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And boring. Every year around VD, I guess the news cycle is slow. The big headlines are couples married lots-oh-years. Followed by their deep deep deep words of wisdom on how they made that happen. Of course the advice is always dumb, and they probably didn’t even use it. Their great success is that both spouses lived a long time. That’s it. They never quite say they were happily married, although now they probably are because it’s all they know. I’m betting they fought as much as their peers, and grinded it out as many people do, especially if they have children and limited cash. A dear relation of mine died recently, and I couldn’t help but snort when I read the obit. She was in her 80’s, and probably had been married a good(?) sixty years. (Sorry Aunt C. but you know this is true). She hated her husband. Loudly and continuously. There was never a conversation that she didn’t complain about him. Weird complaints, too. That no good husband of mine just repaired the car, painted the bathroom, and took on more overtime at the plant. Humph. I found him kind of scary, but as far as I know he didn’t run around the house with knives. That he probably sharpened. Whenever I got birthday and Christmas cards, she signed his name so tiny I couldn’t even see it. Kind of funny, but really sad because I thought how awful to be stuck with someone you didn’t like, love, or respect. But oh, the big O. (Well, maybe??) The Obit. Surrounded by the loving husband. All those years of marriage with the loving husband. I never heard a nice thing said about him. Of course I’m going to be sleeping with one eye open after channeling the deceased, but even my dearest knows what I know. So when I read the VD advice, I’m guessing it’s mostly a crock. Your super power is being old. And forgetting all that goes into a long marriage. Keep it to yourself. I’m already afraid of the dark….

Or not. Recently I’ve been hearing this phrase bantered about, and it kept popping out at me because I figured out what’s missing in my life. I don’t have boxes, checked or otherwise. Hmmmm. Explains a lot. Freestyling it far too long. Even a member of my possee was telling me how his new lady friend checked all the damn boxes. No one ever told me about the secret boxes!?!$#&! I was going to ask my Manfriend if he had boxes, and do I still check out after five years, but figured that’s a conversation I just might not want to have. I’m not one for polishing the silver lining, but I do like a nice score if it’s warranted. And conversely, can I post-date the boxes and bring them up to reality?? That might be an activity for the next snowstorm. Puzzles are hurting my neck because I must stand. (I take them wayyy too seriously BTW.) I can out eat any workout. Buns of steel can quickly be overshadowed by buns of cinnamon. But those boxes. Intriguing. I need to do a bit more research. How many? How big? Do you really have to check All the boxes? Or can you just delete the ones that aren’t check-worthy? I NEED SOME SUN!!!!!

As my birthday month is upon me, I decided to take a page from the master of all birthday celebrations. What Would Jesus do? Don’t we all know it! A month of cookies, candy, and cocktails. Ok, J only took twelve days to party, but he wasn’t leaving until wise men showed up with cologne and gift cards. Bring a tree in the house! Why not? Of course, the manger was better suited for this adornment, but works for me. Go tell it on the mountains. Yes! Yes! It’s my burtday. Gonna pahty like it’s my pahty. Drink Bacardi like it’s my burtday. Send cards! Lots-oh-cards. Which reminds me of a funny/not funny phenomenon. For most of my adult life, I sent Christmas cards. Always sent a picture, and usually wrote a note, especially to people I didn’t see very often. Took time. Time when I could have been eating, I mean baking, decorated cookies. Then a couple years ago I never got the photo together, and realized many people were just doing the Shutterfly thing so I just stopped. WELL, I suppose I should have seen it coming, but I quit getting cards. All those years when I thought I was front and center in everyone’s mind, I was just a reciprocal obligation. No need to wish me a merry because I didn’t wish you a merry. The handful I did get went into a pretty bowl instead of wrapped around my entry arch. I figure by next year, they will be displayed on the back of my toilet. Plenty of room sniff. So back to my birthday! No, wait. While I’m being all cranky pants, I might as well continue. Why is everyone saying they are so blessed?? I’ve heard it way too much lately. So, does that mean some of us are unblessed? Would you keep telling everyone how rich you are? Or how beautiful? Just sayin. Glad you’re blessed. I guess? Now my birthday whew. I know some don’t like celebrating anymore, but that ain’t me, babe. Wrap it up, take me out, blow those candles, and keep ‘em coming!!! #jinglethosebells #rockinaroundthekarentree #blessed

Before the woke mob comes after me, I’m calling myself out. I called someone a poopy head. Lots of someone’s I imagine. Just trying to hold my own as a girl on the mean streets. I may have only been five, but I knew it was important to stand my ground in my hood. It probably helped that I was always a head taller than anyone else, but no one messed with me. Kids today are soft. They have to be! Everything you do or say can come back to haunt you many years from now. Whatever we like to think life was like in the fifties, sixties, and seventies, it wasn’t. People are finding out that what was acceptable then is not now, and they are getting called out. I heard a funny story and it kind of sums it up. An island resort vacay spot was cooking chicken outside on big spits. Very delicious chicken I might add. Anyway, some parents complained that their children were horrified by seeing this. Yes, by seeing chicken cooked. Now they eat chicken, but did not know it had bones and were actually Chickens. (This is very hard to explain BTW). They were used to eating nuggets and boneless breasts, and somehow were being shielded from the truth or some weird thing. Can’t make this stuff up. Just goes to show that our culture is so obsessed with making the world seem much more user friendly then it really is. Toughen up already. I mean there’s more then one way to skin a cat. Or is there? Funny stuff. Guess I better not say that again. Tonight I’m going to make Himalayan possum soup. I know that sounds kind of gross, but I saw Himalayan on the road and didn’t want to just leave him there. Sorry about the bad pun but that’s just how eye roll poopy head.

“This is not how I expected my day to go” wailed my four year old dearest when he came over and saw my Manfriend’s car in the drive. I had to assure him (them) that there is enough of me to go around. (There’s not.). This was a few years ago, but I use that phrase way too often when my day is not flowing like I want. Whaaaa. I had an experience that just threw me off my game. I guess I should not have been so taken aback considering where I was. At the store. Health and beauty section. Looking for bandages. Big a$$ bandages. A woman was in the aisle with me and we were doing the COVID dance of not getting too close to each other but wanting our sh*t. I asked her if I was in her way and she said no because she doesn’t really know where her sh*t is. Here’s the tricky part. She was old. Not Boomlennial old, but old. Like in OLD. I asked her what she was looking for because I am that benevolent person. Really really benevolent. She said Witch Hazel which I knew exactly the location. (No jokes here.). I started to try to explain it but said I’d just show her. Really really benevolent. Found it on a low shelf so bent down and gently handed it to her. She was grateful. Really really grateful. And thanked me by going on about how us OLD people need to stick together and help each other out. Whoa whoa whoa!?!$&#. I’m looking around for someone else she must surely be talking to but just us and the damn witch hazel. I was shaken. Really. How bad did I look? I mean the bandage wasn’t That big. (It was.) Maybe I have a misguided image of who I am. Am I not the swinging, fancy Boomlennial taking my benevolence into the world? (I am). I suppose I do forget my Boomlennial status sometimes. Google generally sets me straight when I see an old actor on tv and give in to my inquiring mind. Dang. Are they really younger than me?? And here I thought the Witch Hazel was working. I actually do think I’m still a doll. Sometimes Barbie, sometimes voodoo. Any wonder I knew exactly where the Witch Hazel was? Whoa is me.

Now that I’ve gotten the official go ahead from the big guy to live healthily for a lot more years, I’ve decided it’s time to start picking on others. (As if that ever really stopped. Just too much material.). I was reading an article this morning about Millenial Burnout. Yes, they are tired of working. It is affecting their mental health. The last few years have been very hard on them. Oh, I bet. They are always available because of email. Good point, good point. COVID was just a big bummer. Agree! Agree! They don’t want to live to work, but work to live. Terrific idea! I couldn’t agree more. But for some reason I missed the conclusion. Was it the Boomlennial in me that just wanted to laugh? How self-indulgent can you get? They are burnt out in their roaring thirties? Guess life on the chain gang is tough. Now, I’m not sure what the answer is for food and shelter and all those other oppressive things that the man says you need, but hey. If you find a way to cool yourself off so you don’t burn out by working, do share. And no, your parents don’t want you anymore. I mean they would want you, but that’s not a good answer, right? Right? Find that palm tree and invite me over. I’m getting a bit hot under the collar myself. But ponder this…….surely not everybody was Kung Fu fighting. #feelinglikemyselfagain #notsurethatsagoodthing #boomlennialwisdomisthebest

It’s been a weird few months. I RAN OUT OF WORDS! Completely. Or thoughts, which is probably worse but I’m not ready to admit that just yet. The lazy days of summer turned into the lazier days of fall and no one’s writing songs about that. There are some good/bad reasons, so maybe writing will shine some good/bad light on them. As much as I dislike seeing the sawbones when I’m well, I’ve started in with them. This test, that test. Poke me here, poke me there. At least buy me dinner and a drink for gosh sake. Then, like the football announcers, you get the referees conclusion…..After further review, we got nothin. Or something. Or nothing that someday might be something. And hey. Come back again. Ain’t this fun. I feel like getting rid of my health insurance because then no one will get near me and that’s all right too. Just all made me matte when I’m usually glossy. And cranky. And bored with it all. Well that sure didn’t clear my mood up. Trying to do the right things. Staying carbohydrated. Heard that’s important. Puzzling beyond what is a healthy choice. Who knew that could become an addiction? I’m a trier. Will work this out till I shine shine again. And the words and thoughts will be just be unraveling. Might be because I watch too much Netflix??? Hmmmm. Kind of easier for others to write the cool stuff. Someone threw a bottle of mayo at me the other day. I was like what the Hellman. Now that’s funny.

I think I need grounded. Self-isolation. Alas, I have forgotten how to act in public. As much as I try not to be A Karen, even though I am a Karen, it’s just not working for me. Maybe my origional moniker is my destiny and I should just own it and move on. But it’s bad. Really bad. I had a major Karen moment when I stormed out of the nail salon and had to be chased out to the parking lot. The. Nail. Salon. I gringe just thinking about it. I had an appointment which I hate to have to make. Like to free-wheel it when I’m not busy and can just pop-in on My Time. Karen Time. And they weren’t ready for me. Again. And I had another appointment so really couldn’t wait longer than the twenty minutes that I did. It had happened before and I nicely left and said I couldn’t wait. Peaceful Karen. This time I slammmed the door open and stormed out. UGH. The. Nail. Salon. The manger chased me outside saying they are ready for me and to come back. I did, and wasn’t as embarrassed as I should have been, being the Queen and all. The place was silent. No chitchat among customers. Aaaakwooord. Then I heard the Vietnamese talking together in their native language and the only word I could pick out was ‘Karen’. As in, jhyean yowodhwy dovjmley Karen juhijonwy gdinrtej. Busted. Full blown Karen moment and not quite proud of it. So now I think I just have to stay home in social isolation. Keep my former reputation safe. Pull a Ronald Reagan. I always thought how RR kept his legacy intact was kind of cool. When he started getting old and ill, his peeps just kind of squirreled him away to his ranch and out of the public eye. All our memories of him are of a strong leader, and riding a horse. Especially the horse. Guess politics wasn’t my thing back then. So he just vanished. Poof. And even though his last year’s were probably pretty gruesome, we will never know. No stomping out of The. Nail. Salon. Ugh ugh ugh. What will Karen do next?? Steal the neighbor kids ball because it rolls on her lawn? Start picking up her dogs poop? That ain’t never going to happen BTW. Start smoking weed for calmness and contentment? Not sure how to approach the beast but more puzzle might help. Can’t even hashtag anything clever because my IPad is mad about this, too, and won’t let me enter symbols. Doesn’t like the ugly, bitten stubs at the ends of my fingers. Hashtagcantgooutdancingwithoutscarletnails

I just saw the date of my late blogue and it was over two months ago! Whaaaat? Sorry my millions of followers. Did I lose you? I’ve just been in this cranky stage of the terrible sixties and don’t need to drag others along. Also, (aghast!!!!), I think I may have gotten boring and that just won’t do!?!?$! Not this brilliant Boomlennial! I did learn a long time ago the more exclamation points you use the greater the read! Let’s say that. I did plant a little, lounge at the pool a little #alot, and just tried to enjoy being outdoors and breathing again. Always better then not. Eating outdoors is always a pleasure, even if it’s usually in a strip mall parking lot with cars meandering by. Just look up and you are Out. I was enjoying a nice, healthy dinner one lovely evening and was picking at my food. My MC (check out the blogue about my Man Companion), asked if I wasn’t hungry. I, of course, answered how I eat like a flea. One of my dearests then replied, “you eat Chicken like a flea”. Now that is a good line and oh-so-true. I keep trying to eat healthy but creatures with feathers, gills, or hooves just make me pick pick pick. Greens are ok, but probably pickable. Give me something white and I’m all about it. Pasta, bread, sugar blah blah. We all know the naughty list. I had some bad buffalo a few weeks ago, and let’s just say the animal was lost in my body and searching for any orifice to get out. And out he did. (See why I haven’t been able to blogue? Who wants to hear about that sh*t??). So I’m on a mission to get more interesting since I am the Boomlennial spokesperson. And I promise(ish) to not talk about puzzles, although they are a mighty fascinating topic. I’m not going to think about yesterday, because really, does yesterday ever think about me?

But I am a littlestitious. Or more accurately, why tempt the fates? You know The Fates are always lurking just wanting to mess with you. I’ve broken enough mirrors in my time to know there’s a little something something there. Now I have a cracked makeup mirror that will never be replaced. Why set myself up for disaster? Besides, it’s a magnifier and who knows where one crack begins, and another one ends? A little mystery is in order. Clothes are another thing I don’t mess with. I’ve gotten rid of some really nice things because they are cursed. Ok, that’s wacky. It’s more like I wore them in a bad situation and just maybe the clothes were to blame. They weren’t (or were they?????), but I’m just not jonesing to wear them again. Gone. They have cooties and when you have other options, there’s a lot of wiggle room. I would never refer to anyone as being lucky, and prickle when anyone says that to me. That’s a Fate favorite I’m sure. I’m working on a big project where I have to name streets. If you’re familiar with developments, there’s usually a theme. Equestrian. Giddy up. Presidents. Surely you jest. And do we really need another Maple or Chester street? I wanted something personal and origional, not to mention having people scratch their heads. Soooo, dead dogs it is. All you Boomlennials know that they do add up. Bad shelf life and all. Zephyr Winds. Summer Breeze. Stone Garden. Monti Brook. But then I ran out. And toyed with the idea of dogs ‘on the cusp’. I figured when the project is finished, the dogs will be also. Heard the Fates giggling and rubbing their hands together, so couldn’t follow through. Had to branch out into familial dead dogs. As creepy as this is sounding in print, it’s going to be a beautiful tribute to my animals. Much better than the boxes of ashes I have sitting around. I did sprinkle one dog on some newly planted trees thinking it would be an awesome fertilizer and rebirth, but the trees died along with a great idea. Back in the closet they go. Enough about this. Maybe just talking about it all got the Fates re-engaged. More important things to ponder. Like Hedgehogs. Why don’t they just share the Hedge?