Author: Karebare42@aol.com

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

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……

I am a Karen. I mean, no, I am not a Karen. Well, I am a Karen, from the NancyDeniseSusieKathyDebbieDarleneBarbarahohum era. But, I am not A Karen, and I just don’t get it. Let me make this perfectly clear, (which is what every politician keeps saying as they make a terribly unclear statement), I don’t do those things. Whatever those ‘things’ are. It took me awhile to even figure out why everyone was using my name. Flattered, of course, but confused. Just thought my millions of followers were finally catching on. But as I heard it used more and more, I had to go right to the source. (Please don’t go. So not true.). What really took me aback (rightly so, not Karenly so), was they said ‘in the United States and other English speaking countries’. Hmmmm. I’m a world-wide phenomenon??? Now I am intrigued. And do kind of feel entitled. Maybe I don’t get all huffy and want to speak to the manager, but if the manager is good, he should want to speak to me. And you. The Boomlennial has put up with a lot of sh*t over the years. We’ve all had poor service, been ridiculed, discriminated against, laughed at by friend(?) and foe, and generally smiled and had a stiff upper lip as we were taught. Don’t rock the boat. A bird in the hand is worth two in the bush. Don’t call in sick. Ever. Just weird things. So now I really have Karenoia. Most of the insinuations are pretty bad, but I’ll just overlook those in true Karen fashion. And pick and choose what I want to be a positive. If I finally have a ‘world-wide’ label, I might as well put lipstick on it. And feathers. And wonder why there are two birds in the bush but I should be happy with one. And remember I don’t even like birds, even hummingbirds. They look like big bugs. So now there are three birds in the bush. Geesh. Just too confusing. Need a name change. #youroyalhighness