Month: January 2020

I believe in freedom of speech. Drinking, of course, promotes this freedom. After way too many years staring at bad TV most evenings, I was ripe for the seduction. There is a whole scene out there that captivated me. I’m not talking table service of Veuve and pounding music, more like can you scoot down a stool and make some room please. I have become a bar dweller. Not in a bad way, in the best way. Who knew? There is a rather large contingent of people who eat at bars. Not just when waiting for a table, or unable to get one, but by choice. At first I was baffled by this. It’s crowded. You cannot peruse the whole restaurant. But service is immediate, bar tenders know you and what you drink, and there are many around town regulars. Doctors and lawyers and Indian chiefs, oh my. They are nice! They are sociable! They may or may not have watched the same bad TV that I did, but dinner is always an experience beyond the food. Not always a good one, perhaps, but always a story to rehash. Last evening, while juggling the whole bar around to accommodate me and my I Don’t Know What To Call Him, I couldn’t help hearing the people next to us. A younger woman introduced herself to a much older Boomlennial type (who needed a bit more upkeep in my snarky opinion), and her husband. I learned. There aren’t a lot of secrets in small bars with loud talkers. Raggedy Boomlennial immediately started going on about surgeries and pains etcetcetc. I wasn’t really listening because my I Don’t Know What to Call Him #checkpreviousblogue, were catching up on our oh-so-fascinating day. I was irritated that Raggedy was giving Boomlennials a bad reputation for being old. Say not! Young one started texting a bit and nodding and aheming and I figured wanted out of the monologue. But soon young ones man showed up and they were all talking and laughing and enjoying the evening. Love that bar scene! There are singles and travelers, but I would say that mainly it’s a contingent of like-minded people enjoying their freedom of speech and a healthy detachment from staring at a screen. I suppose not everyone sees the allure of this lifestyle, thank goodness. It’s like when I told everyone how great my doctor was and then could never get an appointment because she was always booked. Dinner at bars is bad. Very bad.

That’ll be fun. I try to be the positive voice of all Boomlennials. Yes. All. Boomlennials. Many of us start doubting our abilities, because let’s/let’s not face it, things have not all been pretty. Yesterday I was playing with my wee dearests, which is mostly fun and sometimes challenging. Why do I have to keep getting blown up?? It’s hard enough getting down on the floor once, but when my character keeps getting flung across the room it’s just not fair. Up down. Up down. Can we just sit and read a book already?! My knees took a major hit and I don’t like to admit defeat. Next time we play I’m going to be the bad guy with superior powers where I only float and glare holes right through you. Speaking of glares, my wee ones were demonstrating ‘the look’ I give when I get mad. Now I don’t get mad at them very often but, man, I think they nailed it. That’s what you get when you blow me up too often humph. Speaking of wee ones, boys and girls, I’m trying to put an age limit on who can be called that. My Manfriend, who I just learned doesn’t like that term of endearment, calls women girls all the time even though they are usually his peers. Not a new subject in the age of Aquarius, of course, but I can be relentless. And I don’t want to be anyone’s Boomlennial girlfriend. Nor do I want one of those boyfriends, but the Google search hasn’t hit the right term yet. There are, however, some oddball ones. Patooties we aren’t. The more important issue is that Manfriend let me call him Manfriend for three years when he didn’t like it. Maybe/maybe not worth ‘exploring’. Since I don’t want to talk about helicopter crashes, and families just poof gone, the trivial side of my brain is digging in. I feel like 9/11 when the country was feeling a collective pain for people we didnt know personally. Just too hard to wrap your head around the poofness of life. Every lame cliche that comes to mind about carpe diem is just that. We are all just pouf. One way or day. Gone. So I’m going to try to be brave enough to suck at something new. And not be afraid to get blown up and thrown across the room. Now to hope my Manfriend is comfortable with Mack Daddy…..

is a really dumb question. But I guess if you can be trans anything, I might as well ponder it. After a really bad wind storm that knocked out my electricity, I spent eight hours trying to decide if that lifestyle was for me. At six in the morning it is pitch black. No I don’t want to go out and milk the cows in the dark, which I am afraid of. Not the cows, silly, but the dark. I have night lights in all my rooms which are really quite festive and give me something to buy as a souvenir when traveling. No refrigerator magnets for this swinging Boomlennial. Since there was no electricity, however, I had to creep downstairs clutching the banister like a life rope. Found my phone with the flashlight which let me breathe. Whew. Not diggin the Amish thing yet. Sat and played solitaire on my IPad for two hours. Time I’ll never get back again sniff. The thing with no electricity is also the absence of water and heat. Water meaning Flushing Toilets ahhhhh!!!! Since I couldn’t make coffee, anyway, it was not that big of an issue. Yet. Manfriend brought me some Starbucks which I desperately needed, but let’s not go There. Now what would the Amish do? I sat by my Christmas tree enjoying the scent while waiting for a bit more sun to swing around to my windows. Hmmmm. Ohio. December. Sun. No reading by that dull light. Saved by my brand new gas logs so I could at least get some warmth and knit. My brethren would be proud of this task. Until I got antsy and needed to do Something. I didn’t want to use up the charge on my phone so decided to clean out my pen drawer. Yes, I do have one of those and bet you do too. I love pens. Really nice, fat pens with my name engraved, or some fancy company’s. Or slender and gold to mark a special occasion. Alas, I also have them from every bank and hotel I’ve ever been to, and most don’t even work anymore. So I tried them out and threw many away and decided I had reached a new low in my life. Yes, I do have friends and family whose homes I could have gone to, but didn’t want to accept defeat this easily. Plus with no water and no shower I wouldn’t be the most welcome guest. I piddled. And piddled. Called the electric company to try to get an update but that was a joke of course. Eight hours. Not used to pulling an all dayer. Pretty rough. The Amish are kind of confused I think. It’s not evil to be able to see and do, is it? Or did I just earn some unknown reward for a bit of suffering in a land of plenty. I think not. Let there be light. And now I can go milk the cows.

The most wonderful time of the year, as Andy Williams would sing, has finally come and gone. But is it really? The madness has gotten out of control. The ridiculous shopping, the crazy traffic, and the obligations that many don’t seem to like being obligated too. (Felt the need/want to throw in some bad grammar). People were cranky. Or at least I was so I as-summed everyone else was also. The weather wasn’t very festive. Most days the sun forgot to get up and can’t say that I blame it. Go back to the dark side of the moon. So what really is the most wonderful time of the year?? Spring is glorious. Those first tepid days when you go outside and dust yourself off. The inch tall flowers all the sudden seem magical. Green takes on a quality that no crayon box can duplicate. Ahhh. Then it starts heating up and your white crust fades a bit and you can shake and bake and feel that sun tantalizingly licking you. (Cigarette break….). Could that be the most wonderful time of the year? But then the leaves start popping brilliant colors, the air becomes filled with the scent of fires burning, and the Browns still suck. But a whole new landscape unfolds right before your itchy sweaters. All most wonderful! And then the dreaded holidays and the country becomes a caricature of idiots. It is fun for a few weeks and if you have young children it’s great! But if you’re a parent of young children the school-less season is probably not living up to the hype. And is just a lot of work. I used to love the Andy Williams Christmas special. His huge, happy family would sit around a beautiful tree that wasn’t already losing its needles and sing the carols which I still love. Go fantasy! Maybe me and mine are just kind of dysfunctional (maybe?) and others are living the dream. I think not. I’m just spilling my cookie laden guts and hopeful that the sun will come out tomorrow, tomorrow.