Soft-Resetting and Necking

Ahem.

This is why I blog, perhaps in a much less profound manner. You should try it, too... even if it's in an old school journal, on a phone notes app or work newsletter. You'll be all the better for it.

Of course, if you are writing for the work newsletter, you might want to weigh the truth. Bosses sometimes frown upon memories of that last hot date you went on or your feelings about your last performance review.

I love Anne Lamott. If you haven't read any of her stuff, you might want to give it a try. If you hate it, consider yourself better for trying.

The wife has a pinched nerve or a bad wing or neck stigmata--er, I mean stenosis. She is an absolute hot mess. No matter what she does, she can't get comfortable. I haven't seen her like this since she had... lower back spinal stenosis, which led to surgery and permanent numbing in her foot. I'm hoping this is an injury from too much lawn mowing or lawn bag tossing or doing push ups when I'm not looking. From the looks on her face, it doesn't matter what caused it--it's misery. Ideas welcome. Ice, heat, that freezy stuff you rub into your skin, ibuprofen, tylenol don't touch the uncomfortableness in which she is currently swimming.

Going to the doctor is a novel idea, but that didn't help her with her spinal stenosis until it was almost too late--they kept pushing pills and telling her to rest. They didn't believe her...probably put her in a category of "another ass with back pain looking for meds." I told her if she goes to the doctor for her neck, she should take the MRI of her back and remind them how much they screwed up last time.

I'd post a photo so you could see I am not exaggerating one bit, but I'm on my Chromebook and don't have access to my photos. I'll post that photo as soon as I get to my "real" computer. (No offense to the Chromebook. I love it.)

It is a very helpless feeling to know someone is miserable and there is nothing you can truly do about it. Oh, I can take out the garbage and carry things and try not to leave a trail in the house and bring home take-out and pump out Reiki, but that doesn't really address the problem. I'm not kidding when I say ideas welcome. Chocolate and Norco don't touch the angst.

The body has a mind of its own. (That's a profound thought. Chew on that, please.) Her body's mind is definitely pissed off.

As for me, I have nary a complaint. Thank you, Universe! I pooped today, my legs are shaved and my phone is fixed. Dang, I forgot about the phone.... it gave me fits this week. I took it to the phone store and held it up, exclaiming, "I HATE THIS PHONE! (This is not an exaggeration. I really did this.) While holding it up in the customer service guy's face, I pointed out, "SEE? NOTHING! NOTHING ON THE SCREEN!" He looked a wee bit terrified. I have to say, they found me someone to help immediately. No waiting behind all those other people. He found me a 12 year old to help me.

Me: "This phone is only six months old! Look at it!"
12 year old phone lady: Looks at phone.
Me: "It's fully charged! I haven't dropped it. It's in an Otter Box. It's never been in water. I can't even power it off."
12 year old phone lady: Looks at me.
Me: "I HATE THIS PHONE! I SHOULD HAVE KEPT MY ANDROID!"
12 year old: politely takes the phone from me.
Me: glaring.
12 year old: politely hands the phone back to me.
Me: Look at screen. Everything is okay. WTF????
12 year old: "This is a common problem. It's happened all the time. I just did a soft reset."
Me: Blank stare.
12 year old: "Hold down the volume-down button, this button and the power button at the same time. Hold it down until the phone powers up."
Me: Blank stare.
12 year old: "It's a common problem."
Me: "I still hate this phone."
I turn around to leave and see the Customer Service guy. He'd been watching from afar. Chicken. He looks a quite relieved to see my phone is just fine and that I am no longer growling hate. He points out my Chromebook (I carry it everywhere--seriously) and asks what it is. I tell him, adding that I love it. Despite hearing me bitch about how much I hate my phone, he says, "We're having a sale on iPads today...."

I give him a "you have GOT to be kidding me" look, roll my eyes and walk out the door.

So, if you have an iPhone 7 and you get this blank, dark blue-ish looking screen, do a "soft reset." You'll be glad you did AND you'll save a trip to the phone store. You'll also lower the intensity of your hate for electronic devices.

If only I could take the wife to the phone store and get a "soft reset" for her neck issue.

Sale on iPads, my ass. Thank god for 12 year old sales people who have never lived a moment without cell phones and computers.

Prayers for the wife and prayers for that ass. I'll be eternally grateful.

Fits & Sticks

My Steetch Feeks arrived as scheduled. (I hate to use the actual name of any company, as it is possible unsuspecting people will arrive in the Addiverse and wonder what the hell just happened.) As promised, I took photos during the unboxing (that's what it's officially called) and shall share them as promised.

Before we go any further, I have to make a confession: I'm kind of disappointed. The pricing was funny (did they think I'd ever pay $98.00 for a pair of pants?) but there wasn't as much hilarity as anticipated. I only hooted and hollered once or twice. I planned on peeing on myself with laughter. Suffice it to say: no piddling ensued. Dang.

The first surprise? How small the box was. I mean, there are five articles of clothing in there. I couldn't figure out how five items could be smooshed in there.

The second surprise? Everything actually fit in the box. Secure, unwrinkled, waiting. Not smooshed. It was packed cute as a button.

The third surprise? Everything fit me. I'm getting ahead of myself telling you this so early in the game but it's only fair to acknowledge my surprise. Fit in the box and fit on me. Big points for the company

The fourth surprise? Everything was machine washable. You may not care about this but I sure do.

My first complaint? I said NO JEWELRY. So, what did they send me? A necklace. A necklace I would never wear unless paid large sums of money and told specifically when I should wear such an item. I've seen friends with style wear this type of necklace and they look amazing on my friends but I'm certainly NOT gonna wear such decoration. People would burst into laughter or flames if I were to put this thing on. I'm sure I would have been more fashionable the moment I donned such a trinket but not today. If I'm going to wear jewelry, it's going to be made of precious metal, it's going to be understated and it's not going to dangle to my belly button. For the record, the wife liked the necklace a lot but agreed it was not for me. So, lose points for sending the necklace. Score: 0-1.

My second complaint? NO ANKLE LENGTH PANTS. So, what did they send? Ankle length pants. To be fair, they were awesome pants, albeit linen. I should NOT ever wear anything linen. All I become is a wrinkled mess. (It's my fault about the material. I never said I don't wear linen. I apologize to my stylist for that oversight.) The pants were well made, were very comfortable and of a color I loved. I know "what not to wear" would approve. But, ankle length! I don't do toes, I don't wear sandals very often at all and I am not a fan of this length on anyone. So, lose points for sending ankle length anything. Score: 0-2.

Side note: I am disappointed they didn't send me capris. I indicated several times on my profile that I wanted capris. SEND ME SOME CAPRIS!

Then came the tops. My stylist obviously listened to my need for loose-fitting tops. He got the colors right. The clothes were very comfortable. I wanted something different because I need some new stuff to wear and I need to have a few items that aren't made of t-shirt or sport-themed material. I hate shopping so having clothes come to me is the perfect way to go. But...


....let's face it. You can't picture me in these clothes, can you? I loved the color of the blue top. LOVED. Big points for the color. But, a sheer flowing top? The wife said, "when would you EVER wear that?" Okay, so she answered the question if I should keep it. (Ignore the fact that I put the blue flowing blouse over my T-shirt. We can't all be fashionistas.)

The next top--a sleeveless diddy with a fun print--was an acceptable "match" with my profile. (I would have preferred blue or a dark brown but what do I know? I'm not a fashion consultant.) I would have kept this summer item had I kept the other four products. I liked it a lot but....

....I already knew I wasn't keeping the first two items, which meant I'd be paying full price for anything I kept and I didn't think the price of this shirt was acceptable. (That's part of the game: keep all five items and get 25% off the cost of the order. Makes the cost much more palatable.) I couldn't justify paying full prices for something I'd never wear it more than twice a year. (I think the wife gave this one a "thumb's down." I can't verify this but I'm pretty sure it was rejected by my fashion consulting wife.) Since I would have considered keeping it, I have to say the score is 1-4..

The wife's favorite pick was a striped shirt. Very loose. Some unknown material that was comfortable, not scratchy although it looked like it would be scratchy. Here's a photo of said shirt. (Ignore the checkered pants with the striped shorts, although I don't mind the look.) The wife wasn't very thrilled with the "peeking tattoos" but not much I can do about that besides wear a shirt under the shirt and that defeats the purpose of wearing the shirt. This was probably the "closest" to something I'd wear. It didn't do much for my girlish figure but it sure was comfy and "normal" and a good color. The stylist suggested pairing this with some casual jeans and a sweater or coat or something like that, which made sense.  But....

....I decided not to keep this one, either. Since this would have potentially made the cut, the final score: 2-5.

I'm glad to say returning things is super easy. Big points for that. They provide a pre-paid, pre-addressed mailing bag. I stuffed the clothes in the bag and sent everything back.

You're probably thinking this experiment is over. I'm pleased to report it is not. I'm giving them one more chance. Heck, they earned the opportunity. I'm a tough cookie. It's hard for me to consider such clothing. They have the right idea. In a month, I will receive Round Two of the Feeks. Of courses I will take photos and I'll review the items. For Round Two, I won't count on hilarity. I'll expect a small box. I'll expect things that fit. I'll expect not to find jewelry or ankle pants. I'll expect surprises. I'll expect to be steeched and feeks. I'll expect to like something enough to buy it...

...AND, I'LL EXPECT SOME CAPRIS. There better be some capris in that tiny box.

T-shirts, beware. T-shirts, be warned. A steech and a feeks might dull your full glory.....
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How DOES Your Garden Grow?

I was hoping my "clothes in a box" would have arrived by now, as the fodder for this blog will be OFF.THE.CHARTS! Yes, I am awaiting my first order from a company that takes your measurements, asks you about your style and then sends you five articles of clothing that you will supposedly love. Well, I want YOU to be part of this fun... I guarantee we will be hooting and hollering about what is in that box. It's called "unboxing" and I plan on documenting the entire thing. I told them no skinny jeans, no high waist jeans, no foo-foo jeans. I warned them not to send me shoes, jewelry or accessories. I was clear that I am not the dress clothes wearing type.

On-line-probably-a-computer-program Stylist: Heeled Shoes?
Me: No.
Stylist: Sun Dress?
Me: No.
Stylist: Dangling earrings?
Me: No.
Stylist: How about a brown peasant blouse?
Me: How about no?
Stylist: Is it the brown or the peasant part that is wrong?
Me: Yes.
Stylist: What do you usually wear?
Me: Jeans and a t-shirt.
Stylist: What do you wear to work?
Me: Jeans and a t-shirt.
Stylist: What do you wear when you are out on the town?
Me: Jeans and a t-shirt.
Stylist: Why are you using our service?
Me: Because it'll get my sister-in-law 25% off her next order.
Stylist: What on earth do you actually want?
Me: Some of those short pants.
Stylist: Short pants?
Me: Yeah. Jean kind.
Stylist: You mean capris?
Me: Yeah! That's what I'm talking about.
Stylist: What kind of top would you like with your capris?
Me: A t-shirt?
Stylist: [blank stare]
Me: Maybe I should've ordered from the men's department.
Stylist: I'll add a little lace to the...
Me: No lace. No frill. No nothing.
Stylist: Sparkles on the pockets?
Me: No sparkles.
Stylist: Glitter?
Me: NOW YOU'RE TALKING!

The clothes are supposed to arrive in two days. I'm following the package... right now it is in Indiana. I'm warming up the camera and am ready to share the fun with YOU.
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Summer is here, as evidenced by the 90+ degree weather and the long days. June is by far my favorite month of the year. The lawn is still lush and green (as opposed to brown and straw-like in August), the days are long, the allergies are settling down, the winds are warm and the lightening bugs are sure to surface. The yucca plants are busy yucca-ing. The bugs aren't too buggy. The weather gives me opportunity to share my tattoos with the world. June can also be cold and soggy but this year we're off to a warm, sunny start. Bring on the tattoos.

I spend a whole lot of time outside in June. Yesterday, I broke every single fingernail I had while digging in the dirt and creating a "new" area for some ground cover. (No, I don't wear gardening gloves. What is the point of that? I want to feel the dirt--experience the earth. Broken finger nails are a small price to pay when gardening.) I thought the wife might not agree with my vision of filling the "grass isn't going to grow here" area with some mulch and ground cover, but she found it appropriate and the project was approved. Score!

Okay, maybe I employed the "better to ask for forgiveness than permission" mode of being during this project. I started digging when she wasn't looking and by the time she got out there to ask what I was up to, I had already laid out the design. Since she has difficulty picturing things, this illustration of the plan worked to my advantage. Not a peep of dissension.

She did poo-poo my idea of putting hostas in that area but she did go along with the pachysandra idea. The wife tends not to be a hosta person. I don't understand this, as they are perfect for the shady areas of the lawn. Maybe they are too boring for her taste. Maybe she's sick of them. Maybe it's because the bunnies keep eating them and they end up looking like green sticks instead of plants. Maybe she was killed by a hosta in a previous life. Hard to say.

Pachysandra rocks because it's low maintenance, it spreads like wildfire, it doesn't need a whole lot of sun, it doesn't need maintenance and it looks great once it takes root. I'm sure the newbie sprigs will look like poop this year but that's okay. They will be out of control by the time next summer arrives. (I did some research on this ground cover... who knew it was Japanese and that there are different types? I thought pachysandra was pachysandra was pachysandra. Bad gardener.)

The wife spends oodles of time outside because she is watering all the hanging baskets and planters she has strategically placed around the yard. Everywhere you look, there are hanging baskets. That's a lot of watering, especially when it's so warm and sunny out. If I can't find her, I just look at the planters. Or, I listen for the squishing sound of her Crocs. All that water gets her shoes squishy and they make a very distinct sound as she walks. I can hear her anywhere on the property. Her goal, besides being aesthetically pleasing, is to attract hummingbirds. (Oh sure, my obsession with Baltimore Orioles is ridiculous but her hunt for hummingbirds is just fine.) She's already been successful, as a hummingbird was flitting around the back yard yesterday. Bitter, party of one.

There is one big difference in my gardening efforts in comparison to my gardening prowess of ten years ago: now I stay in the shade whenever possible. When I have areas of which need to be weeded that are always in the sun, I do those areas before or after the sun is at its full glory. Before, I would have used that as an opportunity to get a tan. Now, I'd rather poke my eyes out than weed in the full blast of the sun. It's not that I don't like being tan... it's because I don't like being miserable and weeding in the full heat tends to be miserable. I'm done with misery. I can get a tan when I'm not working like a dog, thank you very much.

I hear it's supposed to be in the high 90's today. That's a bit much for being so early in the year, not that I mind. I will gladly sit out side when it's that warm, just not in the sun. It's been windy the past few days, so sitting outside borders on overwhelmingly delightful....

....maybe there will be some shorts in that "clothes in a box." Even some of those "short pants." That'd brighten my day, keep me cool and certainly fancy up my wardrobe game. But if I see one frill, one piece of lace, one accessory... that stylist of mine is gonna hear from me and you.

...She COULD make it up by sending me some glitter on a t-shirt.....

...or, by sending me something from the men's department. I do wish I could just wear the manly man's obligatory blue shirt with khakis and call it a day. Maybe she'll send me a blue t-shirt with khaki pants.

Oh, the fun we are about to have........
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Old Cold, Orioles Bold

Something is messing with my "attract Orioles" set up on the deck. Something is eating the oranges and drinking the grape jelly and it is NOT an Oriole. In fact, something is STEALING the oranges and dragging them out to the middle of the yard.

I noticed something was amiss when I peered out onto the deck and noticed my grape jelly container was gone. I had filled it the day before so I know it was there. My investigation led to me finding a very empty jelly container--like, licked clean empty. I thought this might be the wind or some weird phenomenon... but, the next day, the re-filled jelly container was gone AGAIN. Once found, it was very clearly consumed by some grape-jelly loving being.

I decided not to put out the grape jelly and but left the oranges, as it appeared an Oriole (or some other bird) was pecking away at it. The first no-jelly-day...the oranges were gone. Stolen right off the bird feeder.

It took me awhile but I finally found the rinds in the yard. Empty, orange rinds.

Now, those are some pretty big oranges I've been using and they were stuck onto these large metal screws, so whatever took those oranges was bigger than an Oriole. Perhaps something raccoon size... although, we haven't seen any raccoons milling about. We have a chipmunk causing havoc but there is no way that little thing could carry an orange. I suppose a bionic squirrel would be close to big enough but I'd think they'd be puking grape jelly after eating a whole bowlful.

Whatever it is, it REALLY seems to like oranges and grape jelly, it is bigger than an Oriole and it is PISSING ME OFF.

Perhaps I'm more pissy about it than usual because I caught a cold and I've been crabby about everything. It's hard not to be crabby when having a snot-filled, throat-scratching, crabby-making hot mess of a time in the Addiverse.

I probably got the cold flying on the plane or from not getting enough sleep on vacation or from drinking out of a tainted hotel glass. No matter. I noticed the scratchy throat the last day of vacation. It hit me hard and without warning. The sore throat is a dead give-a-way that the cold is on the way. I wanted to ignore the scratchiness but it was quickly followed by the low grade fever and the feeling of exhaustion.

I thought I was safe! I thought I had made it through the winter and spring without a cold or flu. I was pretty damn proud of that accomplishment. Then, BAM! End of spring cold.

Never count your colds before the summer hatches.

Now that my eyes aren't watering as much and I'm no longer going through a box of kleenex per hour, I can sit back, reflect and blog.

I've decided that the older you get, the tougher it is to fight a cold. Case in point: thirty five years ago, I wouldn't have even noticed I had a cold besides feeling shitty and sneezy for a bunch of days. I would've sucked down some throat lozenges and been done with it. Twenty five years ago, a cold would slow me down and I'd feel pretty crappy, but it was no reason to miss work or an event. I'd just chug a bunch of cold tablets, carry kleenex at all times and try not to touch anything.

Now.... now a cold kicks my sorry ass from here to eternity. This particular cold left me exhausted to the point I missed two days of work. For me to sleep all day on the couch on a work day is something to write home about. I didn't want to be at home. I wanted to be at work. That said, there was no way in hell I could be at work... unless it was so I could sleep under my desk.

It truly was only a cold--a good, old-fashioned, run of the mill cold. A sneezing, wheezing, coughing, eye watering case of rhinitis. I've had mono and the flu and food poisoning and even"walking" pneumonia (do they even use that diagnosis any more?), so I know what it's like to feel really bad. But, I'm telling ya, this "aging cold: thing...

...It.Kicked. My. Ass. Even my boss commented, and this is a direct quote: "That cold is kicking your ass." At least she knew I was actually sick.

I'm pleased to say that I'm at the point of still being a wee bit snotty but am no worse for the wear. I do have some pretty epic nose-blows and some pain-in-the ass post-nasal drip, but otherwise--I am doing fine. It's allergy season here, so the sneezing might actually be allergy related. No matter. I feel a bazillion percent better and that is what matters....

....No. No, what really matters is what the hell is messing with my Orioles. Now that I'm feeling much better, I may have to stay up all night and stare out the window. Perhaps I should set up a video camera in order to catch the culprit. (Wouldn't it be funny if it were the neighbor playing a joke on me? Stealing my jelly and hollowing out the oranges. THAT would make for a great video.) I've got lots of grape jelly and a whole lot of kleenex. I'm ready to solve the mystery. If I get video or photos, you know I'll post them. If I want to see more Orioles, I need to kick this up a notch.

Kleenex and grape jelly. I'm armed and dangerous. No one messes with my Orioles. Game on, non-bird friend. Game on.

When in Boston...

The wife and I just finished a whirlwind tour of the Boston area. We had just enough time to do some sight-seeing and then head back to our safe and welcoming Midwest. Since it was raining and as the Red Sox were out of town, we tried to pick some indoor activities to enjoy. (I wasn't motivated enough to walk the Freedom Trail or hang out on the USS Constitution in the cold rain.)

Now, I've driven repeated in Chicago proper in rush hour traffic without issue. I am not one to worry about driving in big cities. I've zipped along the six lane highways in Southern California. I've enjoyed "no left turns in New Jersey" outings. I've survived the Dallas area "Mix Master." That said, I'm no fool--I know driving in Boston is out of my league.

So, I did what all smart spouses would do: I had the wife drive.

I didn't exactly tell her about how driving in Boston was sure to be a terrifying ordeal. I figured the less she knew, the better chance of survival we'd have. Okay--I didn't tell her anything besides Boston streets don't go in a straight line. I showed her a quick view view the cell phone map, so I suppose that kinda-sorta told her something. I didn't tell her about the tunnels or the weird exits from inside the tunnel to outside the tunnel. Thankfully, she was too distracted by the fact our rental car only had 80 miles on it when we got it. She was worried for the car, not for us.

If you get bored, you really should take a look at a map of Boston. You'll see what I mean. It looks like someone puked a bunch of squiggly lines and decided those should be streets.

Having a cell phone map is worthless. Having the lady on the cell phone map telling you what to do is almost as worthless. Perhaps she too vomited up a bunch of directions and decided this would be a good route to take. "In 600 feet, make a slight left. In 400 feet, stay left. In 400 feet, stay right. In a half a mile, make a u-turn and proceed to route." I'm not making that crap up. There wasn't even time to get mad at each other as we were always making turns, avoiding large moving objects and watching out for the infamous "Boston Left."

I cannot do justice to what it's like to drive in Boston as I'm still suffering from PTBD (post traumatic Boston disorder). I found an Internet post that is absolutely, positively PERFECT about this topic. In fact, it's so perfect, I'm posting it here. I believe this may be the most genius thing ever written about Boston driving. I've added a few of my own comments within Mark's comments, as indicated in BRIGHT BLUE. The link is  http://www.masshole.com/driving.html

Driving in Boston: Submitted by MahkThe geographical center of Boston is in Roxbury. Due north of the center we find the South End. This is not to be confused with South Boston, which lies directly east from the South End. North of the South End is East Boston and southwest of East Boston is the North End. And, the Back Bay was filled in years ago.   

Addiverse: That is the most perfect description of Boston ever written. Ever. I gave up the "which way is north" way of thinking. God love you, Mark. This is genius. And, terrifying. No tourist should read this before going to Boston lest you not go.

Basic Rules for Driving in Boston (subject to change at any time):

1. Always look right and left before proceeding through a green light. I found this quite odd but agree that it is true. Since cars are shooting out every which-way and as people are turning left in front of you and as the official Rules of the Road as seen as a mere suggestion, we looked as we proceeded into intersections. Who knew you'd have to look left and right when having the right of way via green light? 
2. When on a one way street, stay to the right to allow for oncoming traffic to pass.
3. Never, ever stop for a pedestrian unless he flings himself under the wheels of your car.  As a part-time pedestrian, I attest this to be true.
4. The first parking space you see will be the last parking space you see. Grab it.
5. Learn to swerve abruptly. Boston is the home of slalom driving, thanks to the Department of Transportation, which puts potholes in key locations to test drivers' reflexes and keep them on their toes.
6. Never get in the way of a car that needs extensive bodywork.
7. Double-park in the North End of Boston and South Boston, unless triple-parking is available. We never did figure out the parking rules. There were parked cars everywhere.
8. Always look both ways when running a red light. One would think this not be needed, but it is. Red light running is a sport, perfected by the Bostonian.
9. Honk your horn the instant the light changes. We saw no one use their blinkers. We did hear a lot of honking. Blinkers, no. We probably looked like true tourists with all the blinking we did.
10. Breakdown lanes are not for breaking down, but for speeding, especially during rush hour. Breakdown lanes may also end without warning causing traffic jams as people merge back in.
11. If you should break down, allow your vehicle to come to a stop in the center lane. If road conditions are hazardous, exit your vehicle, without looking, and stand next to it, with your back to oncoming traffic.
12. Never use directional signals when changing lanes. They only warn other drivers to speed up and not let you in. Amen.
13. To signal a lane change, look in the direction you're about to go, as you do so. Wearing a baseball cap is considered an extra safety measure.
14. Making eye contact revokes your right of way.
15. Never pass on the left when you can pass on the right.
16. Whenever possible, stop in the middle of a crosswalk to ensure inconveniencing as many pedestrians as possible. And if a pedestrian ahead of you steps into the road, speed up loudly and chase them up on the curb. Pedestrians have no rights.
17. On a multi-lane highway, always drive in the left lane, even if there are others wanting to pass. Stay in the left lane until the last possible instant before cutting across all lanes to the exit.
18. When making a left turn at an intersection with a red light, glare at the oncoming drivers, inch your way into the intersection, and floor it when the green light from the other direction turns yellow. I cannot tell you how often we saw this. Perhaps the infamous Boston Left Turn should be considered sport, too. 
19. When merging, floor it, as you hit the "on ramp" and proceed immediately to the furthest left hand lane. I cannot tell you how many times I heard the wife exclaim, "These people do not know how to merge!"
20. When road conditions are hazardous, swerve in and out of lanes, to pass slower moving vehicles.
21. Communicating with other drivers and pedestrians is important. Gesture often.
22. The furthest right lane is reserved for passing. The furthest left lane is reserved for slower moving vehicles.
23. Always bring your cell phone with you. Highway driving is a perfect time to chat with your friends and loved ones.
24. If you miss your exit, stop abruptly and back up.
25. When another car pulls up close behind you and "flashes their brights", slam on your breaks.
26. When entering a tunnel, always slow down and pause before entering, even if there is no traffic or reason for delay. We wondered about this. The entrances to tunnels were always at a dead stop, but once in, there didn't seem to be reason. Who knew?
27. When faced with a lane detour, due to construction, always pass as many complying vehicles as possible, wait until the last possible second, then swerve into the specified lane.
28. Be prepared for abundant construction detours.
29. Taxi Cab drivers are highly trained professionals. Observe and learn from their masterful techniques and driving skills.
30. Only those pedestrians not looking where they're going, head and eyes fixed firmly forward, are allowed to cross in front of traffic. Be sure to "break" hard and stop as close to them as possible.
    • Tip: Only pedestrians crossing within "Cross Walks" have legal rights. Pedestrians outside of "Cross Walks" are "fair game".

Mark--er, Mahk--got it right. Or, left. Or, Boston left. I can't put it any better. Give me a Wisconsin-I-always-drive-in-the-left-lane kind of driver any day. I'll never complain about that again.

Ode to a Wild Mama: 1970’s style

Great news! A Baltimore Oriole stopped by my little orange feeder last week! I was so excited I almost couldn't breathe. I tried to take a photo but I was so excited and my phone was out of arm's reach, so I only got a blurry snapshot before he hit the road. Although I have yet to see another orange friend, I must say knowing that I had success makes me tickled pink. I can tell something took a nibble out of the orange a day or two after his visit but I haven't had the pleasure of witnessing another visit. I shall keep the faith. It's like a bird fest out there, so I have plenty to watch as I wait for another oriole visit. There's a Cardinal splashing all the water out of the bird bath; yellow finches are hanging upside down on the thistle feeder; the robins are out of control in their singing; and, a grackle just missed smacking into the patio door window. The baby chipping sparrows are demanding a meal from their mom (or dad, as the case might be). It's a good day to be a bird in the Addiverse. ***************************************************************

It's Mother's Day! Happy Mother's Day to all you mamas. This year, I thought I'd write an ode to my wild mama. As I wrote it, I realized that most of you won't know what the hell I am talking about. Well, too bad--it's my mama and I'm gonna write an ode if I want to. (You'll get the gist of things. It's short and sweet, so even if you don't understand, it won't take long to enjoy.) 

I decided to base my ode on the 1970's. Seemed like a plan. If it helps, you should know that my mother was our girl scout leader. She was active in the PTA. Every summer, she filled up the car and zipped us off to "the cottage." My sister and I were way ahead of the pack because our family ate McDonald's at the time of the Big Mac's birth. She still bowls and I'm pretty sure she still makes a mean stew. 

And so, I give to you my ode. Happy Mother's Day, Wild Mama!

Ode to a Wild Mama: 1970’s style

Nineteen Seventy Something-Something

A Volunteer to lead the girls in green, cookies in hand.
Taking the Girl Scout Oath on the road
Screaming grade school girls with sleeping bags
Bravely facing the wild
Hiking through the woods at night
Flashlights turned off….
Was that a bat? THAT WAS A BAT!
Wait--we're missing a girl. Count them again!
Giggling, wiggling, screeching
Why aren’t they sleeping?
Saturday night revenge with pots and pans.

Nineteen Seventy Something-Something
A suntan, sun-worshipping sun-goddess
loads the family car
Food, clothing, toys, towels, portable radio, swimsuits.
Folding chairs for good measure.
An annual short trip north to Sun on the beach
Pier oversees the green-algae lake.
Sandy beach perfect for baby-oiled sun tanning.
Trips to Town, a stop at Ben Franklin, a bucket of chicken for dinner.
Dice games, board games on the porch,
Sunrise over the lake in the wee hours
Matt Nolans, Up-This-Hill.

Nineteen Seventy Something-Something
Pork Chops, Mashed Potatoes, Corn
Stew with peas-licked-clean by the family dog
McDonalds on Tuesday nights.(Please don't make us eat vegetables and just say no to cube steaks.)
PTA ladies cooking up vats of infamous barbeque
(best Barbeque ever—even to this day!)
Lovingly served with milk and Hostess cupcake
wrapped in white paper
Always order two.

Nineteen Seventy Something-Something
Bowling in leagues, bowling for fun.Bowling trophies, trips and pots.
Bowling on weekdays, weekends, as needed.
Bowling goddess, rolls on and on.

Nineteen Seventy Something-Something
Sums it up....
Blue Mustang
Elvis
Mac Davis
Elvis
Blue Mustang.

Definitely a wild mama.

Catching Up, Shutting Up

I'm sitting in the kitchen, looking at the sad and lonely oranges that I have provided for the non-existent Orioles. I refuse to give up but the chances grow slimmer every day. The wife is sick of my orange and bird bath rituals. I say to her she knows not what she is saying. I tried some grape jelly, too but that didn't help. I did attract some ants but that doesn't count. At least I should get a few hummingbirds out of this deal sometime during the warmer months.

No offense to all the other beautiful birds hanging out in our yard. They are much appreciated.... but, they are not the elusive Baltimore Oriole.

None of the other birds appear interested in the oranges or jelly but they do seem to continue their love fest with the bird bath. I don't think anyone else is hogging the Orioles in our neighborhood. I think they must be somewhere else, like the next town over. I'll shit on myself when one finally lands on the bird feeder. Someday. Someday they will arrive and I'll shit.

On another note, it's come to my attention that the Wife is NOT reading my blog. Well, not that I can tell. She's not on Facebook and she's not blogging. So, I say all is fair and I'm going to write about her all I want. Maybe I'll start posting photos. That'll teach her. Heh heh.

I will tell you that she is currently completing a "safe driver" course on line right now. That's what happens when you don't stop fully at a stop sign. I can tell she is NOT enjoying it. I still think it's a great idea because if she can go for a specified time of year, the ticket will magically disappear off her record. No more teasing me when I come to a full and complete stop.

In my work world, I've been assigned to be a project manager for new software development and implementation. This may or may not sound like something I would do; after all, I was an art major and am a counselor by trade. I have no formal education on using computers. That said, I am a huge nerd and like this kind of stuff. I had the opportunity to do the same thing (albeit without being the  official project manager) but this time it's different. I'm really trying to not be a bitch about the whole thing. A kinder, gentler approach is in the works. I've been watching videos and reading manuals all weekend. I had a rocky start to the project, but that's because I was nervous, not incompetent. Now that the first meeting is out of the way and I've had time to dig into the "stuff," I'm ready for tomorrow's meeting.

This time, I won't hand out the wrong agenda. I'll also sit so I can actually hear the conference call.

The allergens in the air are off the chart these days. Although the trees are amazingly beautiful, they've set my sinuses ablaze and my eyes a-watering. I love this time of year but do not enjoy the allergies that accompany the beauty. I take OTC meds but they seem to have given up.

Maybe the Orioles are having allergies, too and they'll show up once the trees are done blooming.

As a public service announcement, I suggest you check out "The Shut Up Sisters" if you have a child with mental illness, you are a teacher for students with IEPs or you cross paths with kids in public. We saw them speak yesterday and found them to be fabulous. They are a hoot. The idea is that imperfection is perfection when it comes to kids, encouraging proud but braggy parents to "shut up about your perfect kid." It's the "movement of imperfection." Who doesn't love that? It sounds kind of mean, that shut up word, but it's really not. It's real. It's life. It's imperfectly perfect. They have a website, a blog, a book and a fabulous FB page. They travel the globe spreading their message. Chek out www.shutupabout.com

As for the government, I have nothing whatsoever to say that might be even remotely constructive, so I'll skip that topic except to encourage use of RESIST via text. Yes, if you text RESIST to 50409, faxes will be sent to your legislators. It is super-easy, it's free, it's therapeutic and it's effective. I'm so pissed about health care and all those ridiculous men making decisions for women's health that I have to do something and texting is complimentary to the hate mail I send.

So far, the FBI or Homeland Security hasn't shown up at my door, demanding to meet the crazed woman who sends hate mail to Republicans. Of course, now that I including this in my blog, I'll probably get a visit. Boy, will they be disappointed.

Perhaps they'll be able to tell me where the Orioles are hiding. Maybe there is some secret tracking device on our house that emits vibes scaring the Orioles away. Maybe it's the microwave sending out bird-alienating beams, keeping every Oriole in the neighborhood far away.

Bird alienating beams. I like that. I'm going to start a RESIST movement about that.

Maybe they are illegal alien birds and they've been sent back to Mexico or whatever country them came from after their winter holiday. That certainly would explain everything. I'm not sure where to send a text about that but I'm sure some hate mail will feel therapeutic.

I end with 50409. RESIST. I'm resisting. I'm texting. I'm project managing. I'm birding. (I'm sneezing.) RESIST with me....

....And, shut up about your perfect birds if the Orioles are in your yard. I don't wanna hear it.

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Shut up, indeed.
Shut Up about Your Perfect Gift
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Professing Finals

Boy, am I glad it is finally time for Final Exams. This adjunct professor thing is sucking up all my free time.

For the record, it is REALLY fun to be the creator of a college-level exam. I mean, seriously--I.am.writing.university.exams! I HAVE THE POWER! Oh, the power, the glory--how it goes to my head.

It's been super distracting to teach this semester. For instance, I didn't even notice I haven't done my laundry in awhile because I've been making presentations and researching exam questions. It wasn't until I could no longer squeeze dirty clothes into the hamper this afternoon that I realized I was neglecting this ever-important task. I didn't notice that I was negligent--again--about posting a blog. I haven't even watched each new Doctor Who episode more than one time. People, this educator gig is serious business.

I finally got to use my faculty I.D. card--at Chipotles, no less. Thanks to the wife, I learned that today is Teacher Appreciation Day at Chipotles, complete with free Burritos. Teachers must love Chipotles (or, more likely love free food), as the line was out the door. No kidding. Educators everywhere, as far as the eye can see, all proudly wearing their school identification tags.

I am sad to say that I was older than the majority of the people standing in that line. Dang. Alas, most of my teacher friends retire at age 57 or so, which means they would not be the ones standing in line for free burritos. They are at home enjoying retirement, not standing in line for free burritos. Well, I tell you what--that free burrito bowl kicked ass!

Speaking of advancing age... last night, a group of students in my class did a presentation on Aging and Death. This group, four freshmen, had lots to say about old people and dying. A few times, I burst out laughing. I couldn't help myself. Their view of old age was very telling. Oh, to be young and naive.

I think my favorite statement of the presentation was: "Old people pee a lot. They pee all the time." Spoken like a true 19 year old.

I challenged their belief that people my age and older basically break bones, fall down and pee. Thankfully, they didn't talk about old people and sex.

Why am I glad they didn't talk about that? Because that meant I got to talk about old people having sex. Yes! It was super-fun to watch students squirm when told "YOUR PARENTS ARE HAVING SEX!" Oh, the joy it did bring.

The group got an "A" for their effort, although I was a bit dismayed at how they view people of my age and older. Every once in awhile they would make a comment, look mortified, turn toward me and apologize.

"It is what it is," I told them, shrugging my shoulders and gently shaking my head. I waited until the end of their presentation--while they were playing "The Death March" and taking a bow--to loudly remind them that old people have sex.

That'll teach them to play the death march and talk about peeing.

No, I didn't have the heart to tell them that their grandparents were probably having sex, too. That might have killed those 19 year olds.

This semester, I had three women from China and three men from Saudi Arabia in my class. In an effort to be culturally diverse, I thought I'd put some comments in Chinese and Arabic on the final handout I provided. At first, I thought this was a great idea... but, in the long run, this made me very nervous--after all, I used Google Translate to say "thank you and best wishes" in what I hoped was their native language. I had no idea if what I posted was correct. I could have written "Your Arm Pits Smell Like Old People Pee" and I wouldn't have known it. As I handed them the printed pages, I asked meekly what it said. I am glad to report that they were tickled pink and all agreed that I had said what I hoped I had said....

....well, except for the one young women from China. Turns out she's from Japan and not China. She reads Japanese, not Chinese.

So, she didn't agree or disagree about what I wrote. She couldn't read it.

All semester. An entire semester and I thought she was from China. I can't tell you how many times I apologized. So much for my cultural competence. She said, "No worries," (that's a quote) but I was indeed shaken up. I mean, seriously! Turns out I am one self-absorbed, culturally-pathetic, culturally incompetent American. She appeared to get quite the laugh out of it. Me, not so much.

For the final exam, I think I'll include something in Japanese. Maybe something like, "Safe Travels. Thank you! I'm really sorry!" That might be a good way to make up for my horrible, embarrassing error.

...Well, that is unless Google Translate has a bad day. Then, I might be making things a whole lot worse. God help me it says something like, "Your old parents smell like pee and have sex while eating burrito bowls for teachers."

My cultural competence would be in the gutter....

...my clothes still dirty in the hamper...

...and my pee volume ever increasing....

...and my faculty I.D. revoked....

...and no more free burrito bowls for me.

Maybe I'll stick with good old English and leave it at that. As long as I don't fall done, break a bone and pee on myself.

Chromed

I was going to write about "13 Reasons Why" but I changed my mind. Maybe next time. I have thoughts and questions. I need a nap and coffee before I tackle that topic.
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I am writing this on my new Chromebook. If that is not exciting, I don't know what is.

If you stumbled upon this blog because you were looking for a review on Chromebooks, I have good and bad news for you: this isn't an official review but it is an accidental review of sorts. I welcome you to the Addiverse and hope you'll stay to hear about the ridiculousness of which surrounds my life.

If you are a regular in the Addiverse but know nothing of what a Chromebook is, that's okay. You're used to my babbling. What's one more day of babble?

Baltimore Oriole update: I have yet to attract one single feathered friend of the Oriole time. I haven't given up but the wife is getting a little sick of my obsession with oranges and grape jelly.

...I was very busy over the past month researching Chromebooks. Not exactly earth-shattering, but it has sucked up a lot of my time and brain power. It's the IT guy's fault as we are changing the way we do business and he thought the Chromebook would be the way to go. As the project manager, it was mine to determine what would best suit my purpose. I thought having some form of technology which would be useful when I teach at the University would be a bonus. I wanted to wait until the agency purchased me a Chromebook, but you know me--I can't wait for anything.

In this case, that's not exactly true. I actually did take my time and research the bejesus out of this endeavor. I read countless reviews, both from technical sites and users. I studied up on the pros and cons of the various models. I went to Bestie Buy three times to look at the products. I was on Amazon every night, studying prices. I watched YouTube videos until my eyes were blurry. I took the IT guy's personal Chromebook home and tried it out. So, I can't say I was as spontaneous as usual.

It's almost depressing how much research I conducted. I'm going to ruin my reputation if I keep this up.

I ended up getting the Asus Chromebook 10.1" Flip. That way, I have a tablet and a notebook in one. The IT guy said Asus was the way to go. At first, I was mighty skeptical. But, after review and research, I learned that he knew what he was doing and I should have listened to him in the first place.

It's super small, which means it weighs very little--we're talking two measly pounds little. Since I lug this thing around everywhere I go, light weight is a huge plus. The battery life is ridiculous. We're talking 10 hours of use between charges. Who needs an outlet when you've got that much time on your hands? The little touch pad works handsomely. I have the option of using an external mouse. I already do everything on Google, so using a Chromebook is not a stretch. And, yes I can use it when teaching class or slogging my way through the work project.

That's the rub. If you need a "real" computer, this is not the way to go. There's very little storage room on the actual machine. It runs on Chrome OS, so start thinking about the cloud. If you are on the internet a lot and use Google Drive stuff, this is awesome. I think I'm breaking up with Microsoft and going with slides, docs and forms on Drive. We'll see.

Cords and short cuts have given me a run for the money, though. Not that you really want any details. Too bad, I'm going to give you an example about cord traumas, anyway. I have to use a micro HDMI doohickey but ordered a Mini. I have come to learn Micro and Mini are NOT the same. Finding a mini HDMI cord to hook up to a VGA has been challenging, more so because I don't exactly know what I'm doing. Ah, live and learn.

I could ask the IT guy but what fun would that be?

By the way, if anyone needs a Type A Mini HDMI to hook up to a VGA adapter, let me know. It's all yours for the taking.

For the record, I DID ask for help at Bestie Buy but they were no help. Seriously, Google lady: isn't it your job to know what cords go with Chrome products? I knew more than that saleslady. She should hang out with me and learn a thing or two. Or, maybe I should get myself a Google shirt and work the floor at Bestie Buy.

Short cuts leave me scratching my head. I have yet to learn any of them but need to get on it. This model doesn't have a delete button, so you can backspace but not delete, per se, without a shortcut. There is no home or end key and F buttons are surely a thing of the past.

My first attempt at using this diddy while teaching class last night went about as planned. I had the wrong cord, so I couldn't do everything I wanted... but, I was able to walk around the classroom with this little beauty in hand. I had my class notes in electronic version instead of on paper. I looked like I was in the 21st century, which was good, seeing as I was talking about aging. Who wants to look old when talking about aging?

Side note: I am pleased to report that the students don't think people are ever too old to wear jeans or get a tattoo. They said if you can rock a two-piece swim suit, you should go with it. No one should ever wear a Speedo, or so they tell me. They are all good with the 70-something year old Rolling Stones hopping and rocking around the stage, but Madonna should knock it off. I loved that they said no one ever has to dye their hair and that they embrace the gray hair thing. They did admit that guys can get away with gray hair a whole lot easier than women.

Back to technology. There is a chance that our agency won't go with Chromebooks. I considered that more than once before handing over the charge card. No matter. I decided this suited my purposes, work need or not. I need something portable at work, at school, in life--this will work just fine.

Besides, maybe I'll look younger using this piece of technology, gray hair be damned. Chromebook in one hand, iPhone in the other, tattoos proudly peeking out of my clothing.

As long as I'm not wearing a bikini while using this piece of technology, I'll be good to go. There is no way I can rock a bikini. I can barely rock shorts shorter than knee-length. I CAN rock a Chromebook with the best of them, but the bikini is a definite no.

(Respect your elders, young students or I'll wear a bikini to class next week. You won't even notice I have a new Chromebook. Your retinas will be scarred with the vision of me in a bikini. There is not enough therapy or money to fix that.)

So, do I recommend the purchase of a Chromebook? I'll have to get back to you. It's too early in the game to make a definitive answer. As of this moment, I give it two thumbs up. Ask me in a few months. That'll give me time to put this machine to the test and to go get another tattoo.

After all, I'm not too old for that.

Fearlessly Pierce

I thought it was Friday when I woke up but just figured out it is Thursday. Dang. I hate when that happens.

Do you chat with a snap? I had some youngsters ask me if they could send me some snaps. I laughed and told them I'm too old to snap--that's why I'm on Facebook, not Snapchat. I told them I would fire up my "old" chatty account (one I had opened back when Snapchat originally started) so they could snap away.

Let me be clear: I have NO idea how to snap. I think I might have accidentally sent these fine young humans some ugly videos of which I never meant to send. (Okay people--videos of me with doe eyes and rainbow vomit. I was trying out a filter. Nothing more than horrific and stupid. Don't get all weird on me.)

I did see what they snapped but I'm not exactly sure what I snapped back. Why? Because after so many seconds things disappear. Well, kind of disappear. I'm sure there is some way to save things or whatnot but I have no idea how that might be or how that might work.

I'll leave the snapping to the young folk. I'm gonna stick with lame memes and recipe posts of Facebook.
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The following diddy may not be the faint of heart. It involves the piercing of flesh. You be the judge.


For some reason or another--none of which I can currently identify--I decided to get my ears re-pierced. I already have all the "original" holes from piercings in the olden days, so why not use what I've got? I've got earrings I can't wear because all my piercings have closed....

The illustration here shows what I did NOT do. No wild rook or industrial piercings for me. I stuck with the tried-and-true "this is what I did in the 1980's" piercings. I put this illustration here because I think it's really wild how all sorts of ear locations are now being pierced. Say what you will, I love it. It's just not for my ever-growing ears.

A tangent: you know, all those ear piercings must have acupuncturists freaking out. I mean, there are a lot of acupuncture points on an ear. Reflexologists probably feel the same way. Of course, some people are getting specific parts of their ears pierced exactly for this reason--a trend seems to be getting one part of the ear pierced to help with migraines. That probably helps soothe acupuncture fans.

Here's an example of the ear acupuncture points. See what I mean? All those piercings ripping right through some important points. Ear piercing trend = acupuncture hell.

Back to me and my lobes. Tried as I might, my earrings were not going to go in without a fight; so, I decided to get them done professionally at a tattoo shop. From what I hear, mall-found-ear piercing guns are not the way to go. Whatever--you know I love going to tattoo shops, so it seemed like win-win to me.

So, I chose a shop by both recommendation and by on-line review. One of my tattoos is from there, so why not? I wave adios to the wife and head to the shop. When I got there, it was pretty quiet. Surprisingly (to me), Madonna was singing when I walked in. I've never been to a tattoo shop where Madonna was on the play list, so I took this as a sign I had chosen wisely. I only see two workers, which I find strange, as this should be a busy place on a Saturday afternoon. No matter. The guy comes out and asks me how he can help. I tell him I am there to get my ears re-pierced. He acknowledges this, indicates "we'll" (whoever we'll is) be with me and then goes back to the tattoo is he working on. After looking around the shop, I sit down and get comfy.

Twenty minutes later, I'm still sitting there and my ears are not re-pierced. Funny how when really cute, young girls walked in, the guy was super-attentive and all about customer service. Me? Not so much. I'm not cute or young. I decide this is not the place to be and thus I walked out without a word.

I'm sure he lost lots of sleep over this.

I go to the next shop--again, a place of which I've gotten a tattoo--and ask about getting my ears re-pierced. This place is empty, too. What on earth is going on when tattoo shops are empty on Saturday afternoons? She says is free to re-pierce my ears but explains she doesn't have "that many" matching earrings. I don't care if they match but when she shows me what she has, I realize this is not going to work in any capacity--if I wanted my belly button or tongue pierced, I would have been in business. She tells me if I have some earrings at home, I should bring them in and she can easily re-pierce my ears. I thank her for her time and leave, ears still un-re-pierced.

It is at this point that I realize I am going to re-pierce my own ears. Screw this driving around town. Screw young people who have no respect for old people ear lobes. I'll show you. I'll save money and time.

As I'm driving home, I devise a game plan. I'll dig out some of the old posts earned when getting my ears pierced back in the 1980's (yes, I still have them) and SHOVE those puppies right through the existing-now-closed holes. I considered using the old "ice numb and potato behind the ear" method some of my friends used back in the day, but quickly realize we probably don't have any potatoes at home and figure I don't care to have ice cubes melting down my neck. Nope. I'm just going to do it.

The wife, realizing what I am about to do, makes it quite clear she wants NOTHING to do with this. Nothing. She reiterates she is not going to help me. What a chicken.

I gather my supplies--posts, alcohol (the cleaning kind, not the drinking kind) and wipes--and head to the bathroom. I am ready. My ears are ready. The wife is ready, albeit it far, far away. I "sterilize" the posts and ear lobes by generously dousing said items in alcohol. I close the sink drain thing, lest the earrings all go rolling down the drain. I take a deep breath and begin the procedure.

I decided to pierce four earring holes on the left side and one on the right. How I came to this decision, I do not know. It just made sense to me. Call it a numbers thing. Or, maybe it's because I had five earrings at my disposal. Although I could have done four and three, I did four and one.

Looking at my left ear, I considered if I should work front to back or back to front. For the record, I decided on back to front.

Starting with "Left hole #4" (which thus became re-pierce #1), I took that post, lined it up and SHOVED it through my ear. SHOVED.

Did I mention that I SHOVED it through my ear?

Oh dear god, it hurt like hell. I suppose it should hurt--after all, I just took a dull implement and shoving it through my ear lobe. Despite the pain, I was felt gloriously triumphant, as re-pierce #1 was a complete success. I put the backing on the earring and moved on to "Left hole #3/re-piercing #2.

Re-piercing #2 didn't go as swimmingly as re-piercing #1 and thus I ended up bleeding. A lot. I'm not sure where I went amiss but I decided to give that one a bit of time and then moved on to re- piercing #3 and #4. Thankfully, those went without a hitch and thus I returned to #2. After a LOT of bleeding and shoving and swearing and wooziness (with emphasis on swearing), I got #2 re-pierced. Bloody and angry red and now swollen but pierced.

The right side, with only one re-piercing to be had, did NOT cooperate. I'll save you the details but I ended up asking the wife for help, despite her insistence she would NOT be helping me.

Me: Come on! I can't see the back of my ear. Just tell me if I'm lined up with the old hole.

The wife: I told you, I am not helping you!

Me: You don't have to do anything. Just look! I need to know if I'm in the right spot.

The wife: I don't want to be doing this.

Me: Just look!

The wife: (not wearing her reading glasses, so she is of limited help) there is no hole back here.

Me: There HAS to be!

The wife: No, there is not a hole.

Me: Can you see where the earring is poking?

The wife: Yes, but I'm telling you there isn't a hole.

Insert some arguing here, along with repeated "I told you I don't want to be any part of this" statements. The wife left the bathroom--agitated and grossed out.

Long story short...I was unsuccessful. 

This pissed me off. I didn't want to go back to a tattoo shop but I wanted that stupid ear pierced. I announced we were going to the mall. Yes, the mall. Yes, the place with the ear piercing gun. The method of which I had originally poo-poo'd. The mall on a Saturday night.

I am pleased to report that the earring-gunned-is-she-12 years-old-employee had a VERY hard time re-piercing my ear. She, in her youthful ignorance, had been all sorts of confident when I asked her if she could re-pierce my ear in the exact spot it had originally been pierced. She looked a whole lot less confident when her first attempt failed miserably, as the earring didn't fully through the skin and thus didn't emerge out the "back end." Seems my scar tissue had better ideas than being re-pierced. I thought I was going to have to talk her through it but she got her courage back and gave it another shot (literally and figuratively).

I now have a pierced right ear. It was worth the trip to the mall as obviously I would never have been able to do it myself. I'll spare you the details of the crunching sound involved with achieving success.....

I look ridiculous with old-school posts in but I'm not taking them out until everything fully heals. By then, I'll have had time to buy some earrings worth wearing.

Today, I have a hair appointment. I'm sure my old-school posts with be up for discussion. I'll tell her to respect her elder and to focus on my hair. I thought about taking them out for the hair appointment but then thought better. There is no way in hell I am re-re-piercing anything. She can deal with my tacky posts. Because I'm nice, I'll clean them this morning before I leave for work. Beyond that, she'll just have to deal with it.

It's Thursday. Not Friday. It's a great day. It's a hair cut day. It's a "my ears are pierced and I rock" day. It's a "how the hell do you send a snap?" kind of day. Maybe I'll snap a few photos of my ears to some young people.....

Admire my ears. Admire my bravery. Admire my stupidity. Are you sure it's not Friday?
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Happy Easter and/or Happy Passover and/or Happy Spring to all.