Month: February 2019

think outside the box. Especially if you’re the cat. I had a strange request recently. One of my dearest dearests wants me to write her obituary hmmmmm. Sure. A gigs a gig, right? She doesn’t read my blogue so is naive to the fact I write in one huge paragraph with questionable grammar and material. In my birthday card envelope, she sent me notes on different little pieces of paper of things she wants included. There was no card, however, since she thought it would be inappropriate to include it with the obit notes. Never did get the card but it was one very fancy envelope. Unfortunately, I have obit writing experience which is the first thing you want to include on a resume. My dearest dearest is very particular about what she wants in it. Just the facts, ma’am. She hates reading that someone liked to cook or garden blah blah. I, on the other hand, work everyday to pad my final prose. Everything I’ve ever done better be included. Everything. You pay by the line and that one’s going to be a monster. Not ready to write my own yet, but will start gathering bits of handwritten notes when I think of something oh-so-fascinating. Or not. I am dragging on writing my dearest dearests Big O because I’m not sure I can get the tone right. When you write through grief, the deceased is so much more than words on paper. Which is what the gig entails now. My DD wants a copy to read, and for me to keep one for publication. I certainly will do the deed requested, but at the end I’m not sure if the whole thing will get a massive rewrite filled with guilt and hearts and flowers. And recipes! And jokes! Never, ever.

Here in Northeast Ohio, we have once again been betrayed by Mother Nature. She can be a real Ho and kept me awake half the night with her noisy blow job. I’ve already lost two trees this year, and have enough firewood to supply Hades. In one day last week, I flipped through the whole calendar. Left the house in the morning coatless and with real shoes. By noon the umbrella was out and rain was licking up my skirt. By evening the boots and puffy coat were back on, or I just had too much salt at lunch. Darn Bloody’s. I know this is kind of the norm, but she seems more skanky this year. Maybe I’m just becoming get off my lawn cranky pants and don’t fancy ice skating down the driveway anymore. Fortunately, those Prime deliveries just keep on coming. I’m always amazed by the responsiveness of Amazon, and feel the need/want to keep softly touching Add to Cart. Just testing the system of course. Now, however, I have new career aspirations and want to be a Social Media Influencer. This is a thing. And people make lots-oh-money doing it. And if they say it on social media it must be true. I can make videos of me exercising with tons of makeup (and probably in that puffy coat), and doing all kinds of weird stuff that people have to see. I will generate so much click bait that it will be even more lucrative then this blogue (a girl can dream sigh). Speaking of dreaming, my Manfriend (no names please) wants me to blogue about VD and love being in the air while Alexa is playing romantic music. Yes, he is that guy. Yay for me.