What a fool I've been (?)

Well, a friend posted this on her facey spacey timeline today, and it struck a familiar chord in me. 

There have been so many times over the last dozen years or so (truly, I think I've been haunted by this feeling for more like the last 20 years) where I question my level of stupidity and self-worth.

I can't recall < that sort of experience or memory, BUT I can vouch (with the help of hindsight) many times [stress M A N Y times] having been handed an opportunity that I let slip away because - as I told myself (convinced myself) - that it just couldn't be that easy.  Sometimes I can even envision myself not even letting those times 'slip away' so much as (I think) I ran from them.

MANY times something so wonderful and right up my ally, answer to my dreams, perfect for my skillsets, and *the EXACT* right thing I have always wanted to do with my life, materialized like a Stephen King fog and enveloped my path!  Like a gift, the perfect future was laid out before me and I thought to myself:

"This sort of thing just doesn't happen like this.  There must be a catch...or, this is a trick of some sort.  I'll be sorry if I accept the opportunity because it is just too good to be true."

Hindsight has slapped me hard, and I feel the splinters from God's 2x4 between my eyes.  I have been inattentive to His gift many times over because I did not feel the love with the offer, I only felt the shame of not being worthy.

I can only pray for one more chance, one more love tap of His 2x4 - one more chance to say, "Yes! Thank you."  

Do you think it will happen?  Will I recognize it for what it is and take the leap?

Does God love fools (enough)?

Moving on - sort of

I've been wanting to write lately ("lately" equating to from around December 2019 to about now), but ran into a couple of technical issues that kept me from the blog.  As you can tell, things are right again (for the time being), so here we are, and here we go.

It's a bright, beautiful Saturday afternoon.  The boys are cuddled up and napping, and since Odin currently is hunkered in 'the tent', I feel obliged to remain in bed, too.  Yes!  It's after 7:45AM and I am still in bed, so calm your jets.  Do I have a lot of things to get to...things I should already have accomplished after all of these weeks of flying solo?  That would be an emphatic "YES" (- doesn't everyone?), but I seem to have skillfully managed to fritter away so many weekends finishing very little after starting so much.  [grimacing]

Let's blame it on:
 - the doldrums, or
 - the blues, or
 - rewarding myself with weekend laziness for having made it through another week, or
 - Covid19.  Goodness knows this pandemic is the root of all unhappiness at present.

Oh, and in case you've lost track, my lovely girls are all gone now.  Old age and health issues have taken sweet, outgoing, robust Cleo, her glorious-but-skittish litter sister (and Blue Cream Maine Coon) Flop, and lastly our mouthy mama bean Hobbes.

After Clee and Flop departed we found Hobbes was depressed and lonely in the kitty partner category, so we adopted/rescued an older sweet street waif - a gentleman through and through - we named "Jake."  He was in worse than rough condition, and diagnosed with extremely advanced FIV (feline AIDS), but none of that could tarnish the desire to add him to our brood.  Jake was priceless and one of a kind, but besides all of that, he deserved a home and an easier future (for whatever remained of it) - even though it only ended up lasting 5.5 months.

November found us looking for another companion for 'Beana', and she was quickly joined by a totally different sort of brute in the form of an immense Red Maine Coon we dubbed "Booker."  Book was a thin-ish juvenile (judged to be around three years of age by the rescue vet), rambunctious and rag-tag in his furriness.  He needed some love and care, and a place where he could learn to feel safe once again.  He hated my crying over Jake from time to time, and had no issue hissing at me to express his dissatisfaction.  I have to admit to being somewhat terrified at his full-faced hisses, and lack of desire to be held, so it's little wonder there was good cause for confusion and trepidation about this new addition.

While he and Beana were excellent company from the start, we humans were held at bay in the get-to-know-you arena.  I should say that was true more for me than Karl.  Book took to Karl at the beginning more than to myself, and I had a hard time adjusting to the whole thing in general.  Don't get me wrong, I loved Booker - I wanted to show him this - but we did not hit it off at the first, and I am not an inwardly patient person.  Outwardly, people see me very differently...but this is of little consequence to the story at hand.

A few months later we came to the end of Hobbes' earthly reign, and it was time to search for a companion for Booker.  This was not going to be easy or straight forward...and perhaps Book would have been alright as a solo house cat but, truth-be-told, I needed to have another kitty.  After all, this had been a three kitty household (and family) for the better part of twenty years!

Once again our purveyor of rescue cats, Dottie (the bringer of Booker and Jake), stepped up to ferry a new rescue into our lives in the form of Odin (formerly dubbed "Possum").  His hard luck story has been told here before, so I won't bore you with it again.  If you need to review, you can find it by clicking the label "Odin," and all entries pertaining to our little rapscallion will be at your beck and call.

It took very little time to get the boys integrated - granted, it took more time than other introductions had in our shifting feline dynamics - but less than it could have with these two strong male personalities.  Before long, they were comfortable and silly with one another, and we had a working, co-habitating family once more.  If you haven't seen it, I put together a very short photo display of the two boys ("the Twins" as we called them), and I will try to locate it and include it in the blog.  It shows Booker and Odin, in napping form - and always, ALWAYS with Odin inching closer to Book, until one day...boo yaka shah! [thanks for that, Faraaz]

After less than three years in our arms and beds, and everywhere in between, Booker's time on earth  came to an abrupt end.  It took the rest of August and all of September for Karl to allow even the possibility of finding a new addition to our family.  Odin was in tremendous need, and I was, too, but Karl was torn apart and unable to permit himself the thought of another addition.  So, one day while he was out and I ran errands, I came across a roadside rescue event...and the rest is history.

Moving on is not always easy, but it isn't always difficult either, it's just a process.  Sometimes the process is messy or protracted.  Sometimes the process requires additional steps to be added to the flow chart.  Sometimes you don't have anything more to the process other than simply getting up each and every day and surviving until the sun sets and you crawl back into bed.  This is where I have been lately, stuck in the get-up-go-do-make-it-through-and-get-back-to-safety routine.  I am trying to put distance between myself and my miserable recent past.  Depression, the doctor said, and here's a pill for it.

Well, I said "no thanks" - maybe it was a wrong decision, I know it cheesed off one friend - and I am still finding my way around the fuzzy corners and through dark mental hallways.  It looks (in my emotional-mentals) like a long dark space (not unlike a wide corridor), and every so often I come upon what I swear would be a doorway.  There's a narrow beam of light piercing the gloom, as if from under a closed door, but when I get to the wall where the 'door' should be to feel for a doorknob or handle, there's nothing.  I get down on my belly to look under the door, but have the distinct feeling of fear that I am far too close to the edge of being on that floor and falling over instead of seeing something tangible in the space where the light is existing. 

Sorry, that's the best way of describing how it feels.  It makes taking chances seem futile and overwhelmingly frightening, and so it is safer to keep to myself.  Don't reach out; leave your hands at your sides and be careful.  See, it feels if I reach out - instead of receiving help - I might actually accidentally push people (family, friends) away...over the edge and out of my life.  If I do nothing, if I keep my hands to myself, I won't be doing any unintended harm.  Does that makes sense?  Don't pull people down and don't push them.

Maybe I am doing it all wrong, but I am also not moving forward (good) or backward (not so good).  However, I'm also not moving on.

[sigh]

Normalcy?

I will be returning to work on the third of June, whether I feel up to it or not.  Been sitting (and lying) with my eyes closed - or open '...but not engaged in any activity requiring them to focus or concentrate' for the better part of the last two weeks.

Can you say boring?

Headaches, double-vision, and naps have been near-constant companions, and I believe returning to work so quickly after leaving the hospital was a mistake.  Two full days of staring at and comparing numbers on labels, and working at my computer, did more harm than good.  No job is worth my vision, it is too precious to lose.

Contrary to popular belief, this was not a vacation, it was a period of recuperation - and no, I am not fully functional.  I am now instructed by the GP to begin weaning myself back on to a diet of eyes open, looking at the telly, reading a book, and using my PC to answer email, etc., to get my eyes used to what is to come after a long break from use.

Holy crap, people, take care of your health.  Oh, and is there anyone out there on Atorvistatin?  Are you experiencing any issues while taking the medication?  I have to admit I feel a little ill at ease at the thought of taking it once I read all of the possible side effects.

Ugh

I've let myself go.

Oh boy, have I let myself go.

In fact, I've gone, come back, and left again.  Go, go, go.  Going, going...GONE!

I'm wearing years of 'another birthday fat,' 'disappointment with life fat,' 'i don't have a full time job fat,' 'ouch fat (A.K.A. 'what is that pain - i can't walk fat'),' 'what the eff has happened to my life fat,' 'eat because i want to mask the pain of reality fat,' 'why is my bladder doing that fat,' 'why didn't i recognize that was God's sign fat.' 

You name it, the fat stopped here.

Well, after eleven years of trying, falling, re-inventing, getting back up and trying again, following the trends and trying, and falling, and getting back up once more, I finally found a full time job.  Or rather, the job found me - but either way, that's a BIG "thank you," God.

No, this is not me feeling sorry for myself, it's just the unbridled realization that I am so behind an eight ball with my name written on it...bedazzled in Liberace-style rhinestones.  Like a disco ball of ugh - swinging wrecking ball-like through my life - and I have a tracking device brilliantly embedded somewhere so that I cannot duck or hide, no matter how hard I work to improve things.

How do I make myself un-go?

Is there a way to undo the damage and get back to a good place, or do I just have to start all over again from here?  Really...from here?  Right here?  Really!?

Well, I suppose there are only truly two choices then, eh.  Keep loving the chocolate and potato chips, and all of the other bad things which taste so good and make me feel better, or confront those things that hold me back, make me feel scared and incapable and unworthy.

OK, this is me telling them to get the bleep outta my way!

But just in case, does anyone have a bag of bread crumbs I can use?

Life as you know it, or life as you make it?

I have lately been absent from doing one of the things I absolutely love to do.  In fact, I've been so delinquent in taking part in one of my most favorite activities that you might think I'd given it up completely.

Well, no, I haven't.  I haven't given anything up, but I think I have nearly - almost completely - given up on... myself.

Can I trouble you for a moment to truly cogitate over that last line.  Really read the words and ponder over the differences between the first and second pieces of that statement.  You might think that that's a difference without distinction - or you may even believe there to be no difference at all - but you  know you would be wrong.

Yep, dead wrong.

In fact, I had almost convinced myself that my writing didn't matter to anyone else, so I needn't waste my time to communicate my thoughts or feelings, my musings or daily highlights, my opinions and aspirations, my successes and disappointments.  Myself.  My words.  I am lost without my words.  I am no one and nowhere without my words.

So whether anyone else reads them, whether I am communicating with the silence of the stars or flecks of dust in the sunshine, or somehow, amazingly with another human, I will write - and the words will be mine.  And if I am doing little more than saving my thoughts for myself to read years from now, so that I might remember that I did ultimately survive a horribly defeating time in my life, well then, that's enough of a reason for speaking my piece.

My words; I may couch them at times, or I may brazenly lay it all on the line.  However the spirit moves me or the winds carry me day by day, I am entitled to express myself.  Mainly, I will speak my mind and empty my heart, because to to be less than I am, to say less than I am able, to slip into silent corners and molder away is not really my style.  It shouldn't be anyone's style.  I should never have allowed myself to become less than I was meant to be.

I am a child of the most high God, and I am fearfully and wonderfully made.

I am back, and I will not be silenced.  No telling how often or infrequently, but there will be words.

Ostrichotitus

Funny (odd) how the human mind works.  Then, you couple it with the 'heart' (the emotional side of our brain) and you find conflict.  Add the psyche (still more brain stuff) and you come up with a crock pot full of "Whoa. What have you done?... "What were you thinking?"... "WTF?"

Prior to Christmas (one year ago) I was going to head up to a friend's place to help them finish prepping their domicile for the arrival of family.  I was supposed to receive a phone call the night before, letting me know what time to be there the next day; but the phone call didn't come.  In my infinite realm of being a horrible human - not to mention, the world's biggest disappointment to others (my entire life) - I assumed that that was a hint aimed at me.  The next day, the hint became an enormous message (in my mind) when the silence extended itself throughout the entire day and on into the evening.

Rather than call and ask my friend if they were alright, I let it go, believing I was reading the message loud and clear.  A 'message' that probably wasn't there, but that I most definitely read as an "I don't want you around" sort of thing.  If you spent any time at all stumbling around in my brain pan, you would know this was an easy conclusion for me to reach.
The surest path.
Common sense.

I have 'a gift,' you see.

My 'gift' has been put to great use lo these past several decades, and as I have gotten older my 'gift' has become more finely honed and excessively refined. 
Razor sharp. 
Infallible. 

That phone call from my friend that never came... yeah, I let that tip my emotional scales to become nearly two months of self-imposed exile.  I reasoned that it was all obvious simple math; that 'one' (my friend) added with other 'ones'  (1+1+1+1...), and that became lots of reasons why I should vanish from life.  I pulled into my shell and remained cloistered and reclusive for weeks.  I tucked myself in and locked up good and tight against everything and everyone, and remained untouchable and impervious to any more slights and outright injuries - perceived or otherwise.  I had been on my own for so long, it just seemed the natural next step.

After all, I wasn't hurting anybody... else.

In fact, my gift has most likely become the largest impediment in my bag of tricks; the single most utilized implement of destruction which keeps me from enjoying more of that part of life I so badly miss and want to take part in - people stuff.  Life itself.

I activated the gift to protect myself, my heart, my feelings, my self from damage and rejection, but it's only served to insulate me in a 'bass-ackward' fashion.  I've become so used to reading the signs bass-ackwardly, that I am afraid I have become quite adept at sabotaging my life before giving anything a chance.  All those things I want to take part in - all of the things I could have included myself in, but held back from, because I knew rejection would be the first thing dished out - has all been lost opportunity and wasted life.

The long and the short of it is:
I wonder if I can undo the damage from so many years of incorrect intuitive behavior, and begin practicing more self-inclusiveness?  Can I get to a place where I don't wait for direct invitations, but don't shut myself off out of fear, either; automatically assuming abject rejection is one breath - one answer - away.  Can a lifetime of conditioning be reversed?

Post-P.S

Turned down a Scripty job on an indie which is due to begin shooting in the state on Monday or Tuesday.

Yes, I turned down another film. Same ol' same ol': 'turds wouldn't respond to important questions such as what would be my daily rate? Also, the Production Coordinator knew absolutely nothing at this late date as far as schedule items (like: of a five-day work week, what are the standing days off?). Did they have a locked script? Nope, but here's version 14 of the (as yet) unfinished work...'enjoy'.

Um, can't line an 'unlocked' script if it's so up in the air that there are multiple changes to it every day.

In addition to all of that, I had received no paperwork - no contract, no NDA, no W2s...no nothin' - so I sent a "no-thanks" email yesterday. Yes, it broke my heart (a little), but I have things going on that I would have had to juggle and allocate to others, and fix, and so on, so it would have been a pain-in-the-end right up to the first minute of rolling camera.

It's better this way.

[yeah, beth, just keep muttering that to yourself over and over - eventually, you'll believe it]

Infinite frustration

Yes...I have tried for 2.75 days, now, to register and log into the online homework-teacher-made-a-change-to-the-syllabus site WITHOUT LUCK!!!! All I've managed to accomplish was a heightened degree of frustration and very little homework. Every try with a different computer elicited the same basic outcome - a crash of either the IE or the entire PC.

So...HELLO!!!!!! I hate the idea of having to sit in a computer lab on campus for extra hours just to complete homework I should be able to do AT HOME!!!

College is beginning to suck as badly as technology.

Somebody fix it so I may amend my mental state and opinion of technology. *Thanks*

[grumble grumble]

That was an experience

I returned late last night from Grand Rapids, where I walked my third quilt show (although this particular show was a LARGE international deal-i-o). Karl attended with me, and I had the good company of friends Barb and Jean...but we missed my darling friend Maria.

There were SO many quilts, not just the contest-involved quilts, but three or four additional collections to view. Then there were the vendors; one for every brand of long arm machine available on the market, and three-hundred others! What did they sell, you ask. Well, if you can imagine it, and it has anything to do with quilting, sewing, needlework of all kinds (and some crafting, bleh), then it was there!

The biggest thrill was obviously seeing my "Peace Quilt 1" hanging on display, and I probably spent a good deal of my time just listening to the comments of others and watching them take photos of it.

Don't know that I will enter many more contests in the future, but I will make my way to see more in the future.

Yes, more weather-driven blogging

It's been glorious over the last week+ (since returning from the U.P.). Color the weather 'delightful'. Never too warm; rain insufficient enough to take little notice of; nights perfect for sleeping. *Aaaaahhh*

It's even been cool enough to annoy the mosquito population! Take that, you bloodsuckers!

Time has passed s-l-o-w-l-y for me following the shipping of my beloved PQ1 to Paducah, KY. In little less than one week, my quilt will be on display to the world (essentially) - after all this time! I am excited, nervous, hopeful, fearful, failing-blase'. I am going to relish next Saturday for the milestone marker in my life that it will be!

I hope some of you will be able to make it to Grand Rapids, MI to see the AQS International QuiltWeek Contest and Show at the DeVos Showplace. You'd better believe I will be there!

And now, back to the weather.

Check and check....and done!

Was able to prime and tape off the areas needing repainting last night, and got busy with the remaining processes this morning - early!

Painted the undercoat of color around nine or so, then cleaned up and busied myself with other things waiting for that to dry suffiently. I was watchful and worried that bubbling might occur again, so I tried to keep my mind off of it as I knew there would be nothing I could do about it if it did happen again.

Several hours later I started in on the LAST COAT! I even painted the wall socket covering for the phone/internet jack before cleaning up the second time! This was about an hour-and-one-half ago.

So far, so good. :)

Tonight Karl and I will move the furniture around into place and begin living with it in a new configuration; dining table in the space outside the library and the arm chairs into what might normally be considered a dining nook. We'll see how we all feel about it for a while, then if it proves too weird to live with, we'll put things back in a more normal placement (dining table in the nook and chairs in the living space).

Pictures will be hung shortly, then I will set about figuring out how to install something low-profile in nature for the purpose of hanging wall quilts along the wide open wallspace.

Woohoo!

Yes, "again"

A little bit, that is.  A little bit about the weather and then [drum roll] - on to other things! [cymbal crash]

The weather only factors in because there has been a change.  [grinning madly]  It's still humid as all get-out, but it is cooler this morning.  With the help of the attic fan thrumming all night long, the inside temp is a manageable 74*F!

Tah-daaaahhhhhhh!  And I do mean the "aahhhh" thing.  S'wonderful!

We were on the road yesterday afternoon, skirting the rolling storm front (which was over our left shoulders and closing in quickly), until just shy of returning to my little 'burb.  Boom! 

The lightening, heavy whipping winds, and torrential rains made a violent statement as we cruised to within four miles of the house.  Floodgates opened and branches fell left and right, but through all of that, the temps fell, too!  Everything still feels wet.  Damp and icky, but over the course of the next few days it will dry out some.

The reason we were on the road?  Well, to deliver my little quilted beauty into the hands of strangers.  Many, MANY strangers!  It started off at a UPS storefront in Clarkston, and by later in the evening had only managed to crawl as far as Pontiac.   This morning finds it on a truck and actually moving out of the state!  No turning back now.

More updates can be followed on the quilting blog.  But for now I have some cooler temps to take advantage of, so I am going to get away from the keyboard.  How are you going to celebrate the break in the heatwave?

Goliath

Moved a lot of stuff yesterday afternoon in order to get to the wall I wanted to fix (and ultimately paint).  Another crack had developed around the framing of the window which once existed in the south wall, so besides the fact that the color was wrong, I also couldn't get past seeing that darned crack reappear!

In all honesty, I noticed the crack a few years back, but had turned a blind eye to it for a lot of reasons, but all of that has changed recently.  I won't go into it now, just trust me when I say I've hit my limit.

I have been ruing the day I ever began rehabbing/remodeling this typical 1950's ranch-style house.  Oh, for lots of reasons, but mainly because of all of the rotten people who I ended up trusting and hiring, and who ultimately let me down.  I am a fairly poor judge of character it appears. 

All of that a n d it seems repairing one item seems to make another two or three issues come to light.

But this morning, I awoke feeling a bit more hopeful after yesterday's burst of renewed energy. 

I moved all of the boxes of stored dinnerware (which still cannot go "home" because that space is nowhere near ready for it), began the drywall repair in a fairly big way, and pared down the color choices to paint that expanse of wall, the adjoining joist-into-hallway wall (and the living room ceiling) to no more than five colors!   Two for the overall wall, two possibles for the ceiling and maybe two for the joist (but one of those is a very strong contender)!

"That's six!", you yell.

Hey, I can count.  Don't worry, my math is sound - two of those are the same color for different purposes...so it's all good.

Trust me, this is a big change.  It's a BIG commitment.  I've had it with the 'someday' attitude I've fallen into!  I want my house back!

At any rate, with all of the moving, vacuuming, and prep cleaning, I disturbed a spider.  A wolf spider.  Hey, it was bound to happen.

In fact, it was a very large wolf spider. 

I didn't see anything of him all day yesterday, but I had my suspicions we would meet one day when I found a lot of cobweb-y stuff.

"How large?" you wonder. 

Let me just say when I caught sight of him running an Olympic sprint across the half wall very early this morning - and he was pulling a VW Beetle behind him at the time - he was astounding!  He was booking, baby! 

I mean to say he was one of the largest I had ever seen indoors or out, and superfast.  Why he stopped moving when I approached him with a shoe is beyond me; except, maybe because he has been living in this house for an apparently good long time, he was most likely used to the noises and comings and goings.  Nothing was going to faze this Godzilla arachnid, least of all a freaked out fat woman with a sneaker.

And I truly believe this spider was also probably the one who moved the frig away from the wall one night!

Yes, THAT large!  I'm telling you........even Flop wouldn't approach it, and she loves chasing down bugs and spiders when she spies one.  LOVES it!

My big fear right now is that this eight-legged behemoth may have been a mommy and not a dude.  So, do I need to worry about revenge from a hoard of angry gargantuan babies any time in the near future?

How'dya do, Maria?

About two weeks ago you wrote that you had "just about two weeks to go" before the end of your semester.

Well...it's been just about two days past your two week forecast, and I'm a-wondering how it went?
How'dya do?
What's the word? 
Are you pleased with your final grades?
Oh, and how was your birthday?

In another very short while Jean's travails of her first 'year' of radiology studies will be over with, too, so the two of you each have something to celebrate! I have two incredibly bright friends!

:^)

It's (they're) not even my accomplishment(s), and I'm so proud!

Out the door

He's been gone about 15 minutes or so, and I am trying not to wring my hands.

Bud is off to another interview - I wish he had a canoe to get there with all of this rain!

Be careful.  Be confident.  Believe!

Whoooo boy!

After having just spent more than 4.5 hours helping Bud re-write his resume, I need a drink!

I don't think tea is going to cut it.

Bartender!

Good news, bad news

It has been a l-o-n-g weekend. 
It began last week, Wednesday, when Brian developed a monster headache.  Just coming off of a nearly two-week-long combo respiratory/head thing (he still harbors the cough and stuffy nose), this headache crept in to stay.

Severe vomiting followed at a rate of two-to-three hours between each episode.  The headache intensified over the next couple of days, and his biggest concern (for him) was lack of poo.

[amused exasperation] Kids.

OK, kids and 101-year-old ladies.

Finally, on Saturday afternoon, his appetite began to rear it's ugly head, so Bud ate a little here and a little there throughout the remainder of the day.  Eventually, his relaxed upset stomach said "no thanks" in a very profound and noisy fashion.

That was 4:30AM Sunday.

Then the headache became aggressively painful, so we drove to an urgent care facility in town (which wasn't McClaren - they are the gov snydley of healthcare).  For $90 this clinic gave him a shot of pain medication and two prescriptions to fill....oh, and a prescription for a CT.

Brian managed to sleep throughout a better portion of the night, waking less frequently then he had been, and no vomiting (thank you, God).  He still required elevation to sleep, but his grade 8 headache is now a purring 3 classification (per his opinion), but it is now painful to have contact with the right side of his head.  ?

Re: the CT - Once it's done, how long before someone reads the CT results and gets back with an answer, solution, opinion, diagnosis do you think?

[disgusted sigh] What a ride.

More later.

Cooties're everywhere!

Got home a little while ago, after having spent the morning teaching the last of a 2-part class for children (making a stuffed animal pillow.  But not stuffed with real animals...that'd be cruel).

If you'd been looking in you would have noticed that these girls spent a good deal of time mining their noses instead of working at the project on the tables before them.  Every time I turned around one of 'em had a finger strategically placed up a nostril.  I was terrified to touch anything they had been working with, knowing full well I was going to draw back a handful of snot locker gems - whether they were of the crunchy or slimy variety.

I was squibbed out....feeling squiffy....nauseated....grossed out to the max....wishing I had rubber gloves.

I offered each one of them, in turn, a tissue - NOT the same tissue, mind you, and each declined saying they didn't need one.  Are you kidding me?! 

I just caught you (all) picking your noses, and you don't need a tissue!?!?  Are you sure you don't need one?  Do you WANT one?

The answer is:
Oh, YES. YOU. DO.

On the way home I drove to Kroger to return a brand new package of Thomas' Bagels, that amazingly were covered in mold!  Yup.  MOLD everywhere.  The sell by date on the packaging stated February 21st...so why are they moldy so soon?  I dunno.  I only know (and cared) about getting the refund.

Stopped into a Little Caesars to pick up a pizza for Karl and myself to enjoy as a quick lunch-like treat.  No cooking for me, and Karl would be satisfied and happy for a good long while (at least, that is, until dinnertime rolls around).  Hey, five bucks for a pie is a deal!

The young man greeting me as I stepped through the 'za-hole door was clearing his throat and complaining about it feeling scratchy "and sorta like it's getting sore."  [insert Home Alone scream here] 

Instead of high-tailing it out the door (as I probably should have) I told him to go home and rest and drink LOTS of non-alcoholic fluids, along with taking an Airborne right away, and taking doses of cranberry tablets. Not juice, but capsules/pills/tablets.  Ignore the label suggesting it's good for preventing/treating urinary tract infections, and start taking them with every meal and at bedtime.  Works like a charm, especially so if you begin when the slightest irritations show themselves.

For the mommying advice we were rewarded with a buttered and Parmesan-covered crust on our pizza!  It was extra delish!  But, now I think I need to go take some Airborne and cranberry supplements.

Ish.  :^b

Dinner last night

Yup, so I filleted and breaded chicken breasts in a mix of panko and regular, finely-ground bread crumbs.  It was delicious right out of the pan, but then I turned it into Chicken Parmigiana - without mozzarella cheese.  Bit of an oopsy, there.

Note: Never substitute shredded Monty Jack and Cheddar for mozzarella.

Wishing I had just heated the sauce mixture on the stove then served it over the lightly fried chicken (with the cheese - the Monty Jack and ground parm).  Instead, I put it in our small crock to heat through, as though placing a pan of Chicken Parmigiana in the oven (one of which I don't currently have).  If I hadn't 'crocked it', the chicken would have been enjoyable as it was right out of the pan with the light flakey panko crust, smothered in the veggie marinara sauce.

Well, now I know.  Live and learn, eh?

It wasn't horrible, and it had a consistency similar to Eggplant Parm, but with meat instead.  Yummy, but lacked the lovely, hefty string-i-ness of mozzarella.  Served it with a nice side salad and enjoyed a nice dinner with the boys. 

What's on the menu at your house tonight?

Un-freakin-believable

On the road taking care of business, on my way to a destination (with a time line to stick to), and I am stuck in the "fast lane" (you know, the far left, passing lane) southbound on Telegraph, and people are moving frustratingly s-l-o-w.

Why are they moving slow? you would ask yourself.  Well, I did.

I know others were.

When given the opportunity, I moved to the right - out of the passing lane - and proceeded to pass the obstruction, which had been about seven cars ahead of me.  There, at the head of the line of traffic, blithely unaware of the plight of everyone behind her, drove a woman in a black minivan.....having a conversation with one (or more) of the three young people in the back of the vehicle! 

"People can have conversations with others in the car and still drive," you counter.

Well, for the most part I would tend to agree with you.  But NOT this broad.

Her conversation kept her oblivious to the fact that she was impeding traffic in several ways - mostly by moving along at the blistering speed of thirty-seven to forty-miles-per-hour, when the speed limit is a posted fifty - and most folks clip along at roughly fifty-five to sixty through much of Bloomfield Hills and far western B'ham, etc.

Her conversation was a clear distraction.

Her conversation was with her hands!

No, I don't mean she was 'Italian-talking.'  I mean this chic was having a conversation using ASL, for crying out loud!  A full blown, American Sign Language, Helen Keller, I-can-see-you-but-I-can't-hear-you kind of dialogue with a passenger in the back of the vehicle, so her attention clearly was not on her driving.

"HEY!  Hang up and drive, you loon!" I wanted to yell.  But she wouldn't have heard me if I had.

She wasn't paying attention to what was going on around her - AND SHE WAS DRIVING!!!