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That the world was coming to an end. I didn’t, and I know everything brilliant Boomlennial that I am. I haven’t blogued in awhile since nothing was rattling around in my brain fighting to get out. The news was boring. You can only punch at the President for so long before it’s tuned out. No big weather calamities. Family fairly stable. Mack Daddy and I have spent a lot of time in front of the fire reading fiction which is nice but not blogue worthy. I set a really high bar. Right. But now that Armageddon, or the Zombie Apocalypse (pick your craziness) is upon, what is one to think? I’m somewhat self-quarantined in Hotel California (see old blogue from a year ago#oneofmyfinest#arenttheyall), because I haven’t seen many people. And the sun is out, which kills all viruses. That’s my story and that of other brilliant people. Not really but if it’s in print it is not fake news. People are still going out and about here because we are on vacation and have already flown so on the march to oblivion. It is funny, though, how you approach life now. A sneeze or cough sends everyone running. To what or where has yet to be determined. A doorknob becomes a lethal weapon. Fortunately, I already was a bit of a germ snob and always carry sanitizer with me and not afraid to use it. On me or you. Beware. I am going to venture to the grocery store this morning because I’ve heard the shelves are bare. If there’s no diet tonic water that is a major problem. As I sit outside with the palm trees blowing this morning, it’s hard to believe this is truly the end of the world. Am I exaggerating? You heard it here first……

I believe in freedom of speech. Drinking, of course, promotes this freedom. After way too many years staring at bad TV most evenings, I was ripe for the seduction. There is a whole scene out there that captivated me. I’m not talking table service of Veuve and pounding music, more like can you scoot down a stool and make some room please. I have become a bar dweller. Not in a bad way, in the best way. Who knew? There is a rather large contingent of people who eat at bars. Not just when waiting for a table, or unable to get one, but by choice. At first I was baffled by this. It’s crowded. You cannot peruse the whole restaurant. But service is immediate, bar tenders know you and what you drink, and there are many around town regulars. Doctors and lawyers and Indian chiefs, oh my. They are nice! They are sociable! They may or may not have watched the same bad TV that I did, but dinner is always an experience beyond the food. Not always a good one, perhaps, but always a story to rehash. Last evening, while juggling the whole bar around to accommodate me and my I Don’t Know What To Call Him, I couldn’t help hearing the people next to us. A younger woman introduced herself to a much older Boomlennial type (who needed a bit more upkeep in my snarky opinion), and her husband. I learned. There aren’t a lot of secrets in small bars with loud talkers. Raggedy Boomlennial immediately started going on about surgeries and pains etcetcetc. I wasn’t really listening because my I Don’t Know What to Call Him #checkpreviousblogue, were catching up on our oh-so-fascinating day. I was irritated that Raggedy was giving Boomlennials a bad reputation for being old. Say not! Young one started texting a bit and nodding and aheming and I figured wanted out of the monologue. But soon young ones man showed up and they were all talking and laughing and enjoying the evening. Love that bar scene! There are singles and travelers, but I would say that mainly it’s a contingent of like-minded people enjoying their freedom of speech and a healthy detachment from staring at a screen. I suppose not everyone sees the allure of this lifestyle, thank goodness. It’s like when I told everyone how great my doctor was and then could never get an appointment because she was always booked. Dinner at bars is bad. Very bad.

That’ll be fun. I try to be the positive voice of all Boomlennials. Yes. All. Boomlennials. Many of us start doubting our abilities, because let’s/let’s not face it, things have not all been pretty. Yesterday I was playing with my wee dearests, which is mostly fun and sometimes challenging. Why do I have to keep getting blown up?? It’s hard enough getting down on the floor once, but when my character keeps getting flung across the room it’s just not fair. Up down. Up down. Can we just sit and read a book already?! My knees took a major hit and I don’t like to admit defeat. Next time we play I’m going to be the bad guy with superior powers where I only float and glare holes right through you. Speaking of glares, my wee ones were demonstrating ‘the look’ I give when I get mad. Now I don’t get mad at them very often but, man, I think they nailed it. That’s what you get when you blow me up too often humph. Speaking of wee ones, boys and girls, I’m trying to put an age limit on who can be called that. My Manfriend, who I just learned doesn’t like that term of endearment, calls women girls all the time even though they are usually his peers. Not a new subject in the age of Aquarius, of course, but I can be relentless. And I don’t want to be anyone’s Boomlennial girlfriend. Nor do I want one of those boyfriends, but the Google search hasn’t hit the right term yet. There are, however, some oddball ones. Patooties we aren’t. The more important issue is that Manfriend let me call him Manfriend for three years when he didn’t like it. Maybe/maybe not worth ‘exploring’. Since I don’t want to talk about helicopter crashes, and families just poof gone, the trivial side of my brain is digging in. I feel like 9/11 when the country was feeling a collective pain for people we didnt know personally. Just too hard to wrap your head around the poofness of life. Every lame cliche that comes to mind about carpe diem is just that. We are all just pouf. One way or day. Gone. So I’m going to try to be brave enough to suck at something new. And not be afraid to get blown up and thrown across the room. Now to hope my Manfriend is comfortable with Mack Daddy…..

is a really dumb question. But I guess if you can be trans anything, I might as well ponder it. After a really bad wind storm that knocked out my electricity, I spent eight hours trying to decide if that lifestyle was for me. At six in the morning it is pitch black. No I don’t want to go out and milk the cows in the dark, which I am afraid of. Not the cows, silly, but the dark. I have night lights in all my rooms which are really quite festive and give me something to buy as a souvenir when traveling. No refrigerator magnets for this swinging Boomlennial. Since there was no electricity, however, I had to creep downstairs clutching the banister like a life rope. Found my phone with the flashlight which let me breathe. Whew. Not diggin the Amish thing yet. Sat and played solitaire on my IPad for two hours. Time I’ll never get back again sniff. The thing with no electricity is also the absence of water and heat. Water meaning Flushing Toilets ahhhhh!!!! Since I couldn’t make coffee, anyway, it was not that big of an issue. Yet. Manfriend brought me some Starbucks which I desperately needed, but let’s not go There. Now what would the Amish do? I sat by my Christmas tree enjoying the scent while waiting for a bit more sun to swing around to my windows. Hmmmm. Ohio. December. Sun. No reading by that dull light. Saved by my brand new gas logs so I could at least get some warmth and knit. My brethren would be proud of this task. Until I got antsy and needed to do Something. I didn’t want to use up the charge on my phone so decided to clean out my pen drawer. Yes, I do have one of those and bet you do too. I love pens. Really nice, fat pens with my name engraved, or some fancy company’s. Or slender and gold to mark a special occasion. Alas, I also have them from every bank and hotel I’ve ever been to, and most don’t even work anymore. So I tried them out and threw many away and decided I had reached a new low in my life. Yes, I do have friends and family whose homes I could have gone to, but didn’t want to accept defeat this easily. Plus with no water and no shower I wouldn’t be the most welcome guest. I piddled. And piddled. Called the electric company to try to get an update but that was a joke of course. Eight hours. Not used to pulling an all dayer. Pretty rough. The Amish are kind of confused I think. It’s not evil to be able to see and do, is it? Or did I just earn some unknown reward for a bit of suffering in a land of plenty. I think not. Let there be light. And now I can go milk the cows.

The most wonderful time of the year, as Andy Williams would sing, has finally come and gone. But is it really? The madness has gotten out of control. The ridiculous shopping, the crazy traffic, and the obligations that many don’t seem to like being obligated too. (Felt the need/want to throw in some bad grammar). People were cranky. Or at least I was so I as-summed everyone else was also. The weather wasn’t very festive. Most days the sun forgot to get up and can’t say that I blame it. Go back to the dark side of the moon. So what really is the most wonderful time of the year?? Spring is glorious. Those first tepid days when you go outside and dust yourself off. The inch tall flowers all the sudden seem magical. Green takes on a quality that no crayon box can duplicate. Ahhh. Then it starts heating up and your white crust fades a bit and you can shake and bake and feel that sun tantalizingly licking you. (Cigarette break….). Could that be the most wonderful time of the year? But then the leaves start popping brilliant colors, the air becomes filled with the scent of fires burning, and the Browns still suck. But a whole new landscape unfolds right before your itchy sweaters. All most wonderful! And then the dreaded holidays and the country becomes a caricature of idiots. It is fun for a few weeks and if you have young children it’s great! But if you’re a parent of young children the school-less season is probably not living up to the hype. And is just a lot of work. I used to love the Andy Williams Christmas special. His huge, happy family would sit around a beautiful tree that wasn’t already losing its needles and sing the carols which I still love. Go fantasy! Maybe me and mine are just kind of dysfunctional (maybe?) and others are living the dream. I think not. I’m just spilling my cookie laden guts and hopeful that the sun will come out tomorrow, tomorrow.

Now that I’ve made it through the first requirement of the holiday season, I’m pondering how to celebrate Black Friday. I shopped, of course. And now have some very nice new duds at a very good price. I love this time of year! Yesterday, as I watched too much tv, all I kept hearing was the phrase ‘giving back’. There would be a camera crew at a shelter getting the right shot of volunteers slopping cream corn on a poor person’s plate, with a whole givingbackgivingback feel good story. It was just pissing me off. Really?? Is that all it takes? Weak effort. And it made me cranky. Which is why I shopped for no one but me. Giving back. I started thinking about the origins of Black Friday and had my suspicions. Everyone thinks it’s about businesses making so much money that they operate in the black, not red. But Google set me straight. Do tell!! In 1869 two investors drove up the price of gold which made the stock market crash. I knew it! Such a brilliant Boomlennial I am! But then some shopkeepers in Philly didn’t like that story and started calling it Big Friday. That never caught on but the more positive legend did. You’re welcome. My Manfriend has gone over the river and through the woods. I am left rehashing old trials and tribulations. Not good. The devil has been after me but I am fighting him off with cute dresses and sweaters. And burnt sourdough toast. My own version of Black Friday. #thedevilmademedoit

As one grows to understand life less and less, one learns to live it more and more. And my lucky numbers are 12, 34, and 21. Gotta love a good fortune cookie. Very profound, and I do think many Boomlennials live their life that way. (Especially the gamblers, wink). Once you realize that life is kind of a sh*t show, there’s not much you can do but punt. The month of November gets me pondering thanksgivings, and I have lots. Right now I’m just happy to be inside on a cold, snowy day without anything urgent that I have to glam up for, so I just cover up all my mirrors with newspaper. Quite scary. I’m very grateful that all my phone calls are texts. I like the monologue much better than the dialogue. My dearests are, of course, hallelujah, and know how to jello through unthinkable situations. Get it? Wobbly, yet firm. My wee dearests have one job in life, and that is to be wee dearests. And they do it amazingly well! I’m thankful that my Manfriend is ok with being called my manfriend. And ok with all (most) of the weirdness I bring into his life. My creature, hmmm. You don’t realize how many things are edible until you leave a lab alone in the house all day. I wish he would learn to eat the whole pair of shoes. One stragler never does me much good. Grandma Camp has now become legend. Somehow a name for a couple days of babysitting is a Big Thing. Will have to step up my game next time, though, because I won’t be able to just do the same arts and craps again. My football team won a game, my health and wellness has become a way, not a place, and even though I’m fat I identify as skinny. I’m trans-slender. And since my Boomlennial website is throwing me around I better end before I lose the wonderful persona I have created. I have a good heart, but this mouth….

Here comes Amazon, Here comes Amazon, Right down my drive-waaay. Pretty catchy, huh? I was tempted to start bloguing about the Dreaded Holidays, but that subject has been dissected enough over the last couple years, alas. And as much as I might wench, I join in the fun (?) and games (?) and play along. Then Poof. All gone. Unfortunately (or fortunately) I never got the shopping gene. Nor the cooking, cleaning, and loving shoes one. However, I think woman who love shoes have small feet. They are much cuter and more fun to try on I suppose. How would I know?? Fortunately (or unfortunately?) I made up for my misgivings by loving jewelry, clothes, makeup, and never having a root showing. And having a cleaning lady. Probably saved my marriage and my sanity. A dirty house is vulgar. Cleaning it yourself is more vulgarer. A very fine word despite what auto-correct thinks beahch. So back to the shopping weirdness of the Dreaded Holidays. Amazon has made me savvy. And in control. It’s smarter than I am. It directs me where to go before I even know I want to go there. Brilliant! Alexa is probably listening to me so I wander around the kitchen ‘thinking out loud’ knowing she’ll help me out. Just what would a hunky six foot man want to smell like to please his lady friend I ponder loudly? Zip zip there are some suggestions online. Artificial Intelligence is so much better than real intelligence. Fake it till you make it and all that. Which of course gives me time to bake cookies, decorate elaborately, and glam up for a night on the town. Nope, nope, and I hope!! Not going to stress about silly stuff. There’s always Big Things Looming that will need attention. Like roots. Poof! #shallowisasshallowdoes

Just as I was about to give up on the turmoil of my 2019 resolutions, I had a redo of thinking and decided to finish strong. As per usual, we all make resolutions I would guess, with varying degrees of success. The Boomlennial is not a quitter! We might have the same ones again and again, but I bet when we make them that bit of positivity makes us feel better about ourselves and life. As I was realizing that I didn’t Quite get there this year, it doesn’t mean that the changes I’ve made have been for naught. Just having a forum for using the word naught makes me happy. And one of the simplest ways of being happy is to let go of the things that make you sad. Not easy if you wear your heart outside your body. I enjoy my blogue far more than those reading it (doubtful) but it forces me to get my thoughts out instead of letting them simmer. No soup for me. My Manfrind and I have started doing homework everyday by answering one question in our couples journal. They are not hard but you have to think and you have to share and Talk. Good plan. Not going to address the weight thing, but I have to say finishing strong gives me extra incentive to not be a complete bust. I do have lofty goals. And set a low bar. Exercise is hit/miss but I know no one cares to hear about it unless I fell off the treadmill. Ok maybe that’s just how I feel when others give me their play-by-play. One of my most resolute resolutions (cute!) is to stick to a daily gameplan. Coffee tells me every morning that I can certainly do this. Wine tells me in the evening that I made a valiant effort. And of course there’s always Bombay to say you’ll get ’em next time. Finish Strong. My future self will thank me.

Halloween season has left me terrified this year, mainly because I didn’t know there was such a thing. Spooky it is brrrr. I understand the seasons by what candy assaults me when I walk into the grocery store. If it’s red and green, Christmas. Day after, only red hearts for Valentines Day. February fifteenth, pastel eggs. Summer does get confusing with all those horrible colorful fruits vying for attention. Help help! I don’t know if it’s July 4th or berry season. What to do? What to do? But now, October has become a mess of people and happenings and I don’t like it. No more driving to the country on a crisp, fall day to get a pumpkin and apples. There’s cars! And people! And festivals. Even the Amish have a huge event where they pretend they are just going about their business of living a simple life. Except that they are selling pies and ice cream and exhibiting exotic animals with broken feet and too many horns. Cluster f*ck. You can pay twenty bucks to ride on a wagon into the pristine woods. After you stand in line for two hours. Just like a normal day. And these ‘festivals’ are everywhere. You get sucked in and then it’s a thing. A Must Do to celebrate the season. Halloween is no longer one evening where kids dress up in costumes and winter coats to slog through the rain getting candy their parents won’t let them eat. Now the locusts are eating. Which is a reference to a Bible story I don’t remember but has to do with making up for unprofitable years. Or something maybe totally unrelated but I thought of it as I enjoyed my homemade Amish pie and ice cream looking at the clothes hanging out on the line to dry. I would think the dust kicked up by hundreds and hundreds and hundreds of cars might get them a bit dirty but that’s just me. I need more elbow room. Too many people bastardizing my autumn. Can’t wait to see what November brings. Thanksgiving was always one day. No presents to buy, stretch pants to wear, family to endure. And then poof. Done and done. Thankful that nothing more was expected of me. I will not venture to the candy aisle. Yet.