Tuesday, February 09, 2016

In from the cold

I hope.

We have a homeless guy who I think sleeps in the dumpster behind my office.  I feel a lot of guilt because there is a person who is clever enough to figure out that the safest place for him to sleep, as a homeless person, is in a dumpster.  He generally is out by the time I roll in each morning, but once in a while I catch him.  Our office is just a block away from the town square fountain.  In warmer months, he'll get up early, splash off in the fountain, then come gather his things and leave for the day.

He also regularly digs through the dumpster for stuff he can use or sell.

Problem Child use to freak out when she saw him.  She wanted me to call the cops to have them take him off.  When I could, I'd bring him bottles of water and/or food we might have in the office.  This use to make her mad.

Today, being mardi gras, I had a king cake I'd made for the office.  About lunch time, I took some over to share with   friends in a neighboring office and noticed the homeless guy digging through the dumpster.  When I left work at the end of the day, he was still at "work."

I sat in my car and watched him for a minute.  I'd been blasted by cold air leaving the office.  I noticed he'd found a bright purple pair of sweat pants he'd put over his jeans.  He was trying on a pair of shoes he'd found in the dumpster.  I went back into the office, grabbed a bottle of water and cut a large portion of cake.  I wrapped up the cake on a plate with a napkin and fork in foil and took it out to him.

He danced as if he were on Bourbon Street.  I don't think he even heard me tell him that the homeless shelter would be open with no restrictions due to the cold.

I hope he wandered over to the shelter tonight.  I can't believe how rich I am, sometimes.  And, I can't believe that there are folks who would shrug and act as if the fact someone could freeze to death for lack of warm, safe places wasn't their problem.  Don't ever tell me you're "pro-life" if you'd throw this guy's life away to save a few pennies on your taxes.

Friday, February 05, 2016

I'm so easy

We replaced the Problem Child this week.  I'm going to call her replacement The Adult.  The Adult is closer to my age, but she also is light years away from the maturity level of Problem Child.

She has demonstrated an eagerness to learn.  She is embracing the work we do.  And, I made her cry in her first week.  Sigh.  But, to her credit, The Adult pulled herself together, helped me fix the issue, and didn't decide that she must forever be a mean and nasty little brat as a result of her error.

This far in, a whole work week, I'm going to say I am thinking pretty positive thoughts about the newbie.  I don't think she'll ever be an ESK, but there is potential for at least coming in second.

I do feel a bit bad that she is getting thrown into the fire first thing.  But, it will be sink or swim, and sometimes that's the best way to embrace a new challenge.  Then, she have a couple of months of being able to breathe.

Now, if I could only get the other worker to act human, we might actually have something.

Tuesday, January 12, 2016

Rant, rant, rant, rant, rant . . .

My favorite line in the movie "Harvey" is something like " Mother always said there were two types of people in this world: those who are oh so kind and those who are oh so smart.  After 35 years, of being smart, I recommend pleasant."  

I'm trying, really, to be pleasant.  Although my current situation has me wanting to set the record straight with every fiber of my being.  

The other day, I was speaking to someone who has tangential power/knowledge of the work I do.  She was singing the praises of Problem Child, listing her positive attributes and I quietly said "no, she wasn't" and this person, who I've kept in the dark about the reality that was the nightmare of Problem Child, said "well, I'm sure she could say things about you."

OH DAMN I want to tell her EXACTLY why I would say that Problem child wasn't "wonderful" and "so very organized."  But, I'm also trying to tell myself to take the high ground.  That I survived the experience should be enough.  That it's petty at this point.  That I should be pleasant rather than right.

It is better to be pleasant than right?  Right? 

At least I know that the Old Woman would applaud me in my keeping quiet, thus far.  

Friday, January 08, 2016

Breathing easy

I've spent way too much time navel gazing on this one, I know, but you cannot begin to wrap your brain around what a struggle the last several months have been.  Seriously.

And, by contrast, it is flippin' amazing how much better life is now that Problem Child has moved on to inflict her very special brand of "chock-full-o-nuts" on others.  Frankly, I'm surprised I'm not greeted by chirping birds and rainbows each morning when I get to the office.

There is laughing at the office again.  There is civil conversation.  There is rationality.  RATIONAL BEHAVIOR!!! Imagine.

At the same time, now that I'm out of the looney bin, I can't help but marvel at how truly terrible it was.  The behaviors that were endured are gob-smacking.  Seriously.

I need to learn to shrug my shoulders and mutter "people be crazy" and stop trying to find rational and sane explanations for all that went on.

Example: Problem child would fill out her timesheet incorrectly and when I told her that I would not sign an incorrect tine sheet and that her time sheet had to be an accurate reflection of the hours worked . . . rather than apologize and re-do it, she's stomp and accuse me of being "very aggressive."  Stupid thing was . . . several times I was trying to get her to record EXTRA hours and save some of her vacation time.  I was working in HER FAVOR but she was more committed to making me back down on that whole "not committing fraud with the federal government" thing I have going.

Example: Problem Child was required to file regular progress reports.  She was not a strong writer and frequently made mistakes, so I required that she give me a draft before we submitted a final report.  When we'd get the template for the report, we would go through it page by page, section by section and discuss what needed to be included.  On the last report she filed, she couldn't remember what she was suppose to write (what we had discussed) and so she deleted the last page and assumed I wouldn't notice.  WTF?

People be crazy.  Big time crazy.

But, that is behind me now.  WHEW!

Monday, January 04, 2016


I've posted before that my usual New Year Resolution is to have a hot krispy kreme.

This year, I made the realization that not only did I marry the Old Woman (seriously, the Phenom is more and more like her every year) but also I'm turning into her.

The Old Woman would have fits that we had too much stuff and just start throwing things away.  You'd have to have a keen eye for anything missing and be prepared to dumpster dive to retrieve it.

This year, my resolution is to bring a bit of order to my house and at least once a month throw a way a trash bag o'crap from the house.

I filled up a trash bag o'crap in the bedroom this weekend.  I've also ordered some shelves so I can add a bit more storage to get the clutter under control.

When I start taking Phenom's plate away from him while he's mid-forkful, I'll know I really have turned into the Old Woman for good.

Saturday, December 19, 2015

1st world problem resolved

Now that the dark force that over took my work place has been vanquished, I can turn my attentions to real issues . . . what am I going to wear for fancy restaurants/bars in NOLA over Christmas?

Originally, I'd purchased a black lace skirt/sequined cashmere sweater (very much different than my usual wardrobe of frumpy and dowdy) and a purplish blue with black velvet scroll design dress for christmas wear.  Then, I started looking at the weather and it is going to be in the high 70s/low 80s next week.

I will sweat right through those outfits.

Monkey sweat is not pretty.

I found a nice button down, white shirt and bought a big, chunky necklace to wear Christmas Day and then I already have a wrap-around style shirt that can work with the lace skirt.   So, I wear the skirt to days in a row.  I'm not likely to be judged in the City that Care Forgot.

For some reason, the last few months I've been obsessed with party clothes.  This is very much unlike me.  I normally don't dress up.  I tend to have a "uniform" and just make slight variations from day to day.

Maybe, since I can't show off being a silver-back, I want sparkle and sequins instead.  Because that helps a monkey blend in, doesn't it?

Tuesday, December 08, 2015

Like a rubic's cube, only with people

I'm a problem solver.  I like to figure out what's wrong and fix it.  I like to know how things work, and how to put them back together.  The problem is, you can't do that with people.

I will never understand people.  From the humans who want to torture innocent animals to the people who I swear must stay up at night coming up with new ways to screw other humans over.

I need to learn that people cannot be figured out.  It would be nice to say "oh, this person is mean" and "that person uses drugs" or "she is grieving and deserves a bit of slack."  But the fact is, human behavior can't always fit into a box.  You'd think, with all the bat-shit crazy stuff I've seen, I would remember that. But, I don't.

Several years ago, we were guests at a dinner party.  It was lovely, everyone was having fun, dinner was delicious and the host accidentally dropped the perfect chocolate cake his wife had made.  She was calm and said we'd have ice cream and whipped up some chocolate sauce.  He later told me that he felt so terrible about dropping the cake, and she'd made it even worse by not yelling at him.

I wonder if that's what I have done wrong with Problem Child?  Rather than working past the many mistakes, I should have yelled at her?  Maybe yelling would have had an impact and she would have worked harder to not repeat the same mistakes over and over?

But, there were times I spoke to her using a harsh tone of voice . . . it didn't work because her inclination was to stomp and yell and be irrational.

I'll never quite wrap my brains around you people.  Yer all nuts.

Friday, December 04, 2015

Don't do the drama

I've been rolling my eyes since I was a young monkey.  I'm pretty sure the reason I spent half my adult life trying to talk to school kids about safe sex and good relationships was because my karmic reward for each and every time I rolled my eyes at the Old Woman was to find myself receiving the eye roll from a whole classroom of brats.

But, I never managed to do the "mean girl" thing or drama.  I'm a drama free sort of monkey.  I much prefer all the dramas that touch my life to be those of other people.  (I also cannot stand bickering. Ugh.)

Mean Girls are an interesting study of human behavior.  Their actions are wholly intentional, but they operate under the illusion of plausible deniability.  They believe they are being calculatedly vicious.  I have a friend who teachers middle grades who once told me that little boys are like gorillas . . . pounding their chests and making as much noise as possible to establish their position with their peers.  But, she said that little girls were like cats  . . . quietly grooming themselves when really they are looking to sharpen their claws across your face the minute they think they can get away with it.

So, today we're leaving work, all of us at the same time which is rare.  I'm holding the door for my co workers and say "have a good weekend."  One co worker returns the sentiment but Problem Child employee stays silent, gets to the parking lot and very pointedly looks at the other co worker and says "bye" in the most exaggeratedly sweet voice she could muster.

Really?  If you're still thinking that being a Mean Girl at 25 is the way to go through life, I hope you never have children.

Thursday, November 26, 2015

In the mood to have a cry

Thanksgiving was the Old Woman's favorite holiday.  Before they changed the date, it would sometimes fall on her birthday, which was a double bonus.  More than Christmas, not being the religious type, she wanted her family around for the feast and opportunity to spend time together.

She always made quite a feast.  I'm always amazed when I see other peoples' tables and there is MAYBE one green vegetable and 3-4 starches (potatoes, sweet potatoes, stuffing, rice?).  The Old Woman's table was a study in the bounty of the garden.  We often had 5-6 vegetables plus a veggie tray.

Always, on her table would be two small, very old turkey candles.  Many years before, when her #3 son was just a tiny child, they were shopping for thanksgiving foods and he picked the two little candles up and asked if they could buy them.  They cost $0.15 for the pair, but being farmers, that was too much to spend on something they couldn't eat.  She had to explain to her little boy that they couldn't afford to buy them.  He fished around in his pockets, and came up with 15 cents that he'd saved from finding pennies and other dropped coins, and said that he could buy them for her.  The sweetness of his generosity and not understanding their poverty meant that the turkeys became a cherished part of the family celebrations.

Another way she made holidays festive was her special cut glass collection of drinking glasses.  They were acquired, one at a time, with green stamps and grocery store promotions.  No two were alike and the were all vibrant colors and featured various designs.  Most of us had a favorite we would claim, holiday after holiday.  Mine was a deep purple glass, which I recently "rescued" from the Old Folks' home after the Old Man moved west.

A few years ago, the Old Woman insisted that I stop coming home for thanksgiving because she feared that I would be utterly lost once she was gone if I never had the chance to make my own traditions first.

Now, my tradition is largely to stay at home, make a non-traditional meal, and cry over losing her.  I'm pretty sure she'd disapprove.

But, to not bring you down too, here's a picture of rosemary gougeres I made to nibble on.  This year, I'm doing a beef tenderloin roast with coffee chile rub, twice baked potatoes, spinach sauteed with shallots and garlic, parker house rolls, and a pumpkin pie.

Well, that is one bit of tradition from the Old Woman; getting up early and making a pie first thing.

Friday, November 13, 2015

Just a little bit pissed off right now

Disclaimer:  I've had three boozy rootbeers tonight . . . which seems to be enhancing my reactions.  I know, drunks always say booze makes them faster, stronger, better looking, great dancers . . . but for monkeys it is actually true.

Anyway, I was watching my facebook feed fill up with stories about the attacks in Paris with heart break.  Humans have such horrible ways of throwing tantrums.  I keep thinking y'all have hit the worst you could come up with and then you top it.

But, then I saw some of the tweets "conservatives" are putting out there.  Too many folks are trying to create some link between the black college students demanding to be safe in their homes with terrorist attacks half a world away.  

Funny.  Too often when white people say "I don't feel safe" they follow it with "So, goddamnit, I should be able to carry a gun with me any where I please and say any nasty horrible thing I can think up and by god it's my right."  But should a person of color or a woman say "I don't feel safe in my home or at my school or coming and going in my community" these same gun-toters say "shut the fuck up!" 

Some times I wish I believed in hell so I could be comforted in knowing that the sick bastards who would immediately twist the pain and agony of other people into some sick agenda only they understand were hell bound and I didn't need to worry my pretty little monkey head over them.

Sunday, November 01, 2015

Holiday plannin'

There is a significant birthday coming up, and although I've now given up on birthdays for myself, I will happily celebrate this one.  I offered to take the celebrant to dinner, but a request was made for home cooked steaks instead.  Also, I don't make birthday cakes for The Phenom anymore, so there will be a big batch of molasses spice cookies.  (100 years ago, I spent two days making the cover recipe from a cooking magazine only to be told "the secretary made this espresso chocolate cake and I ate three quarters of it, I can't have any more chocolate cake"  Since then, I make cookies and The Phenom gets to eat as many as they can, warm from the oven.)

Then comes thanksgiving.  The request was made for steak again . . . but to not have rapid fire repeats, I suggested I ask the butcher to prepare a trimmed 3-4 lb tenderloin roast.  I'll have to figure out what else I'm serving.  I wonder if Phenom would eat green bean casserole?  Phenom isn't much into green beans or casseroles . . . so putting the two together might be a "two negatives makes a possitive" or a look of "have you lost your mind?"  Maybe garlic sauteed spinach?  I use to make worchestershire roasted poatoes the Phenom liked . . . perhaps those?

After thanksgiving, we'll be heading north to attend a football game with friends.  One of the friends is a fantastic cook and the tailgate will be legen . . . wait for it . . . dary.  I'll ask what I can bring, but I'm already thinking the roasted pepper/whipped feta bruschetta and moonshine balls.  I made the moonshine balls last year for ESK's baby shower.  I used peppermint moonshine and then white chocolate dipped them and sprinkled with crushed peppermint candy.  I wonder if I should get candy melts in the colors of the home team?  I have peppermint oil I can spike the candy dip with to be extra festive.

Moonshine balls are super simple.  I think I found this recipe in a Southern Living; it's written down on a bit of scrap paper I've guarded over several years.  You can sub out bourbon or rum to your liking.

1 box (12 oz) vanilla wafers . . . whirred up in the food processor
1/2 cup pecan pieces
2 TBLS cocoa powder
1/4 c booze
1/2 c golden raisins
6 TBLS corn syrup

Whir everything together until it becomes a paste

roll into cherry size pieces and roll in confectioner's sugar

Store in fridge for several weeks.  Although they are tasty freshly made, you do want them to "ripen" for a week or so.  I'll make the tailgate ones next weekend.

When I chocolate dipped them, I did it just before serving them (well a few hours before).  They will absorb the powdered sugar so you can roll them in a bit more sugar before you serve them to make them pretty but you don't have to.  They are better at room temp because then you can better taste the booze.

I'll make 2-3 batches between now and Christmas.

Of course, Liquor Loaf day is coming up in a few days, and this week I'll order a huge box of ingredients.

But, we'll go to NOLA for christmas so I only have to figure out where we'll be drinking for that holiday.

Saturday, October 31, 2015


My favorite 13 year old is on the cusp of becoming my favorite 14 year old.  Over the last year, it has been fun to see her start to adopt "teenagery" behaviors.  The way she flips her hair, the language, and the semi-permenant state of being non-plused.

Last night, she drew me into a conversation where clearly she wanted help, but didn't want to actually ask for it.  I always take that bait.  It turns out, she has a crush and has decided to do the "ask" for the date.  But, as with any venture of this sort, the thought that it could go very badly had caused her to hesitate.  We discussed the pros and cons.  I encouraged.  I made the rule "no naked selfies."

Tonight, she said she was going to do it.  She was going to make the ask.  Then, there was brief hesitation . . . and then plunging in.  I crossed all my monkey fingers and toes in hopes the object of the crush wouldn't crush her.  BUT! NO! SUCCESS! A DATE IS FORTHCOMING!!!

And, it was wonderful to see my favorite teenager so giddy and excited.  I felt bad that I was getting to share this with her and her parents were in another room. (We do this all online as we live several hundred miles apart.)

I asked what made this person so amazing?  Nearly 14 year old said it would take a whole paragraph to describe.  I asked for the top three.  She said "only three?"  Finally, her top three things that make her like this person are:  1) not afraid to stand up for themselves, 2) likes books and 3) believes in supernatural things.

Not bad for a first crush.  In fact, if I were to try to find someone for Nearly 14 year old to date, these might be characteristics I'd look for too.

I'm just so taken in with how very privileged I am that I got to share this moment with her.  I'm pretty sure this will be one of my all time favorite memories.  I got lucky tonight.

Friday, October 23, 2015

public notice

if you make a date to get cybe r drunk with someone and they don't show up, it's jsut geeting drunk

Thursday, October 22, 2015

It changes you

25 years ago, I made a new friend at work.  Her mother died shortly after we met.  She grieved for her mother for a very long time.  At the time her mother died, she had one young daughter and 2-3 older children (I can't remember exactly how many kids she has, as I've not met them all).  She told me, years later, that one of the reasons she "spoiled" her younger child was because she felt she'd emotionally cheated the child because of her grieving.  She said she felt like she spent about 10 years of her life being a zombie.  She was going through the motions, but was emotionally disconnected.

Not long ago, one of my co-workers experienced what could only be described as a "freak out."  During her "freak out" she said LOTS of things (rapid fire, bouncing from subject to subject, sort of random) some of which wasn't true, some was exaggeration, some total nonsense, but some probably grounded somewhere in the truth.  The theme seemed to be that I am a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad "person."

Even though I could easily dismiss all of what she spouted as the product of a perfect storm of several very bad days, a couple of major screw ups, and personal issues, one can't completely forget such an attack.

Which has me thinking . . . I've found myself without friends lately.  Not the real friends .  .  . they still seem to think I'm worth knowing . . . but the more social/superficial friends seem to have decided to spend their energies else where.  And, frankly, I've not really been in the mood to go out of my way to be extra nice to anyone.

And then I started to wonder . . . has my grieving over the last three years (and the multiple hits of emotional firebombs) turned me into something of an emotionally distant zombie?  I suspect the answer is yes.  I'm not sure I actually want to do anything about it.  Although it was nice to have a lunch crowd, it was expensive. The feeling of belonging was cozy, but obviously temporary and fleeting.

Grieving changes you. I think I'm less willing to put up with BS and I have a shorter temper.  And, I should probably not take things so personally.  But, I think I'll concentrate on being grateful for the real, deep friends I still have.  At the end of your life, they are the ones that matter any way.

Sunday, October 04, 2015


The other evening, while attempting to be social, a friend who has recently gone through a personal crisis said to me "Phenom told me to tell you when I'd need some meals .  .  . I'll need some next week."

Okay.  Phenom had not bothered to mention this offer had been made before, but it is the sort of thing I do.

Today, I made a double batch of Cinncinati style chili and roasted a chicken.  I gathered all the toppings for the Cinncinati chili (cheese, onion, oyster crackers, kidney beans).  At some point, the Phenom asked why I was making so much food, and when are we going to eat that chicken?

I told him I'd been informed that an offer of meals had been made.  Phenom says no . . . that the offer of "anything we can do to help" was made.

On one monkey shaped hand, I am a tad startled by the forwardness of the request. But, mostly I'm thinking there is a lesson in this for me.  Last year when I was so sick and in and out of the hospital, many people offered assistance to us and each and every time, we turned it down.  Most of the time, it was vague "let us know" type offers, but there were some very specific offers . . . like a friend who saw the Phenom picking up our take out dinner and offered/really wanted to pay for it.

Looking back, we turned those offers down because we were a tad embarassed.  We never quite wrapped our brains around needing help.  And, I realize now, it was a mistake.  We should let people help us  Someday, they might not offer.  We're always tremendously helpful to others, and we need to learn to allow others to return the favor.  That being said, do leave it to the afflicted to figure out what they need you to do.  Figure out something, creatively, and do it.

Like the gift certificate to a local restaurant I tucked into the door of a friend whose mother passed away this week.  My friend has spent the last week sitting at her bedside, administering hourly pain meds . . . a good, hot meal she could just pick up and even have left overs the next day, was needed.  (She lives alone, and much like us has a really annoying independent streak. )  I find that if nothing else, a pizza gift certificate can always be used.  And cookies.  Even if the afflicted doesn't eat them, the people around will.

Friday, October 02, 2015


There are losses you never actually stop grieving. I understand, deeply, when women express the difficulty of mourning their mothers.  I have a friend who has been at her dying mother's side this week.  We've not heard from her in a couple of days, so we suspect her mother has passed on.  She's pretty intensely private, so one has to read the signs with her.

Two years ago, when my dear friend died, it put me in a daze that lasted several weeks. More or less, I have no recollection of anything that happened between his death in August and the first of October.  Why the first of October?  Because today is the two year anniversary of the death of a good friend's mother.  Her mother had been very ill, the night before my friend had to sign papers for her mother to have surgery.  The situation was dire . . . she would die in a matter of hours without the surgery and might not live with the surgery.  Her mother lived through the night, and my friend awoke, on her birthday, to believe her mother would recover.  Only, a few hours later, her mother died.

Realizing my friend needed support jogged me out of my fog.  And, today, on that anniversary, when others are leaving sweet and joyous notes on her social media, I'm the one asking if she's got a plan to make it through the day . . . because I understand what it's like to be robbed of ever seeing one's birthday as a holiday and pure celebration.

Being grown up really does suck sometimes.

Tuesday, September 22, 2015


This weekend, I received a designer handbag as a gift.  It is very pretty, has plenty of pockets, and is a bright color monkeys find fetching.  It was a lovely and thoughtful gift.  (Truth be told, I carry a lot of candy with me. And lip goos . . . lots and lots of lip goo.)

But, I'm not actually a designer handbag sort of monkey.  Most of my handbags, I bought from Ebay. (Disclaimer, I do have a knock off Prada handbag I purchased on the streets of DC but the point was more to bargain the guy down to the price I wanted to pay.  I actually don't recall what he was asking because I told him what I wanted to pay, stuck to it, and was willing to walk away in order to get him to relent.  The Phenom was both horrified and impressed.)

I carried my new designer bag to work with me today, and propped it up on a shelf behind my desk.  And, no one noticed it.  No one commented.  I thought the whole point to a designer bag was to elicit comment from other humans.   Otherwise, wouldn't one of my ebay purchases be as good?

The Phenom asked what others thought of the new bag.  I think he was disappointed, too, that this new acquisition didn't immediately create some level of status for me.  Sigh.  Oh well, I have a very important meeting with very important people later this week . . . one I normally break out the knock off Prada for . . . so perhaps I'll find myself hoisted up the social ladder all due to this gift.  We can hope, right?

Friday, September 18, 2015

Common enemy

A co worker was telling me about a conversation she over heard (as in it was in a public place and the conversation took place two tables over from where she was eating lunch) the other day that involved prime examples of misogyny and rape culture.  And, the braggart was wearing a Nickelback tee-shirt.

I chimed in with a story from a trip to NOLA a few years ago.  A family seated themselves at a table next to ours at a patio bar.  It was parents and grown children and/or spouses.  The mother was already someone with a "fill up the room" personality.  She was loud and screeched and needed to be the center of attention . . . and then they bought her booze.

At some point in the evening, she joined together several straws, and then used the straws to reach across her table/our table and start drinking from my glass.  I SHIT YOU NOT! A total stranger created an extended straw to bogart my drink.  Her children were horrified (and bought me a new drink) and she and her family were invited to leave.

And, they were all wearing Nickelback tee-shirts.

Nickelback sucks.

Friday, September 04, 2015

The Secret of a Good Relationship

is knowing just how to manipulate each other.

You need to know exactly what buttons to push, how to tip their hand, and what they will never refuse.

Because we are totally boring, the highlight of the holiday weekend was deciding if we were going to go have burgers and fries at the local drive-in tonight or get up tomorrow and hit up a local joint for a classic southern breakfast.  WOOO HOOO

While weighing the pros and cons of going out for dinner tonight vs. getting up for breakfast . . . (The dinner at home option was bean and cheese burritos, a favorite of the Phenom's.  I make my own refried beans and they are damn tasty.)  the Phenom threw in a totally new suggestion . . . that tomorrow we head up the high way to a BBQ joint we like for lunch.  I immediately agreed that this was the best possible option, and there was dancing about.

And, then the Phenom said "this way you can have some good BBQ and we can sleep a little later." That's how I knew I'd been manipulated . . . in the best way . . . but manipulated.  He knew the offer I wouldn't turn down and he gets to sleep later in the morning.

I can always make grits or pancakes on Sunday morning.

Sunday, August 30, 2015

Hadn't thought of it that way before

Retail chain, Target, has gone to a genderless toy section.  And, as one might expect in this world devoid of calm and rational response to ANYTHING, some people have absolutely lost what was left of their pea-brains.  They seem to think that without a giant, overhead sign, they won't know if the toy they are about to buy for their sister's 3 year old is for a boy 3 year old or a girl 3 year old.

Someone pointed out a handy, easy to use guide these people can keep in mind . . . or write on an index card and tuck behind their phones in that over-sized case . . . 

if the toy is designed to teach nurturing or development of life . . . it's for a girl


if the toy is designed to leave the child with a god-like control over life and death or cause destruction . . . it's for a boy.

Which is so messed up, you should probably go have a bit of a lie-down.