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is hard to do. I am now coming to the end of my second longest relationship. And it’s been one of my best. I don’t like to name names but since probably no one even knows who my girl crush is, I guess it will be ok. I hope she’s not reading. But I would be thrilled if she was. Kathie Lee Gifford is finally calling it quits on TV sigh. I should be sad but we had a long run and she is finally getting on my last nerve as long pairings tend to do. I first fell for her when I was a young bride and she was living the life I lusted after. She was dating Frank Gifford who was an NFL hall of famer and hosting Monday Night Football. KLG was living large. MNF (don’t get confused here) was in its infancy and the place to be for everyone at the time. There weren’t many channels out there and having another football game on a Monday was about as exciting as most of us could handle. KLG was traveling with Frank to all the games and occationally would sit in the booth with him swoon. She was my age but with better clothes, makeup, and plane tickets. THEN (cigarette break), she would be on Regis and Kathie Lee Tuesday morning to talk all about it. Love. I couldn’t wait. Planned my whole day around that show to relive the evening with my best girlfriend. She was that person. My girl crush continued over the years as we both procreated and she shared her experiences. I couldn’t get enough. If she was on a late night talk show, I was up(ish) and waiting. This from someone who works to make it to sunset. I lost track of her for awhile, but would still see a magazine with her mug on it and race to catch up with her. By this time she was on the third hour of the Today show, which is really bad BTW, but daytime TV sets such a low bar it kind of fit in. I don’t watch daytime TV a lot but it scares me to think my female sistas are being marketed to this way. Dribble dribble. Anyyyyway, then her husband Frank died, and I had to be there for her. I watched and cried with her and felt the pain behind her laughter. She performed and I became glued again. Old crushes are hard to get over. Now she is moving on with her life and I like what I see. She got her sea legs back, and is getting involved in new beginnings. I will miss her, but she possesses (yes I looked up the spelling) that Boomlennial spirit that I wish for all of us. Girlfriend, you were the best.

As I’m enjoying the ugly color of March in the #330 with its full bloom of brown and fake sunshine #thankyouTrump, I have been rehashing my vacay. After staying at a hotel that lived up to its one star rating, my thoughts go to the good/bad stuff. Good…..roses that don’t die. It must be the water or the salt soaked air. Someone said the water has a lot of chlorine in it and roses like that. So brilliant doctor that I am I added Clorox to my OH flowers to see the magic. They became petrified which wasn’t quite the look I was after. Will mist the next bouquet with salt. Or not. Which leads me to cartoon bulls, somehow, someway, with steam always coming out of their noses. Please have a cigarette already. And be done. Six minutes. Over. Vaping is the thing now. And it’s annoying. I hung with a group who clutched their odd pacifiers all the time. And just when I’d least expect it they’d take a big drag of some kind of sweet smelling concoction and shoot it out their nose. Gross. Maybe it doesn’t stink like tobacco but I don’t really want to be accosted with cucumbermintstrawberrylavenderdeerpiss. It still stinks and it’s still vulgar and take it outside. Go have a real smoke and be done with it. Six minutes. Over. We are hoping that being a human vaporizer is healthier, but Guinea pigs all. However, it’s still not polite to be blowing that nose mist at me. And former smokers noisily drag hoping at some point they’ll get a little buzz. Good luck with that wheeze. Maybe I need some edibles to mellow myself out hmmmm. I did learn it’s not that difficult to tell alligators and crocodiles apart. One will see you later, the other will see you in awhile. Oh that’s funny teehee. No matter where you’re at it is important to drink lots of water and get some sun. We’re basically a houseplant with complicated emotions. Edibles you say??

but you can never leave. Welcome to the Hotel California. Such a lovely place, such a lovely place. Except that it’s not, and it’s in Florida, and it’s weird as hell. Somehow in the land of high rises, this place missed the wrecking ball. It’s right out of the 50’s and I keep expecting Annette Funicello to start twisting on the beach in her modest two piece. As one Boomlennial who has been coming here since she was a child said “it’s one step above camp”. And it is. Outdated, little efficiency apartments, no restaurants or swim up bar (aghast!), but on the ocean and nice pool. Clean. You would think that after fifty plus years those tubs would have been Ajaxed raw, and they are. The managers that check you in are Yvonne, or Kathy, or Kvon as I say because they look alike and I’m sure there’s only one of them but they start messing with you from the beginning. ‘This could be heaven or this could be hell’. Then there’s The Mayor and Mrs. Mayor who stay much of the winter and have their routine. Most of which consists of sitting on their little patio and talking to anyone and everyone. All day. Everyday. There’s the man who looks like the bartender at the Diamond Grille in Akron and just makes me thirsty, and the creepy couple with an old old woman and younger man who walks bent over like he’s charging into war. ‘There were voices down the corridor……’ The sad thing about this sad place is I love it. And fit right in. ‘Some dance to remember, some dance to forget’. This is my third vacay here and I bet the regulars are telling weird stories about me, ‘We are all just prisoners here, of our own device’. It is just easy. Think sweat pants and faded bathing suits. Writing a blogue on your patio after laying at the beach all day and watching the palm trees sway. Open doors and free coffee and water. Who needs alcohol? (Me). ‘They livin it up at the Hotel California. You can check out any time you like, but you can never leave’.

think outside the box. Especially if you’re the cat. I had a strange request recently. One of my dearest dearests wants me to write her obituary hmmmmm. Sure. A gigs a gig, right? She doesn’t read my blogue so is naive to the fact I write in one huge paragraph with questionable grammar and material. In my birthday card envelope, she sent me notes on different little pieces of paper of things she wants included. There was no card, however, since she thought it would be inappropriate to include it with the obit notes. Never did get the card but it was one very fancy envelope. Unfortunately, I have obit writing experience which is the first thing you want to include on a resume. My dearest dearest is very particular about what she wants in it. Just the facts, ma’am. She hates reading that someone liked to cook or garden blah blah. I, on the other hand, work everyday to pad my final prose. Everything I’ve ever done better be included. Everything. You pay by the line and that one’s going to be a monster. Not ready to write my own yet, but will start gathering bits of handwritten notes when I think of something oh-so-fascinating. Or not. I am dragging on writing my dearest dearests Big O because I’m not sure I can get the tone right. When you write through grief, the deceased is so much more than words on paper. Which is what the gig entails now. My DD wants a copy to read, and for me to keep one for publication. I certainly will do the deed requested, but at the end I’m not sure if the whole thing will get a massive rewrite filled with guilt and hearts and flowers. And recipes! And jokes! Never, ever.

Here in Northeast Ohio, we have once again been betrayed by Mother Nature. She can be a real Ho and kept me awake half the night with her noisy blow job. I’ve already lost two trees this year, and have enough firewood to supply Hades. In one day last week, I flipped through the whole calendar. Left the house in the morning coatless and with real shoes. By noon the umbrella was out and rain was licking up my skirt. By evening the boots and puffy coat were back on, or I just had too much salt at lunch. Darn Bloody’s. I know this is kind of the norm, but she seems more skanky this year. Maybe I’m just becoming get off my lawn cranky pants and don’t fancy ice skating down the driveway anymore. Fortunately, those Prime deliveries just keep on coming. I’m always amazed by the responsiveness of Amazon, and feel the need/want to keep softly touching Add to Cart. Just testing the system of course. Now, however, I have new career aspirations and want to be a Social Media Influencer. This is a thing. And people make lots-oh-money doing it. And if they say it on social media it must be true. I can make videos of me exercising with tons of makeup (and probably in that puffy coat), and doing all kinds of weird stuff that people have to see. I will generate so much click bait that it will be even more lucrative then this blogue (a girl can dream sigh). Speaking of dreaming, my Manfriend (no names please) wants me to blogue about VD and love being in the air while Alexa is playing romantic music. Yes, he is that guy. Yay for me.

Last evening I attended a talk by a local author who also has a lot of cred on the national stage. Oprah knows about him and he’s not even fat. I used to read his thrice weekly column in our rag of a city newspaper when it was actually readable. I only put an F in front of the name now, and wanted to raise my hand and correct said author when he mentioned them. But that’s a gripe for another time. I hope. The Author has written a few really good books so I’ll forgive his past. Speaking of forgiveness, the retired priest who sat next to me at dinner needs some. He never stopped talking about himself!?$! Isn’t one of your job requirements to care about your flock?? My feathers were downright fluffy I so wanted to converse. People talk AT me alllll the time. No conversation. Even some of my Boomlennial bros. No give/take back/forth I’m fine/and you?? Drives me crazy and I don’t need help. But a priest? Guess I shouldn’t be surprised. Not their first, ahem, transgression #boyswillbeboys. Anyway, back to The Author. He said you don’t really have to have anything to write about. Eureka!! I’m in! I try to rep my Boomlennial brethren in all things brilliant, but sometimes I got nothin. Or I have a junior moment and my oh-so-fascinating diatribe poof. There should have been some interesting dinner conversation but the priest’s aluminum pan on his radiator was only outdone by his talk of his brown teeth. He did tell me my phone was my slave collar which was wrong on so many levels. I really just needed to talk to Suri because she would talk back. Novel idea! Short novel. But it’s coming…. #rightafterIgetbackfromthemoon

is not so vile a sin, as self-neglecting.” A very astute line in Henry V by William Shakespeare. Of course I’ve googled the word liege and still don’t understand what it means but that’s what you do when winter happens all in one day. Pulling out my eye lashes next. It did get me thinking about a common discussion in my WW group, previously known as Weight Watchers. Nope. Not anymore. Really tricked it up. Seems we always go back to the same theme that women care for everyone else first, and suffer the consequences. I’m not sure if I buy that thinking anymore. A few decades back that might have been more common, but I have to think we’ve all evolved. Otherwise, men and women wouldn’t be able to coexist whether at work or home or wherever. There are fewer Stepford Wives then there used to be #thankyouJesus, and they are laughed at more than admired. Yes. No. Both those words are a complete sentence and need to be used judiciously. And with a roar rather than a whisper. Don’t fight the problem, decide it. And now to wood floors being alive(ish). And silk flowers. (Stay with me here). I used to have some silk flowers in a very sunny window. Much like real ones, they bent toward the sun over a few years. I finally threw them out because they looked odd. And made me shake my head. But….silk is a ‘natural’ product and whether they dried out or collected dust on one side or whatever they moved. (I know I know snowbound and all that). Wood floors. A peep bought an old house and was taking up the carpet to expose the beautiful floors that had been hidden for years. But, yet again a mystery, the pad had grown into the floor. Only very laborious scraping was getting it up. No product helped. Much like silk, at one time it was a moving target and maybe there was no stopping some intangible property that continued to evolve over time. Did I say my TV didn’t work for two days, also? And I had no bread or milk but lots-oh-wine? So join me in a toast to the people in your life. Raise your glass or raise your standards.

Love this time of year when all the new diet and health trends are touted out as being the best and brightest. And I usually fall for most of them until I don’t. Keto lasted two days and that was one day too many. Putting butter in my coffee instead of milk made me want to puke which I guess is one form of weight management. A very disgusting way. I’m no doctor (well yes I am but a really sucky one), but that cannot be good for you. Neeeeext. There are many versions of milk out there but try as I might I cannot find a nipple on that almond or cashew. Where do they hide those glands? Oatmeal milk is all the buzz but even with my glasses, nope, no nipple. Got milk?? How? Coconut I could almost accept because it at least has that ‘look’. Rather hard and implant lookish but ok. Now banana milk is out but even I’m not going there yikes! A new product just coming out from a top brand is a ‘plant-based’ yogurt. Yogurt is made from animal produced milk you morons! At least they see the error of their ways and are working on a different way to market it. Geesh. Call it juice, call it drink, call it Koolaid for gosh sakes but we the people are smart enough to know it’s not milk. (That’s a joke BTW). Another fascinating thing I recently heard was that cardigan sweaters are back in style. Whaaaat??? How did I miss that they were OUT of style? I watch too many lame shows to not know this. The news clip told the viewers to raid their grandmother’s closet for great, old finds. Sorry but no one’s touching my hip, bright, warm cashmere sweaters. They are staying right on the rocking chair where they belong. The news segment also used the word unt when talking about someone’s aunt which should be pronounced ant. Just annoys me when I hear that. Feels so wrong. I’m starting to feel like a Seinfeld episode so time for some Cheerios and banana milk. Gag.

WTF in 2018

Now that I’ve had a chance to tiptoe my way into the new year, I’ve garnered more clarity on the last. Had a deep, so deep discussion with one of my peeps about how as a society we are very judgy. At last someone gets me!! Which of course brings me to athleisure shoes. Why wouldn’t it? I liked the trend. Thought it was cool and relaxing to pad around in gym shoes while in a suit. And since I’ve been on a quest to find comfortable yet stylish shoes I thought this was way too easy. I embraced it. Several pair of shoes later I’ve figured out the flaw in my thinking. They are adorable on young people. They are orthopedic on more mature feet. (Notice I didn’t say OLD fellow Boomlennials). Just doesn’t work. And what is it with square drinking glasses? Had them at a few trendy spots and that is just trying too hard. Mouth placement shouldn’t become work. I was mentally reviewing a riverboat cruise I took and now that they are actively pursuing me for moremoremore I need to explain about going to Mt. Hood(ish). To them. It was an all day excursion. A few hours on a bus, visit the hood a few hours, then back on the bus. What they failed to mention until we parked is that Mt Hood was closed for the season. But no fear! We are stopping at the visitor’s center and gift shop and if you look wayyyyy out there you can pretend to see it. WTF!$#%! Oops forgot to mention that little detail. I know it was an old people cruise but even they (not including me or mine) were looking around waiting for the you’ve been punked cameras. Highlight of the trip. Speaking of funerals (I know I know not great transitions in this post), they are getting weird(er). It seems the body thing is out of style. Which is fine but I kind of don’t know what to do with myself. Stare at an urn? Wander around guessing who the family is? Enjoy the Celebration of Life with no alcohol? So I’m trying to make a personal strategy where I can pay my respect but not feel like I didn’t. When I come up with it you’ll certainly be enlightened with a weird blogue post. And it will become trendy and you can say you heard it here first. I also think we should wear shirts with no pants like Winnie the Pooh. Seems to work for him. I hate Hota Kobe. Just sayin. On to a wild and precious New Year!

That is quite a rough title for the days after Christmas but it always seems to have that feel to it. I don’t want to speak for everyone (so not true), but there really are some cominalities to a funeral. Planning planning planning. Event. Day is done and everyone leaves you to pick up the pieces. Literal pieces. My beast was living large. Chewing everything that fell to the floor. But he didn’t swallow weak sauce. All the wee dearests toys had lots-oh-wee parts that needed chewed up. And spit out. I felt hunched over all day trying to open the jaws of life to recover the sword or bow or poinsettia leaf. Should have rethought that last one. I did make a fabulous meal I must say. I did make a fabulous meal. Took awhile to figure out where the oven was and how it works but I had help. Thank you Google. But….now I’m left with half eaten casseroles that are no longer simmering but look like sticks of butter. Baked goods with bites out of. (Sorry). Half full bottles of wine that are taking up room in the fridge and forcing me to day drink. And the body is barely cold. Now to lighten the mood #daydrinking. I was trying to somewhat balance how much I gave my wee dearests so they wouldn’t feel slighted. I try to keep it simple because Santa has their number big time. But somehow I forgot size matters. Somehow. And so it wasn’t the Amount of gifts, but one dearest got Bigger gifts. I forgot to measure! Not like me. So now I sit with my box of Kleenex looking at my round tree which is what happens when you get one in the pouring rain a week before Christmas with a vast selection of three. On a good note it was only twenty bucks and I won’t feel bad when I throw that carcass out. The worst season of the year is looming and I know it will hit me hard. Diet season blows but it’s part of the recovery process. You just have to suck it up and get through it. Time to build a better boat. Shalom