggle room - I should be fine.

Except that I had bad oven karma and the heat got set too high. Not only did I end up completely torching the meringues, but I’d also managed to get a bit of plastic bag stuck to the bottom of one of the cookie trays before I slid it into the oven and there were lovely abstract blue swirls dripped all over the meringue below. Which in and of itself might not have been so bad, since I was already tossing the blackened mess - but a veritable plethora of polymer stalactites still dangled tantalizingly from the oven rack, which meant I had to pause to clean. (Hopefully, without festooning myself with molten plastic.)

Fortunately, luck was with me. I managed to safely clean the oven and get the entire burnt/melted/smelly mess thrown out, all without injury or incident. Sighing heavily, I washed off all the bowls and beaters, re-drew my circles on fresh parchment paper, separated more eggs, and began again. 

“Meringues, take two” went into the oven.

I then returned to the no-bake cookie bites I had left half-way through preparation when I paused to investigate the smell of burning sugar. By now, the mixture had “rested” for a bit too long and the strata between wet and dry ingredients had turned to an edible concrete strong enough to bring my blender to its knees. Fortunately, the challenge could be met with a bowl and manual labor but still... the amount of physical exertion required to wrangle the mix into submission was fairly astonishing. (But I get bonus points for not sweating into the dough!) 

Mixture reintegrated and rolled, the no-bakes were finished and I moved onto some shortbread cookies. Those went together without any trouble (!) and went docilely into the fridge for chilling. (!!)

I was now at the half-way point, so I gave my meringues a quick check - and discovered they were already Almost Burned Again. Sputtering with annoyance (I’ve made these plenty of times before and never had this kind of trouble,) I eyeballed them quickly and decided I’d caught things just in time, so I snapped the oven off and left them for the final hour of drying. (This was particularly good since I was now completely out of both eggs and sugar and would have had to run to the store again before I could continue, otherwise.)

Most of that drying hour was spent washing yet more dishes (déja vu all over again) and cleaning up the disaster formerly known as countertop.

Then it was time to pull the shortbread out of the fridge for slicing - only to find that each pull of the knife released a slice of cookie that immediately crumbled into chunks. (Guess I shouldn’t have tossed in those couple of extra spoonfuls of almond flour that were left in the bag, after all.) By now, I had reached that numb stage of disbelief where you just sigh and keep going. So, I gathered and pressed the chunks back into rounds (they held!), then got the cookies laid out on the tray and into the oven without further ado. They turned out fine, praise be. (*phew!*)

The baking portion of the day was now over, albeit much, MUCH later than I had intended. Just more dish washing, then I’d finish up by cooking the ice cream mixture that would make magnificent use of the egg yolks.

Except - I had twice the egg yolks now - and egg yolks don't keep well.
Another plan was needed…
I scoured the fridge and considered my options. I finally decided on a veggie frittata - let the grating begin! I got everything together and onto the stove… and my phone rang.

It was the event hostess. She wouldn’t know until a couple of hours before the event but did I have enough potatoes on hand to make a potato salad if it turned out they needed one?

Well, sure. But two hours is not enough notice for producing a decent potato salad. Potatoes take a while to cook, they have to cool enough to handle, and the salad really needs time for the flavors to meld.
Plus, frankly, I flatly refused to heat another burner or dirty another pan the next day. So, I chose the “safe than sorry” route and put a pot on to boil and started scrubbing potatoes. (Because, you know, I hadn’t washed enough things yet that day…)

And I STILL had the ice cream to go!

Good heavens.

It was 8 o’clock at night before I finally finished the last of the cooking and cleaning up.

I was hot, dehydrated, with sore feet, and let’s not even discuss the condition of my hands…

Fortunately, the event was lovely and made it all worth while.

Or mostly, anyhow. (Anybody want some potato salad?)

Bitch On a Hot Tin Roof

(Or at least a hot living room floor...)

Not only is it miserably hot but it is also deeply, unpleasantly humid around here - and has been for a couple of weeks now - a long, relentless stretch of oppressive weather, the kind that makes you want to keep at least three feet between you and any other breathing creature. 

       Sitting makes me sweat.

       Reclining makes me sweat.

       Breathing makes me sweat.

Kneeling on the floor with my hands tied behind his back and my face pressed into his crotch REALLY makes me sweat. 

I may have to reconsider my stance on air conditioning…

July 4th

For the holiday celebration, I was going to make this:

                                   But this happened:

                                              So...

They get this.

I'm not really anticipating complaints...

Happy Fourth of July!

The Halloween Miracle

You may have heard that New England experienced a bit of a storm early this week?

I was one of those over 1 million left without power, along with pretty much my entire town. 

Initially, the power company was confidently predicting repairs within 24 hours… then they decided that maybe that wasn’t realistic - and announced we should prepare to wait up to a week.  *bah*

Annoying as “no lights, no water, no internet” was, however, the worst was that it started to look as though there would be no Halloween this year. This was extremely disappointing. Despite my advanced age, I am a true kid at heart and I just love to make a big fuss about Halloween. I like to carve elaborate jack o’lanterns, put out spooky candles, have eerie (but not truly scary) movies on rotation in the DVD, and just generally revel in the atmosphere of it all. But with no power, none of that was going to happen. Seriously, even bracketing the power-dependent movies, what parent in their right mind is going to let their children go trick or treating along country roads with no streetlights - knocking on doors of the pitch-dark houses of strangers? No one I know, certainly.

I resigned myself to a dismal holiday evening.

But then, late in the afternoon of the 31st, I discovered that a Halloween Miracle had occurred! The power company had performed an eleventh-hour save and We Had Lights! 

(And water, and internet!)

YAY!!  Let The Halloweening Begin!

…Except now I was completely unprepared.

I hadn’t carved my pumpkin, because that’s just too messy a task when you’re eking out your second day from a single potful of water (yes, this one caught a lot of us woefully unprepared); the spooky candles were still languishing in the previously impenetrably dark recesses of the basement; and most importantly, The Candy needed to be set out! (I hadn’t dared open the bag early, because I don’t hold to that dubious philosophy of buying bad candy so you won’t eat any… it doesn’t work AND it’s the quickest way to get your windows soaped that I know. Plus, it offends my moral principles to spend good money on bad candy. But that means that the bag must remained sealed until the last possible moment.)

So there was much scrambling to be done at Casa de Jz.

The spooky candles were duly located, dusted, and exchanged for the heavy-duty utility candles on the bookcases. The evening’s DVD selection (Sleepy Hollow, for the win!) was placed in the machine at the ready. The candy bowl was disinterred, scrubbed out (possibly rinsed longer than necessary - just because I could,) and filled. (Check out this God tier assortment!) 

Then the pumpkin was hastily carved, altho’ the last-minute nature of the work forced a change of design and required an aberrantly large nose to disguise a pumpkin blemish. Nonetheless, a cheery, if bulbous-nosed, visage was the result.

My jovial jack o’lantern was propped up in the window and all candles were lit juuuuust as the first echoes of laughing children started wafting through the air. I snapped on the porch light (possibly flicked it on and off an extra couple of times - just because I could,) and had barely put the matches away before the first knock came. I waved the first round of revelers on their way, sat down within arm’s reach of the candy bowl, and hit “play” on the remote.

Aaaaaaaah.... bliss.

How was your Halloween?

Oooh! Another Rabbit Hole!

It all started when I found a link promising to inform me how I handle being single, based on my astrological sign. While I don’t really believe these things, I can never entirely discount them, either. There are nuggets buried within - AND - I usually get a good laugh out of them. 

So I clicked through to see just how bad my prospects for future serenity are… 

Super complicated souls, Cancers, on one hand, relish their independence, so being single is not a problem. But on the other, they’re also fairly dependent and need someone to care for them and support them in handling their emotional issues, which means ultimately they cannot stand remaining single.

Hmmm… Well, it explains a lot about how I ping-pong around, doesn’t it? My inner rugged individualist wanted to quibble over the word “need” but the reality is that, while I can certainly live without someone to care for me and support me, I do not thrive without that. It is a need in that I am my best me when I feel like I matter to someone. (Which explains much about my life, really, but that is another post for another day.)

So, okay. 

Neither as depressing as I’d anticipated nor as bolstering as I’d secretly hoped, but nothing I can argue against. I'll go with it.

But, look!

Another link, ranking the zodiac signs based on how good they are in bed! 

Too tempting, even if it did induce trepidation. 

I clicked.

*phew!* - Number Three

(Am I being really bad if I delight in the fact that I came in six places higher than BG?)

Cancers are the most sensual sign in the Zodiac, they love every aspect of sex (as long as it’s with someone they care about). They savor their partner’s pleasure and are quick learners when it comes to what makes their body tick. If you want to be kissed, caressed, and treasured throughout the deed, choose a Cancer.

I’m not going to venture any opinion on how accurate I think this is… except that I loved the parenthetical disclaimer. “(as long as it’s with someone they care about) “ That part is quite true. If I don’t care about you, I don’t care about sex - and as a prickly, persnickety, detached kind of person, you can imagine where this leaves me.

No matter, tho’. I’ll take that third position and smile about it. :-)

But, look!

Yet another link, ranking the zodiac signs by how likely they are to snap and kill you!

(Seriously, even you devoted skeptics, could you resist clicking that one?)

I sure couldn’t.

12 - Cancer 

Cancers have huge hearts and their empathetic nature is something they’re enormously proud of. To get a Cancer to a point of actually killing someone would be basically impossible. That sort of unpredictability and volatility is not at all in their personality. Just randomly killing someone isn’t something a Cancer is capable of doing; they’re just too kind.

Another “hmmm…” yet, despite a healthy dose of skepticism over the words “empathetic” and “kind”, I’m going to let this one go unchallenged. I may be perfectly capable of delivering a good, solid kick to someone in self-defense, but Weenie Girl, even when seeing those big green blotches of complete, consuming rage, does prefer to stomp away rather than raising her cudgel.

So, yeah, I’ll take that twelfth place.

Say it loud, “I’m last and proud!”

Same Road, Different Spot

Remember this?

One year later, almost to the day...

    on the same road, coming back from the same farmers market,

          I see this:

Screw Halloween - I’m starting to think that mid-August is when the spirits are truly restless!

Update, Reasons, and Thanks

I got laughing at myself, posting for Love Our Lurkers time, because in truth, I have felt like my own biggest lurker lately. Like many in this corner of Blogland, my well has run low.

Reasons abound, of course.

The biggest is just that I’m plain busy.

At work, those changes I said I hated have resulted in long days that leave me drained, physically and mentally. Plus, I’m also working more hours at my second job. House repairs put serious dents in a girl’s pocketbook and I’m doing what I reasonably can to offset at least a little of that pain. But that means more hours hunched over a desk, squinting at multiple computer screens (oh, for the days when I only had to look at one!) … which kind of dulls the excitement of going home and hunching over a different computer screen as a way to relax. (Altho’ at least there is only one there…)

Then there’s the house itself. 

Besides the usual seasonal tasks of raking, garden clean-up, and gutter clearing, I’m facing some major house repairs and renovations. Most of which involve stuff I can’t do. (“Step away from the electrical, Jz…”) But there is a goodly chunk that I can tackle, so I’ve been chipping away at those parts in my downtime. 

Which, by the way, would go a lot more quickly if my father hadn’t been an “outside the box” thinker when it came to construction. (It’s solid, by God, but to pull it apart…?  BG took a look at some of it and went, “WTF???”  … Yes - Exactly.) Plus, in addition to the interesting construction, I’m also battling the defiance of 60 years worth of rust. My house went from smelling like burnt tar and epoxy to the pungent fumes of assorted penetrating oils. (None of which have been significantly helpful yet.)

It’s just not a quick process. (And I do not own a Sawzall.)

There are also relationship reasons for my silence. 

We’re doing fine. (Altho’ I’m questioning how much longer we will go before the next major intersection is reached.) He’s still molding and crafting… but, well, I just seem to be having fewer and fewer eureka moments that I want to share with the world. (Partially because the ones I do have seem to be additional turns of the same old cogs. This counts as progress of course, but it still ends up sounding like I’m talking circles around the same stinkin’ thing. And that gets tedious for both reader and writer.)

There’s still a whole lot of joy in what we do, and a lot of laughter and caring… just not as many stories at the moment. (Altho I do have an idea for one, if I can finesse it into the form I want!)

Finally, there’s BlogLand itself. 

It’s plain ol’ quieter in my little corner these days - and while I completely understand why that is, a lot of the desire to talk out loud here stems from the interaction it gives me with people. Many a good post has started with a thought that bounces off something that someone else has said, so when fewer people are writing and comments are down (that’s not guilt, just a fact,) there are simply fewer reflective surfaces for the bouncing ball that is my brain. Of course, I can still lob the odd thought out there by myself, but it's just not as much fun to do that when no one returns your serve.

None of which is anyone’s fault - but it is a factor.

Which is a big reason why I am so appreciative of all the LOL Day comments, from lurkers and known quantities alike. Your responses gave me a much-needed boost of blogging energy and I thank you all for that.

In fact, I’m feeling so good about it, I’m gonna bake you all some cookies! :-D

Stay tuned…

Labor Day Sales

It's an interesting marketing technique but I'm not sure how far it's going to get them...

"Because I Like It" Wednesday

Now there's a philosophy to live by!