Author: Karebare42@aol.com

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

Why Quarantwenties of course! And it’s roaring once again. Regaining my sense of humor, and trying to find funny in the absurd. And absurd has reached new levels of nuttiness. I did see the most adorable picture on FB today. The ‘Boys’, no names please, moved away, and yes I miss them. (Just checking if you’re still one of my followers #youbetterbe). Their son started his new school year, and they had the prerequisite ‘first day of’ picture with the cutie holding his third grade sign in his nice button down shirt. And then the follow up pictures when I realized he’s still sitting in his house getting ‘virtually’ schooled. It made me smile as I realized this is the new abnormal. There ain’t nothing ‘normal’ about any of this. So I try to find humor where I can, and make sh*t up when I can’t. There have been many analogies trying to explain the plague and how it spreads. I’m sure you’ve heard the pee one, and its gross and not funny. New one. There are four kids sitting at a table doing a craft project. One child is using glitter. How many children have glitter on their project?? See, explains it all. And makes me want to play with glue and glitter. Or just put Elmers on the back of my hand and peel it off when it dries. I know you get this so don’t act like I’m crazy. Funny stuff here. Just like a slinky, not really good for much, but brings a smile to your face when pushed down the stairs. I’m making a choice to find humor in the humorless, and that’s not really my style. I can usually find a silver lining in a rainbow, but it’s ripped and ugly and maybe I’ll get struck by lightening or the power will go off or or or or. But now I am just chill and it has nothing to do with the mug-oh-wine I had for lunch. Just kidding, but a girl can dream. Sigh. Anyway, does anyone know what a emoticon is? I was playing a game where that was the word that my partner had to guess. So not fair. Already done. As is an ‘out of the office’ auto-reply. I am Never out of the office. The dang office follows me around all day like my oh-so-needy dog. I need my space!! And new back to school clothes!! And a massage!! And I hate massages!! And a cruise!! And I’ve never been on a cruise!! Oh dear. I digress. Better go sew that silver lining. Tonight’s forecast: 99%chance of wine

As many of my millions of followers must have noticed, I am drowning in the drought. In a time when the world seems to be in total chaos and disbelief, I’ve become a doodlebug. Whatever that is. I don’t have a new thought in my head. I try. I am over informed on most things, and dare I say I’m bored with it all? Shhhhh. How do you have a ‘take’ (a hilarious take mind you) on a virus? Or racial tension? Or a leader that I really really really want to respect but just won’t throw me a bone. I need a drought intervention. Hit me right in that tan nose and give me something to think about. More importantly, something to write about. My brain has become a slob kabob. Incapable of getting it up so to speak. So to speak. I’ve been out and about some, but the world has gone silent. No one quite knows how to behave, or what is expected of them. I’ve been accused of being rude to people (so not true haters), but it is time to get those roots done. Now when I see a brunette, I just think she must be poor. That is the farthest my mind has delved. Pathetic I know. I’m trying here though. I beg for suggestions but the fog is settling on everyone, I fear, and we are lost. On a different bent, I long weekended on an island that had all the ammenities. Biting flies, mice (in the house of course), goose poop (on the screened in porch…..explain that one), no lounge chairs or rafts at the pool, and very hot weather. Which was very nice. If the AC worked. I’m not complaining. I am. See, just wishywashy. And not a ‘take’ to be had. Maybe I should just go with the no-flow and be satisfied with this pause. And hope that the refresh button will crank up when necessary. Please be necessary.

Long time passing. Where have all the activists* gone, long time ago. I have that song going through my head lately, although you do know to insert *flowers, right? My millions of followers span generations so always need to remember not everyone is a brilliant Boomlennial. Of course, that led me to Google to read all the lyrics and see what it really was about in the 60’s. It was on a list of the top 20 political songs. Hmmmm. Not buying that one, and there aren’t very many words to it, so I’m guessing there are only twenty political songs out there. I loved the music of the sixties, and glad that I was young enough to not quite understand them. I just loved the men and women singing with long, swinging hair, and beautiful flowered clothes. I ‘got’ the peace aspect of them, but now looking back at that time Wow. There was a lot going on. After watching many of the demonstrations of late, I see that maybe we didn’t really come that far. So where have all the activists gone? To the burbs? To the country club? Did they just get bored and got into something else? Legalizing weed? Inquiring minds always want to know. I wish the internet was around then. And various news stations spinning their own narrative. Guess I’ll just keep spinning those old songs, and not investigate what they really were about. No need to rewrite my own history. Much like the statues that are being torn down, what was, was. Good, bad, or ugly, it was a moment in time. A horrible moment, perhaps, but sadly what was, was. And maybe we need a grim reminder in our face that we haven’t really come a long way, baby. Now I need to go climb a mountain. I’m always very curious about the people in these certain areas who live, healthily, into their hundreds. They do share some common traits (I’m sure good genes is one of them!), and they drink wine, so what’s not to love? A man in one of these villages said, “If I go one day without climbing the mountain, I feel uneasy. If I go two days, my heart is troubled. If I go three days, my muscles and bones ache.” Of course he was talking about his mediation, or whatever gets him through the night, but something to think about. Lacing up my hiking boots. All the world over, so easy to see, people everywhere just wanna be free. Listen, please listen, that’s the way it should be. There’s peace in the valley, people got to be free.

I have held back on writing this, because enough is enough already. One of my millions of followers said my posts are getting so serious and rather depressing. Moi?? Say not! I am the fun Boomlennial! The one everyone wants at their party. Sure sure. Anyway, Dear Hate……It is dieting season again. There I said it. A topic I have covered in many of my posts, and most of my life. But, alas, there is always more material. And oh-so-funny sniff. I did okay during quarantine. I thought going out for dinner every night made it impossible to lose weight. Well, that myth was busted. Staying home and eating the chicken coop night after night didn’t help either. It could be the martinis and wine but that would require another quarantine to have a control group. And somehow spaghetti just seemed the same right thing to do. I don’t know why, but it was comforting. And delicious. And of course had to be accompanied by red wine. Now, however, I am back going out to my old haunts and find THAT quite comforting. Many have put up these plexiglass walls between bar seats and booths, so you’re in your own little cocoon. After weeks of wearing masks to your seat in a restaurants, that practice has just about stopped. The staff still does but they are getting droopier and droopier as to be worthless. We are all getting cocky in OH-IO as we have flattened our curve. I’m worried that the masses of asses that are going to the beach or taking vacations will bring those critters home. Please just be ticks. And how did I get on this subject when I wanted to talk about eating too much fruit? As one of my dearests said, “you didn’t get fat from eating too much fruit”. Can always count on those you love to set you straight. Dammit. So there you kind of have a new topic. Kind of. Dear Diet: I hate you.

Now that I have had The Test and found out I am Rona- free, moving on to the next season. Riot season? What to wear? Not to be flippant (what a great word), but I am sad. And mad. And disgusted that people are so stupid. As Bert and Ernie would say on Sesame Street, this year is brought to you by the letters W, T, and F. I was glued to media for two months watching people sick and dying. All the while being told that I am vulnerable and make your reservation now for that ventilator. Then as the country was easing going out restrictions, the sun thought it could finally make an appearance and there was a sense of hope that I might live to see another year. But, alas, some sick a$$ cop thought killing a man for everyone to witness was the way to move forward. We have all seen the video and it never gets any easier to watch. Just makes me cry. And want to go back indoors and shed ronas all over the house. Who cares? We live in a world of stupid people. That’s all my Boomlennial deep thinking can come up with. Deep. Deep. Thinking. I can’t even talk about the rioting and seeing businesses that just reopened after two months getting destroyed. There are a ton of reasons out there but my heart just can’t cope. Our country has collectively had enough. Somehow, Rona has become a political issue and people are taking ‘sides’ on getting a vaccine when one is ready. Please be ready soon. I’ll be first in line before I learn what side I’m supposed to be on. If ignorance is bliss, this country must all be in weed heaven right now. Ahhhh. So blissful. I went to a restaurant last week and they had a sign at the entrance saying “This is a Mask-free Zone. Come in and enjoy food and drink but no masks are allowed inside”. And like the dumb people I speak of, I took off my mask and went in and ate. Did I mention they have really good food?? Not going back, but still shaking my head. That’s where the world is at right now. And it’s not a good place. As the Count would say…..Letter B, Letter B, Letter B, Letter B. Whisper words of wisdom, letter B.

This is quite weird, so I’m hesitant to continue on, but must, I must. I have pink eye. And it is on that list of symptoms for the Rona. Now it is a very long list, and basically if you’re not a hundred percent, you might be gotcha’d. I don’t really think I have the biggy because I feel fine except for that itchy, red, goopy eye (sorry). I had the long conversation/questionnaire with a nurse about my symptoms, and she told me people my age don’t get pink eye. Ok then. Fortunately (??) I had it last year so I sent her to the ghastly ‘permanent record’ where she did see that I’m a repeat customer. Of course, I was much younger then. Just give me that little vial of elixir before I lose all my eyelashes. Again. Which made Mack Daddy say something unthinkable, as he would never even hint at an unkind word to me. He said maybe I should wear some eyeliner, which wasn’t nearly as bad as when he told me that maybe I shouldn’t wear so much purple eyeshadow after I fell and had a black eye. Said with the utmost consideration though. I digress. In many ways lately, but will try to stay on point. The nurse was nothing but condescending as she was setting up a telehealth appointment for me. Do I have a phone? Internet? Oh now don’t be afraid honey it won’t be that hard. I told her I have video meetings everyday and she laughed. Oh, I am a riot. Anyway, the Doc was good, understood my symptoms, and made that magical call to the pharmacy. But what I’m really hoping is that this is dipping my toe into Rona immunity. A lot of people had it and never even knew. Their body just did it’s job and off Rona ran. If I could escape with just a little gobbly gook I’d gladly give up my ventilator and run around kissing everyone. On the lips. Or donate my plasma. (Ok might have to check out how that works on the black market$$$$). I also have bills ya know. Just something to think about since I’m losing so much brain function being home so much. It’s left me pondering why I have so many cauliflower products in the freezer. Bad tasting products all. Guess there was a time where cauliflower rice was seen as a replacement for rice rice. It’s not. Rice-a-Rona it is. #mashedcauliflowerblows

No, not me. Okay, maybe me. Me. Unfortunately, someone was talking about a car and one of my dearests immediately thought it was about me. Humph. Listening to the sweet chirping of birds that are covered in ice doesn’t help matters in the middle of May. Ahhhhh. Springtime in OH-IO. I can’t talk virus anymore. One of my wee ones cut it off yesterday as we were having a socially distanced visit. So not cool. It’s like wiping your butt with your other hand. It kind of gets the job done, but not very satisfying. Just fed up. So I was thinking about things that everyone seems to like but I don’t. Ketchup. It’s the go to for fries and hamburgs, but would you really put sugary tomatoes on those things? Mustard it is. Weekends. And I’m not just talking during ‘these times’. It just throws things off. As a wee one, it meant no school, which I loved. And it meant the family was all together in a small house with one tv and one bathroom. Meals together. Rules. TGIM. It’s sometimes hard to ‘make a plan’ for two days without structure. Someone please tell me what to do. Exhausting. Ancestry. Big hobby these days of people trying to figure out who they are related to. Who cares? They’re dead, and probably not that interesting anyway. I also hate when men say “we are pregnant”. You are not, bro. Health class 101. Sushi. I keep trying to like it, but think next time I’ll just suck the wasabi and ginger off my fingers. Now much of what I don’t like I’ve blogged about in the past, and I know you all have hung on to every word. (I’m really trying not to go corona on you). And maybe after being home for a few months I’ll have a change of opinion. When I can’t go shopping, I want to. Or maybe I just want to have a reason to put on jewelry and prance around. If all goes well, athleisure will be out of style. You’ve worn it for months and it might be time to invest in a new pair of jeans. Big. Ger. Jeans. Just keep wearing lots-oh-jewelry and no one will notice. We will all be having three hour dinners in restaurants just because we can, and being home has certainly lost its allure. People on social media try to give the impression they are loving all this family time together, but I’m not buying it. If you liked it so much you would have done it. Scheduling your kids in everything is not because you want all this time together. It’s because You want Out. Fes up. Probably even be worse soon enough. Please don’t make me go to harpoon lessons, mom. Okay. I’ve tried. Rambled enough. This Boomlennial experience is not good. We are the vulnerable now, not the machismo. Finally been put in my place. No way to sweeten what is happening, although ketchup might help. And I might find I like it.