boomlennials.com

thousand. What was Frank even singing about having a few, but too few to mention. Oh, come on now. Liar. There are those who say if they had to do life all over again, they would do it the same. Really? Should we take a poll of those who know/knew you? Dumped you? Disowned you? Okay, that’s a bit (a bit?) dramatic, but who are you to judge yourself. I know hindsight is 20/20, but I never really knew what that means for my eyes, let alone my long and boisterous life. I have a new wee wee one in my world, and I’m watching her being parented. Wonderfully, beautifully, perfectly. It got me thinking of my own parenting style, and it almost made me gasp. Not really, but I’m sure the new parents would. I was what would probably be called a free spirit. Natural births, cloth diapers (boy I regret those horrible things), nursing for months because it was wholesome, and partly sheer laziness. Not about to fix a bottle in the middle of the night. I need you to swim. A blow in the face and underwater you go. See what I’m saying here? A little loosy goosy. Because I had no family around, those babes were going everywhere. Planes, trains, automobiles. Boats, totes, and baskets on the floor. Mama needed out, and we were in it together. Just livin la vita loca. And although I probably should regret some of all that, not happening. Now there’s a whole lot more of parenting that I could give a side eye to, but let’s just leave it there. Back to regrets. Things I’ve said that were toothpaste. No going back in that tube. Choices I’ve made that seemed like a good (ish) decision at the time. How many perms did I really need? You know, the important things. I really regret not enjoying my body at many different sizes. Most of them just fine. Those muscular legs that I thought were ‘fat’ were awesome. They let me jump tall buildings at a single bound. And play sports and flip and dive and ski blah blah. Didn’t like them. Always dieting, but why? You looked great. Ok, the mullet should be a big regret. Some of this stuff of course is trivial, because that’s how I roll. There are lots-oh-things I could have done better, but probably more that could be a lot worse. I try not to dwell on regrets, because what’s the point and who gives a flying f*ck anyway. Just don’t be that person who thinks they have it all together. You don’t.

Otherwise known as the upcoming Holidays. With a capital H. I just returned from a nice vacay down south where I was determined not to think about the big H. Much easier to do when it’s warm and sunny and not pouring cold rain. Historically, I’ve kept my stress level to a minimum (sure sure that’s what she said) by repeating ‘it’s only one meal, it’s only one day’ or some such other trash. How’s that working for you, Sis? I know this stuff is Very Important to lots-oh-people, so I’ve deferred to them. Buttttt, there are just wayyyy too many of those these days. And it’s jangling my nerves. Somehow, I always seem to be the mediator and that is Not where I want/need to be. I just want to be fed and perhaps a nice gift. NOT a robe. Saturday Night Live has the best skit about Mom always getting a robe so it’s not just me. Even the local shelter where I donate clothes gives them back to me. Not really because I would nevvvvver part with a beautiful robe. Never. Fortunately, Manfriend always gets me lovely gifts and big underwear. Which I like. Until he folds the laundry and holds them up while trying not to smile. Which he does not succeed at. When I called him out on it last time he knew he was busted, and was trying not to laugh. I like him anyway. For now. PTSD. It’s a thing. I don’t want to make light of it because it is a serious disorder, but sometimes you can be haunted when least expected. Damn ghosts. Charles Dickens isn’t the only one who gets visits. I’m sure it will all be fine (it won’t), and no feeling will be hurt (they will), but I guess there will be a fascinating blogue for another day. BTW…you are what you eat. Hence, the large undies. #andthismankeepsmecalm #sodoeschocolate

I bet you had a moment of Grandma Worry-Wart or Aunt Chicken Little. That ain’t me, baby. But I admit I have to fight it off more times than I’d like. Over-thinking things is more my go to. And I don’t like it. Weighing everyone’s voices in my head, when truly there is only one voice that should mattter. Mine. I’ve evolved in this. Somewhat. I’ve learned that while I’m trying to make good decisions for the masses, they are not doing that for me. Sometimes by neglect, sometimes by really not giving a sh*t. Living their life and so be it. That’s where I want to get. It does sound selfish, but self is where I need to be more often. I had more years than I want to admit to rolling over. Even for people I didn’t even like. Keep the flow. Don’t make waves. Everybody happy happy. Except me. Which was odd because I’m not sure anyone even noticed. Livin la vida loca. As I’ve matured into my Boomlennialness (yes that’s a word), I don’t want to be the pearl clutcher. I’d rather people wonder what the rat fink is up to a bit. Probably takes some getting used to by my peeps, but so be it. I want to make good, rational decisions for me. And if others start shaking their heads, there’s an emoji for that. “Uneasy lies the head that wears the crown” saith my friend Bill Shakespeare. I aspire to be a queen. With very heavy diamonds.

It’s about damn time!! I have spent way too many summers (and cold springs) basking outdoors just to get a splash of color and a fizzle of endorphins. Much, much needed endorphins. As I’ve rehashed with you before, I still think the sun is good for me. And I’m not backing down on that to my pasty, weak boned Boomlennials. However, enough. After all these years, it’s time for the sun to worship me back. I did you enough justice. It’s not just the sun, though. I can barely read People magazine anymore without scoffing. And I don’t even know what a scoff is. The ‘stars’ who are sharing their stories are really boring. I can out drama them without even going too deep into the vault. Yes, they can memorize lines and emote them back which I assume is a skill, but then you want to enrich me with your life. Or exercise routine. Or think it’s ‘a thing’ not to shower for days. Been there, too, and not in a good way. Most of you are just not that fascinating. We all have our heroes we worship, and some are justified. But I’m thinking most are not. In the grand scheme of things, you ain’t all that. Fellow Boomlennials, I bet we kick their a$$ in a lot of ways. Family. Oh yea, we’ve survived the drama and kept our offspring going. Has anyone starved to death under our watch? Probably not. Are you cold right now? Hot? Or juuuust right. Boomlennials are Goldilocks on steroids. And we deserve to be worshipped. As much as society might try to be dismissive towards us, we owe it to ourselves to smirk a bit knowing that we have not gotten to this point without a lot of brilliance and spidy skills. Don’t let your confidence wane at this point! Plug yourself all the time! Don’t be a pussy. You have not gotten this far being a pussy. (That should be on a T-shirt. Or billboard.). Start writing your People magazine article, not your obit. Let the sun worship YOU and believe you deserve it. Unfortunately (fortunately?) I’m about out of IPad juice and sometimes that’s all it takes to crash….

Just wondering how many of my friends and fam are keeping up with this oh-so-fascinating blogue. Better be all of you or I’ll torch you with a snide line that you’re not quite sure is directed at you. (It is.) My not so wee dearest one brought up ‘Black Tights Matter’ last evening which is one of my favorite posts that I introduced him to when I was trying to explain the Boomlennial blogue. Being that he was truly a wee dearest one when I started this geniuosness, he wasn’t aware of it. Not yet one of my millions of followers. I did have to confess, however, that I’m running out of material. Yes, me!!! It’s not that I don’t want to comment on everything. I know that the world is hanging on my every thought. It’s just that I’m more careful about who or what I offend. And in a social media world, you offend someone/everyone. Don’t take this wrong. I don’t care how unbrilliant and misinformed you are. I don’t care that you think it’s mostly sunny when I think it’s partly cloudy. I’m just tired of shaking my head. That’s why I grow weed. Just one plant. An no you can’t smoke it, or eat it, or harvest it. Just water it. I planted a bunch of wildflowers seeds in a basket in the spring. They were sprouting like crazy, and I was visiting them everyday to marvel at the wonder of nature. And then one day this thing just started growing. Fast. Overtaking the whole basket, and drooping by the end of the day. I was intrigued. What even is this thing? Pumpkin? Squash? Zombie baby? Nothing. Not a bud, flower, or mini fruit. Just a water sucking tall thing that killed the rest of the hatch. So yes. I am growing weed. Singular. When my not so wee one wants to talk Black Tights Matter, I can shoo him in the right direction and talk about growing weed. Who says I don’t have endless material? Not me!

Books?? I’m thinking that if you are one of my million(s) of followers, you read. Books, mags, internet, all of it. If you like to read, you read. I had the oddest experience the other day. At least odd to me. I brought a few of my favorite books to a friend who was going to the beach. When I hear beach, I think book. Okay, that’s odd I guess. Wait, what? Water, sand, sun? Yeah, that too. She is not a reader, but I’ve talked it up enough I almost had her. At least enough to humor me. Her sister, who was also joining her, came into the room. And was given the wonderful news that I brought some good books from which to choose. (I must wipe my eyes a moment sniff.). She wrinkled her nose, snorted, and made this horrible face. Sniff sniff. Not a reader I’m guessing. I lovvvve books. I lovvvvve to read. It just took me aback. How could someone not want to read???? In the day when you could only get three books at a time from the library, I was a child pest. I’d read them fast and want to go back for more. In a car. With a parent driving. Pest. A few years later a small branch opened up near(ish) me, and I could ride my bike. Which begs the question, was no one watching me? It wasn’t that close. I had to cross a railroad track. I also used to go to the little store next to the library for my Mom. In the rain. With a note and some money. If there was any change, I could buy some penny candy. So I learned early on how to make change, which my first grade teacher just marveled at. I got bread and milk, and probably cigarettes which were not for me. Over the river and through the woods, or traffic and track. Sometimes waiting for the train that stopped on the tracks. Anyway, just a side note. The library. I filled my bike basket up at least once a week and devoured the books. And raced back for more. (I’ve already established that I had a lot of freedom). When I think how my children were accounted for every second of the day just about, it seems odd. I’d like to say it was a different time, but was it?? Kind of think bad things were out there. Probably why books were such a refuge for me, and still get me out of my head. Reading rocks my world. So there.

Shhhhh. I was going to talk about the miserable creatures, not the would be wonderful silence, but already got sidetracked. When I went to log on to this amazing blogue space, I got a notice on how to save time. At least twenty seconds. By going to WordPress, logging into the account there which I set up eight years ago and have forgotten about, I can enter a password I’m unaware of and so save time. Huh?? First, my time is not that valuable. Twenty seconds of logging into this account is not going to throw my oh-so-scheduled day off. But the aggravation of all that other input is getting to me. I spend so much angst retrieving long dead passwords, putting in new codes, wondering why I even am bothering, and thinking I should go take a walk. Or go outside and listen to a bird. Which I am doing now and the cooing is really soothing. For now. We all get it. We navigate this new internet world of things getting harder, not easier. And more time consuming. Oh-so-valuable time consuming. I’m all for wasting time. My super power. Reading, puzzles, tv, bloguing, wait what?? Very important!!! Not a waste of time at all!&$*!! But scanning codes, opting in and out, boring this and that, over it. Crickets. Ok. Back on task. I’m vacationing in a warm, bright, tropical(ish) climate, and I’ll probably get undone by crickets. I’ve been haunted all year by small (and not so small) creatures in my house. The bats aged me, and the stink bugs just wanted me gone. They knew what I was going to touch and just lit a cigarette and hung out. Pouring cream in your coffee?? I’ll just sit on the edge of the creamer. Putting on shoes?? Let me get in there. Drying your hair?? Watch out for that handle. And they aren’t called stink bugs for nothing. But one cricket. That’s all it took. On its back. One big a$$ cricket haunting me. I heard them in the walls. Everywhere. For hours. Then…..crickets. Just nothing. Natures way of telling me I can run (not really) but they’ll find me. And mess with me. And laugh that creepy rubbing your legs together sound. What even is that? My legs just get chafed. No tone at all. Which also explains why they’re rubbing. One cricket. Ya think I’m a bit paranoid? The universe telling me I can run (no) but can’t hide? Problem solve. Deal with things. Whaaaaa. I don’t want to. Just want #silence#peace#shhhh#yepcrickets

When you seize the wrong day. Or month. March has been a wench this year. Actually, every year, but I’ve normally found a way to screw her. Or him. Spring break is a thing in this part of the country, because we know when we should be uncarping. Yes, that’s also Latin. I’ve spoken many times about how I hate the color of March. Is bland even a color? But, for the last few years I’ve found a way to leave it behind and find a better, brighter, warmer color. Hey, if bland is a color then warmer should be one, too. Circumstances kept me home this year, but not really. I just made a bad choice. Mala sententia. But wow look at me speaking more Latin. Now that the month is winding down I’m reminded that I forgot (huh?) that March sucks and makes me cranky. As if I needed help. Lesson learned. I was so excited about my Boomlennial hall pass that I thought this would work out somehow but it didn’t. I will be gone in April, however. That beautiful, flower blooming, sun shining month. And then I’ll lament that I’m missing all that gloriouness. Or not. April showers do bring May flowers. Or pilgrims. Or some such silliness. See what happens in bland world? I shouldn’t be so nonchalant about all of this because it’s serious stuff. Next time I’ll be more chalant. Is that Latin? #needavacation #needtodetox #needtotox

Free to good, bad, or indifferent home. A few years ago before I had this amazing blogue space, I took my creative energies out on Facebook. And laughed and laughed with all my hilarious posts. Like when my puppy ate one of my outdoor lounge chair cushions. Complete with pictures. Of course, some people thought my post was serious, and wanted my dog because I was such a wretched person. True, but that was tongue in cheek, whatever that means. Now that same post pops up on my memories and just makes me sad. Not about the dog, because fortunately after destroying and eating lots of cushions and beds, he became a great pet, but more about the passage of time. I don’t like to look at old pictures much, but FB just keeps sending me those memories at times when I’m just not in the mood for the recap. Which is most of the time. I focus on today, tomorrow, but not tomorrow tomorrow. That’s just too much looking ahead and when you have that esteemed Boomlennial status, today works just fine. Or tomorrow if you’re out of coffee and/or wine, depending how the night went. Those bookends can come with their own perils. Of course there is joy and rumpus on both ends, but somehow that’s not usually what’s front and center at 3am. Today is the day the Lord hath made, let us rejoice and be glad in it. Even though I gave up on the autotune of religion, those early Sunday school lines still stick with me. I was a good student and if I knew I was getting a gold star for memorizing something, I did. Anyway, I’m just throwing it out there for my millions of followers to think about. Enough said.