Read my cousin’s blog or sleep with fishes

Big Southern hospitality shoutout to my cousin, who has her own blog (I did not know!) Welcome, Screaming Lemur, to the blogroll.

I’m enjoying it immensely. My cousin is quite the hoot. It’s in the genetic material, naturally.

What Would Serena Do?

My feelings are hurt.

That may not be such a big thing in the scheme of things. To anyone but me. 

But to me it is becoming a “thing” because it has been coming in waves. I commit to something, it doesn’t commit back, I am stunned and speechless and stumble off to count my internal bruises. And repeat. And repeat. And repeat.

I didn’t sign up to be a prizefighter or a Hawaiian surfer.

I do like to fight. I don’t like to get beaten up. I do like to surf. I don’t like to get rolled into a coral reef.

I need a team that has my back. Then we can fight together.

But I can’t seem to find it.

In World of Warcraft terms, Nancy of Longwood needs to find a righteous guild.

Or retire. Go live in a cave like Obi Wan Kenobi. Yeah, I’m mixing my geek metaphors. Who cares, except the geeks, and they might get a kick out of it, being geeks, like me.

I console myself by remembering that the Scooby Gang didn’t come together in a day. Yes, it all comes back to Buffy in my movie.

By the way, in the Buffy movie I am writing a part for myself. I’m Willow’s cool cousin, Serena. If you get the reference then you’re my age or you’re bewitching beyond your years…

Break from pesky words

I wish I could express what I’m feeling with words.

They fail. 

That’s why I suspect I’m no good at this writing game.

Still, I soldier on.

When words fail I like pretty pictures and nice music.

 

Fighting Words

It’s about Patriarchy.

I won’t be ruled by it.

I am a Matriarch. I run my Own life. I set my Own agenda. You aren’t here to do it for me.

I love it when we join forces. We’re so powerful. Two really are much more than two.

But if you want to put me down, we can’t build anything up.

And I’m out the door.

That’s how it is.

With men. With bosses. With Presidents.

Work with me and we’ll make beautiful music.

Try to stomp me and you’ve met your lifelong foe.

I will survive. Have so far.

 

Obama, you just lost me

I really don’t need to write anything. This photo says it all. It sends chills up my spine.

Bad President. Bad. I am not pleased, and for all intents and purposes, let’s think of me as Your Mother.

That guy in red venerates Mothers. Just ask Him.

So listen to your Mother.

You screwed up. Big time. Go to your room and I’ll figure out a way to deal with you later. I don’t even want to talk to you right now.

That’s all. Go to your room. Goodbye.

Forget that noise

I changed my mind.

Hey blog! Missed ya!

I gotta quit ya

sigh. We knew this day would come. I’m gonna have to suspend the blog.

It’s not you, it’s me. No really.

Life and stuff has just gotten in the way and I have to focus on other commitments. 

This is a lot tougher on me than you. We may recall last time I tried to suspend the blog. I lasted five months. This little box can be quite the spleen-release-valve.

But I’ll miss the Comments most of all. 

You don’t know how many of y’all buck me up. Teach me stuff. Make me reconsider. 

I’ve made so many truly great friends thanks to this blog, people I would never have met otherwise.

This is sounding too epitaphy, though. This isn’t a burial. It’s like a bookmark. Or a pause button, for you vidkid generation. (That’s one thing I have no interest in — vlogging.) 

Anyhow, toodles for now. A bientot, as the French say. 

God, I hope I can quit you…

Nurses scare me

I could only watch 'One Flew Over The Cuckoo's Nest' once.

Now I’m, like, obligated to keep the blog updated on my every medical beep, thanks to trying to wrap my own personal story into the general healthcare debate. Forget HIPPAPOTATO.

The only real update is I finally called my old general practitioner. A really great doc who was one of the first I ever found in Orlando. 

And his office was like, “Oh, hi! Can you come in tomorrow?” and the insurance question came up and I told them nope, I don’t have any, and that’s why I can’t see my endo anymore, and the nurse’s voice got all soft and cozy, like a blankie, and she said she’d see me tomorrow.

Nurses. They’re like women. You never know if you’re gonna get Florence Nightingale or Nurse Ratched.

Headline goes here

On the blink

Add new post.

Add new post.

Add new post.

Sorry. Having some technical difficulties. Brain evacuation. 

Stay on the line.

Stay on the line.

Stay on the line.

A Tony story

The Blog has gotten too morose.

Hannah took this photo of Tony at Leon Sinks.

Healthcare nightmares. Corporate pillaging. Mitch Albom.

Need to lighten things up. A Tony story is always good.

Tony said “A girl was hitting on me at school today.”

“Wow,” I said. “Middle school girls sure have gotten bold. What did she say?”

“I kept making her laugh and she kept saying ‘Stop it! Stop it!’ and hitting me.”

My funny boy.