boomlennials.com

I like to think I am the Captainess of my domain. The Wizardess of beyond the yellow brick driveway. But when it comes down to it, I’m a weak spoke in the cog. Whatever a cog is. Everyone knows I’m the idea person. Noun; one who knows it all, but doesn’t follow the advice. Sometimes charming, most times annoying. I sometimes wonder why I bother to talk. (Not really. I am endlessly fascinating). Recently, my Manfriend invited me to meet up with a friend of his for a drink and to ’catch up’. Oh, I know what that means. Code for I want something from you and will lie and cheat my way to get it. Might be a tad dramatic, but I ungraciously declined the invite, but have at it Manfriend. (This is really a test to see if MF still reads my amazing blogue.) Welllllll, I was right!!&$?! ‘Friend’ really did want some intel, and MF spilled MY guts. Not his guts! All the things we had talked about previously came tumbling out, and that was only after one beer. Really, you didn’t think our conversations were private? Personal? Or is it like in sixth grade where you have to have everyone promise not to tell anyone. And then everyone tells everyone. MF doesn’t see what the big deal is I’m sure, but the ship just needs some security. Some I got your back. Now I’m feeling very guarded in what I say, and I love the free flowing of ideas. Especially mine. I have a terrific idea for a book (being the idea lady and all). In it, the characters slowly fall in love with the reader. Get it? Quite the mind bend. Shhhhhh don’t tell anyone. A lot to ponder. Better get in a sleep appetizer. You know, a nappetizer. Oh, now that’s funny….

Everything happens for a raisin. Yes, I used to believe that until I realized what a futile and misguided phrase that is. Probably saw it on a tshirt and thought, hey, why not? Then you try to explain the sh*t in your life and hmmmm, there is no effin way this can be reasonable. Or the good stuff for that matter. A new telescope has just started sending photos from billions of light years away. I don’t understand the science no matter how many scantily clad weather women try to explain it, but I still geek out a bit. Mainly because it’s so far beyond my level of comprehension. But, what I do get, is my total insignificance. Poof. But cool to ponder anyway. Speaking of traveling, (we weren’t), unless time travel counts, I’m not much for it, but trying to change my ways. When something good happens, you should travel to celebrate. If something bad happens, travel to forget. If nothing happens, travel to make it happen! I knew I needed to change my ways when one of my dearests asked me what my plans were for the weekend. I innocently answered that I got a new puzzle. Go ahead and cringe. He answered ’dream bigger’. Ya got that right!!! I recognize lame when I see it. This free-spirited Boomlennial needs to step up her game!!$&!! I set a low bar for many things, but really?? Need a better agenda. I can’t even blame my dog. A friend of mine was invited to cruise up the whole east coast on someone elses boat. Sounds awesome!! But….she didn’t think her dog would like it and she couldn’t leave him. Say what??? I’m hoping there were other factors, because that makes my new puzzle seem almost raisinable. I am motivated now to get my a$$ out of the chair, away from my flotation devices, and makeup mirror. Although I do dearly love my makeup mirror. #raisinagainsttheclock #givemearaisintolive #perfectlipstick

Advice. Take it!

Get at least 20 minutes of outdoor time every day. Unless you are really busy. Then get an hour. Gotcha! But what great advice. Can’t get that everywhere folks. I just returned from a long weekend where I was outside all the time. Whether sitting on the screened porch, walking, or sunning, I was just breathing. Always a good plan. It is just so true that when you leave the walls behind, you expand. In a good way. #nosunningwithpinacoladas. Even if the air you breath is not the purest, your senses need the new refreshment to regroup. Maybe after Covid and quarantine, I’ve just gotten a greater appreciation for the Great Outdoors. I always liked it, now I neeeeed it. Just like plugging my a$$ into the sun. I take my walks seriously, but I also take my sits and stands the same. An additional charge. A reboot so to speak. (That must be bad grammer. What does so to speak even mean??) I saw a quote recently that I’m going to steal and hopefully do something with. ’If you think adventure is dangerous, try routine: it is lethal’. Pretty cool, huh? And since I’m into advice (mostly giving, not taking) I like the drift. I/we need to quit being so complacent.
Wrong for the swinging Boomlennial. Speaking of swinging, one just opened up and I can get off this damn teeter-totter. Very hard by yourself. #girlsjustwanttohavefun. So to speak.

WhoaWhoaWhoa. You know I’m not going there, as in THERE. I’m into Summerizing right now. Verb. The big Memorial Day weekend has come and gone, and everyone must have their new mattress already. What is it about holidays that mattresses are always on sale?? Could it be that we don’t have nonstop plans? The media has us all barbecuing and grilling and kicking off the summer grander than grand. But…..maybe we all just want a good nights sleep shhhh. This year, the sun actually was shining and it was hot. As in it’s time to complain hot and run back inside for AC. I’ve been conditioned to watch the Indy 500 in a soaking rain just waiting for the next meal. Not this year, baby! Heat, white pants, straw purse and Bare Arms. What?!!? Already? I feel like I just put those away. As the season moves along I really don’t care that much (I do), but that first outing is a bit rough. I give myself all the positivity messages blah blah I can still swim and lift younguns and swing from the rafters blah blah but ouch. Guess that ping pong wasn’t as great of a workout as I thought. After quitting my gym during Covid, those muscles took a bit of a nap. My Manfriend thinks it’s time to rejoin something or other, and I know he’s right, but it would cut into our puzzle time. Just kidding. (I’m not). Seems like I don’t have time, but most of life is basically a Wednesday, and I’m sure (not sure) I could fit it in. Damn Right to Bare Arms.

I’ve just returned from Hotel California after a couple year break, and this is what I know. The place really took a dump. It’s not in CA, but haunting like the song. I wrote one of my favorite blogues while there a few years ago, and had to reread it. No one enjoys my blogues as much as I do, and this one was especially good. (Just kidding. They are all especially good.) But the essence of the story was just wrong in real time. The charm was gone now, and I didn’t even have the words for the Point 2 version. But, that old blogue did get me hooked on those feelings. And helped me remember what I had liked about the place. For a brief moment, I was back there. And left me wondering if it had changed so much, or had I??? After posting this blogue for almost five years, I see what it really is. A speck in time. A random thought or feeling. One of my dearests was telling me that he likes the idea of journaling, but hates thinking that someone could find and read his innermost thoughts. I know! Horrible! People that do journal must have less spiderwebs and thorns in their head then I do. But I finally realized that only I remember what was going on with me at the time of a certain post. Journaling for Dummies or something like that. No wonder I find them even more fascinating than my millions of followers. If that’s even possible. I now get that I need to keep enlightening you, because it refreshes me. And drops me into that Boomlennial world we live in with just nonsense most of the time. Which is what life basically is, right? So now I have to eat these words or throw them into the fire. Nah. Not that deep. ‘Last thing I remember, I was running for the door. I had to find the passage back to the place I was before.’

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.