Author: Karebare42@aol.com

If you’re one of the millions of people who have been following me for awhile, you understand my dilemma of what to call my boyfriend. I mean, not my boyfriend. I mean the grown-up person who I merrily spend a lot of time with. So merrily. I called him my Manfriend for a long time, and he finally admitted that he doesn’t like that term. I can be quite frightening after all. I played with other terms of endearment, but they were mostly just weird, and never quite caught on. To me. In real life, the dude does have a name that works quite well, actually. But this little space is where I play, and think too much about nothing. And manage to take up time while waiting for my book to be published. I girl can dream, sigh. Or a woman. Or a Ladyfriend. Very complicated stuff. So Man Companion it is. And since he probably gave up reading this blogue a long time ago, who cares? I actually have a new love interest. Somehow, Willie Nelson has arrived on my ‘to do’ list. I saw him in an interview, and George Clooney got bumped. Think it’s because of my new headspace. I’m into pottering. A legit British term which means “to occupy oneself in a pleasant way but without a definite plan or purpose.” It is not intended to make you feel productive. I like to think of it as the opposite of multitasking. And if you do actually accomplish something, that’s okay. Just don’t let that be the why. Hence, my Willie ‘On the Road Again’, calls me. Can’t have my ‘Blue Eyes Crying in the Rain’. Just going to potter a bit and think of a Man Companion with long braids. #youwerealwaysonmymind

“I may not have been sure about what really did interest me, but I was absolutely sure about what didn’t.” If your mind immediately went to the very delicious, very $$$ wine, we should be friends. If, however, you went to the very infamous, very dead French philosopher, we can still hangout. And discuss how deep we are. And admit we spend way too much time on Google. I love quotes! I am always sure that they are referencing me somehow, or made for my pondering. Albert Camus has lots of them, and many are actually pretty common, although I never heard of him unless I was having steak and a blowout dinner. Perhaps not one and the same. Quotes. I have notebooks and scraps of paper laying in every drawer just waiting for the right moment and/or occasion for me to enlighten everyone with my Boomlennial wisdom. Right now my millions of followers are all I’ve got. Right now. This year has been an odd one for sure, but it’s starting to suit me. Fluxable. I get to read. I get to write. I get to make up words. (Fluxable, adv. -to be in a constant state of transition). Feel free to use that one. And, please stop saying unprecedented. Every TelePrompTer has it keyed in for every story. It’s a tired word. And once you say it a gazillion times, then the situation becomes precedented. I like how I think! Always my favorite fan and critic. So this year. I’ve mellowed somehow. And I’m ok with that. Took some of the edge off. Sloughed off things that needed sloughing, and incorporated some positives into the mix. Since things won’t ever be the same again, I’m glad I’m more fluxable. By shrinking my world, it actually takes up more space. No clue what that means, but I dig how it sounds. Camus would be proud, slurp.

Being an adult is about the dumbest thing I’ve ever done. Now that I’m committed and hanging on the precipice, I need an aggressive mindset. #mood. For the first time in my life (probably, really), I did not make the resolution to lose weight this year. Not that I don’t need to, but I have bigger, more compelling issues to tackle. (Actually, I really want to lose weight but I’m acting mature). I need to work on the rest of me. That f*t a$$ will still be there when I’m done, but if all goes well, maybe I won’t care as much (I will). This is the year of building my brain, reducing my stress, and maybe not give a sh*t about sh*t. And if you really think about it, much of your life just isn’t that important. At the time, of course, it is monumental. But in hindsight, nah. I watched the series The Crown on Netflix. Loved it! Very sad that I finished it, which gives me more time to blogue. Good to be you right now. But as you go through generations of these really Important People, you realize in the end they all just fade away and the world moves on. So I’m working to preserve my own little corner of the world. And taking control of what I can control. My brain. It is magnificent, but probably needs a bit of maintenance. Going all in. Eating those blueberries, even though they are sour and out of season. Salmon? Still got a ways to go on embracing that one. I think it’s fish. Puzzles! I’ve become a fan, much to the annoyance of my dearests. When that’s all you have to talk about, you’re not very good company. And I’m kind of getting the feeling they don’t want to partake in this most boring endeavor. Guess they just don’t see the sparks shooting out of my head. Although, I don’t really think it’s helping with my stress management. I take my sports very seriously. And yes I am calling that a sport. But not my favorite right now. With no gym to speak of without spewing covids, I’ve moved on to ping pong. That’s right. Another intense workout. Kind of. Not. But very fun, and actually me and my Manfriend are getting quite good. We work up a sweat, and feel accomplished. More from picking up the balls that we miss, but as always, I set a very low bar. Who knew that this Boomlennial was up for such a new challenge? (Yes, you can make fun of me. That’s kind of the point.) Ish. Of course, reading is my go to, and Oprah’s got nothin on me. Gosh, I wish she was my friend. I need a hookup. Okay. My mind has been stimulated, and I can relax. And enjoy the view from the ledge. And wonder what cloud holds all my data…..

It is that time of year to reflect on the past, however, I don’t want to. What I’ve lost in fun, family, fitness, and freedom, I’ve gained in wisdom. That’s what happens when you have too much time on your hands and now think you are a Swami. In that spirit, I will enlighten you on what I’ve learned. These are the Four Most Difficult Things to Say. (1). I’m sorry. And mean it. I’ve said it a lot but don’t really think it came from my soul. It’s probably been more of an I’m sorry you are an ahole but let’s get on with it. Or I’m sorry for your loss, but I’m probably not, but drawing a blank on what else to say. Will work on that one. (2). I forgive you. Sometimes this is true because we all (not me) make mistakes and need a do-over. Although, when I hear people saying they forgive someone that did a horrific deed, I know they are lying. I am a Swami after all. Really forgiving someone probably takes time. (3). I need help. That’s a tough one because it’s often hard to recognize when you do. And who wants to admit it? Especially in the Boomlennial world, we’ve been caretakers to generations, and not ready to pass the torch. And, of course, the most difficult thing to say is…… (4). Worcestershire sauce. I will never get a handle on that one, deep thinker that I am. So there you have it. Reflections of 2020. Don’t let it hit you in the a$$ on the way out.

I was supposed to know how to do everything by my second rodeo. That seems like a very low number of rodeos. But, alas, I manage. As the dreaded holidays are approaching, I’m comforted in knowing I have the excuse of all excuses. Remember when you were supposed to ‘avoid’ someone like the plague? Now I get it! My elder dearest was right after all! I have a very small group of dearests. Around this time of year, it seems like everyone else has a herd to deal with. And I have a pea in a peck. Or peas. Or whatever that even means. But now when I need the perfect bubble, I think I’ve got a leg up on everyone. Why do these weird sayings keep popping into my head and finger tips. My legs are crossed and down. Anyway, my little grouping, for the first time, seems about right. We don’t have to travel. Well, a bit. I mean we can’t walk. And we are fairly(?) careful in dealing with the masses of a$$es. Or at least we tell each other that. Until the buts. But I went out to eat last night. But I went to play tennis. But I had to get my wifi fixed. Butbutbut. But, I like big butts and I cannot lie. I’ve blogued before about my f*ckit list. No old person bucket list for this chic. However, my f-it bucket is getting quite full. Just realizing all the more things I don’t have to do. And I do like that feeling. Nope. Pass. Not today. Tomorrow’s not looking to good either. See where I’m going, or not going with this? Kind of refreshing actually. Perhaps, I can enjoy looking at a decorated tree for once and not go dashing out the door. Ok. I haven’t ‘dashed’ in a long time but it’s the day of weird sh*t popping in my head. Must be the nostalgia of the season, or having an older Manfriend. (He is not going to like this tell-all and could certainly ruin the season of lovvvvve. And my presents.). Just joking. Or something like that. Butbutbut now that song about big ones is stuck in my head and I can’t think of a way to wrap this up. You know Dasher and Dancer and Prancer and Vixen, Comet and Cupid and Donner and Blitzen. And Rudolph, of course! #hopethatbubbleholds#speakingofbigbutts

That’s funny. I don’t remember eating a sexy beast this morning. Guess it’s just one of those annoying sayings that got too much traction and now we are stuck with it. I find myself using the words ‘sh*t show’ significantly more than I used to. Dare I say it’s here to stay? Please be just the phrase, not the show. As the year is winding down, it gives a person a chance to reflect on all the wonderful things that have happened. Gotcha! Everyone is doing the best they can. Which is terrifying. I feel like my life is out of control, and no amount of chocolate can rein it in. (So not true. I’m sure there is.). I used to love Christmas shopping. Not for others of course. It was the one time of year I’d venture to a mall and see all the things I had missed. And needed. And wanted. I’d come home with my arms aching from carrying too much, and remember why I love delivery. But it would be mine, all mine. Now in the year of the (dare I say it) sh*t show, I have nowhere to go. No parties or gatherings. No work functions where I could be adored. No need for pretty things. My jewelry is rotting, and my halo is tarnishing. I’m sure my fancy shoes no longer fit. Soon I’ll just be spreading into the box. Even my blogues have lost their luster. And no one loves them as much as I do. I want to give my millions of fans some enlightenment, but got nothin. I do have one tidbit! Apparently, you can’t use ‘beefstew’ as a password. It isn’t stroganoff. Hahahahahahahaha. You may smile.

Full, declarative sentence. And that’s about all I’ve got. I pride myself (got autocorrected to ‘shelf’ which was actually pretty funny if you are the kind of person that has pride in their shelves) on always having something amazing to do/be/thinkabout/share/andsoonandsoforth. Who needs hashtags? So when nothing was calling me this morning or on the agenda I got rattled. I am always in the middle of a good or adequate book. Or sucky, which was what I finished yesterday and haven’t been called by another yet. The ‘breaking news’ is not, so my morning shows were lame. When the Bachelorette and who got booted from Dancing with the Stars are the lead stories, I know I’m short for the show. And who even watches that crap ugh. (Sorry sorry I know you do and love it). There are always house things that can be piddled at, but when you’re already bored that’s the last thing to do. Which explains all those stuffed closets that will live in that same habitat. It’s a beautiful day! I’m outside in November, and despite having to wear hiking boots to wade through the leaves, I can make it to this outside table. As the writer Elbert Hubbard said, “Positive anything is better than negative nothing.” So I’m trying here. The Plague is slowing my roll. And as much as I love to share this blogue with my millions of followers, I know this one is boring. But yet I can’t stop myself haha. Suffer with me. Keep reading. I’ve got all day. Will be brilliant next time. You just wait…..

There is a new form of recreation out there that doesn’t involve disrobing. I realized I’ve been doing it all my life, but never knew it had a catchy name. I love to be outside. There. I said it. Ain’t nothin wrong with that. Of course, now that I watched a news story about it I must take it more seriously. No more just going out in the morning and sitting on top of the rickety, old metal swing set. (How I never got tetanus from that thing….). Now when I go out I have to ‘listen’ with my eyes. And smell with my ears or whatever. Take it seriously. So seriously. I am a walker. I’ve put in the miles over the years, and credit those gazillion steps with keeping my sanity (ish). I wasn’t bathing exactly, but my psyche got cleansed in an odd way. Now since everyone this year discovered the parks, I’ve rerouted to neighborhoods, and have enjoyed a different kind of scenery. And critique. No more peaceful walks. Full on judgement zone. You need shutters. Landscaping. A nicer dog. Not good. But pretty fun actually. Maybe not quite the bath I need, but clears the trash out of my head and makes room for new trash. (I have lofty goals.). I like being one with nature. I just wish I liked vegetables. Or gardening. Think that would up my game a bit. I need to be a little more Walden, but not the one from Two and a Half Men that ruined that show. (What a great show that was when Charlie Sheen was on it. Still watch it wayyy toooo much). Which is why I need outside. And bathing. As Thoreau wrote, “Only that day dawns to which we are awake”. Now I have no clue what that means, but I feel very earthy having used it. And refreshed. Did I mention I have lofty goals?

That term is being used quite frequently at the place I toil. No, that’s not true. No one in my living room is saying that. The place where I get a paycheck? Nope. That would be the bank. Well, not really. I don’t even get a paycheck anymore. I do always (mostly) have cash, which is kind of a waste because I never use it. Everything is FREE FREE FREE! Okay. Back to the unicorn vision. At first, it threw me. Why are they talking about one of my wee dearests favorite toys. Make believe? Fantasy? And who wouldn’t want to take That thing for a walk! I guess all of that is the point. Now that the virtual world is reality, the unimaginable is becoming very maginable. At least for many. I’m still having a hard time coming up to speed on all of this. And as much as I want to embrace new ideas, they are just slowing my roll. I feel like I’m always a few feet (miles) behind understanding. I get the how-to quickly, it’s the wha-wha that throws me. As in What? How in the h*ll can that work?!$! But it does. So in this new world, the unicorn is having his day. And I hope he’s pink. The vision is getting legs, which is quite cool. Utopia might not be the goal, but I think I just talked myself into accepting this new reality. That’s a good start. As Winnie the Pooh would say “I am not lost, for I know where I am. But however, where I am may be lost”. Once you start quoting a bear that doesn’t wear pants, the unicorn can’t be far behind.

Or at least my Closet does. When I hear a new term, I must use it to show how cool and trendy I am. Just saying that, of course, makes me uncool and untrendy. But my Closet sighhhh. It is a masterpiece. When my youngest dearest went away to college, I decided to turn his bedroom into a huge a$$ space that I could fill and fill until I couldn’t fill no mores. And then fill somemores. It was a birthday gift which seemed like a great idea until my dearest called to give me wishes and asked what I got for my birthday. Ugh, your bedroom? I can still hear the silence screaming in my ears. Not like he would be sleeping on the floor. More like moving down the hall. Guess I should never have called it a ‘guest’ room. That closet eventually turned into a whole house remodel, but hold your breath for that one. Anyway, my Closet is full. If I’m a liar liar and my pants catch fire, Ive got backup. If a large feels a bit snug (damn virus) no worries. An XL is waiting in the wings. Now that sweater weather has been cancelled due to a scheduling conflict with sweatshirts, I just go visit my beautiful twin sets and cashmere. And pull out my Burberry sweatshirt. Which no one that really wears Burberry would ever own. A lot of my peeps keep using the ugly word ‘downsizing’. What does that even mean? I’ve lost so much weight the big girl clothes don’t fit anymore? Upsizing! Keep it coming. Someday I will once again take my pretty things out for a night, and try to remember that they probably will need dry cleaned and not stuffed into the barrel of cotton. And spandex. (Damn bat). Did I just write a whole blogue about my closet? Which makes me wonder out loud, why are Disney movies so sad? #lockmeinthecloset