Month: September 2020

I am not heading into 2021 without reading those. I’ve blindly checked that box many times fully unaware of what ‘terms and conditions’ even were. Not any more! Come New Year’s Eve, I am studying. No virtual partying for me. I need to know what I’m up against. This plague is wearing me down. I just want to be a goat. All they do is bounce around and eat whatever. Years ago I had one of my dearests in a stroller at a petting zoo. This goat was ravishing my diaper bag to get to the diapers. Clean diapers I might add. He (yes, had to be a male) was pulling them out and munching away. I could almost understand a dirty one (I’ve been in the house too long), but a clean, paper one just didn’t look tasty. But then I’ve never actually tried one so who am I to say. Did I say I’ve been home far too long? A nice ocean can cure a lot of woes. Now I just have cranky pants woes is me and it’s not very becoming. Speaking of which, isn’t it about time for a virtual dress code? During quarantine, the meetings with the scraggly hair and roots was kind of indearing in a we-are-all-in-this-together kind of way. Now the women have mostly cleaned up, except for the covid nineteen poundage, but the men have embraced their unkept, gray beards. Even the young ones. With dark hair. Putting a baseball cap on your head during a meeting, an inside meeting, just makes me lose my concentration, sometimes never to be found again. A nice collared shirt would help too. Yep, this Boomlennial is having a hard time transitioning to this new reality. I can’t go to the office without ‘work’ clothes. Even though I only see a handful of people, and have the same virtual meetings. Sounding like A Karen so will quit while I’m behind. I’ve been doling out my stress level, and that really shouldn’t be on the agenda. Some days I just stop myself from thinking, feeling, or dwelling on certain issues or people. Great minds think unalike, and I have to forceably calm mine. You might get a piece of me tomorrow, but today I am full. Boy, I miss football games. I want to jump up and shout. And sit down and drink. Sigh. Q: What did the Zen Master say to the hotdog vendor??? A: Make me one with everything. Oh, now that’s funny. #makeamericahappyagain

As this summer of ill repute is cranking down, I’ve had too much time to reflect on the oddness of it. You probably just heard that huge thunder clap, and as soon as I crawl out from under the couch I will continue. Weather- wise, it’s actually been hot and sunny which is my jam. The gardens have been resplendent (what a great show-off word), and there’s been plenty of local ‘farm to table’ kind of eating. Which sounds quite trendy and healthy and hip. Problem is, my hips rather enjoyed the feast. I quite liked one local farmer when I thought his stand was named after him. When I found out it was named after his dead cat, it somewhat lost its allure. No one in a barn has just ONE dead cat. Just where are you putting Those left-overs? And did I mention he grew the biggest, sweetest melons I’ve ever seen???? So now that certain parts of my body are starting to look like overgrown cantaloupe, I need to start eating even locallier. (Yes, that’s a word). I’m talking in-house. A little from this thigh, a smidge from that a$$. Reallllly local. And kind of gross. Might be easier this fall to pull it together with not much football, Halloween candy, or all those things I used as excuses. And enjoyed. Girls just want to have fun and all that. No shenanigans around here anymore sigh. I have some work to do. Although there will be plenty of snaccidents, at least I won’t be tempted by the mega-produce stand. Which does sound pretty dumb even as I say it I know. But there is something in that cat fertilizer. Just sayin……