The Demise of the F-Bomb

Yesterday was a day of many pilgrimages for me. If it’s ever taken you eight trips to get your reusable grocery bags from your house into an actual place that takes your money, you know what kind of day of pilgrimages I’m talking about.

It all started innocently enough. Mister Soandso texted me, “Get OJ.” I texted back, “Sure. Anything besides oj?” but because my phone is “smarter” than me, it wanted to send “Sure. Anything besides ok?” like eighteen freaking times. Thankfully, I noticed. But still. A smart phone is supposed to make communication smarter, not harder. Continue reading

When You’re Scratchy

Hi folks. How have you been? I hope well. In fact, I hope your dial has gone far enough past well to put you into the fantastic land. Because who doesn’t want to be fantastic? Me, I’ve been fine. Could have been finer, but could have also been lots worse, so I’m not complaining. I have, however, been more scratchy than usual.

In case you are wondering, it isn’t uncommon for me to be scratchy. Continue reading

Things That Make Me Snicker

Hello all you beautiful people! How are you? Me, I’m doing all right but I am a bit sleep deprived. Which, in my little corner of the world, translates into rum-dumb silliness. Or, in other words, goofy things make me snicker.

Things like people’s names. For example, I recently heard of a gentleman with a first name of Richard. And a surname of Wisher. And he goes by the nickname for Richard. Let’s hope  if he’s married, his wife doesn’t get mail addressed to Mrs. blah blah.  Continue reading

French Pedicures Are A Slippery Slope

If you ever see me with a French pedicure, I’m being held against my will and am trying to signal you to call the police. And I don’t just mean the fashion police either. Whenever I see someone with a French pedicure, I’m pretty sure I need to stage some sort of intervention.  After all, they do look like a call for help. (I’ve never seen male feet with one, but there’s no call to be sexist about bad ideas, right?) Continue reading

Context and Perspective: Not Just for John Hughes

I’ve written before about being mistaken as my kids’ grandmother instead of mother. When it’s a kid that does it, I don’t get mad. After all, I seem to recall as a high school sophomore thinking the college-aged kids must be really mature and have their life all planned out as I served them post-parting-hangover food. Obviously, one’s own age and experiences plays a role in such perceptions.

An older gentleman who had a “grandpa” like status in my childhood had two sayings he was fond of: “Hair and brains don’t mix” and “Age ain’t nothin’ but mind over matter; if you don’t mind, it don’t matter.” Yes, he was bald as a cue-ball and a very fun-loving young-at-heart kind of soul. He may have missed a few lessons on grammar and proper language, but he was spot-on about the role of context and perspective.

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Random Bits About My Crazy Train

It’s Friday and I’m uber busy getting reading for two major things I have happening this weekend for work. So, of course, I am procrastinating. Why is that? Am I the only one? Please tell me I’m not.

I seriously have a bucket-load of crap to get done before 4:15. And I just opened my cabinet and thought about which coffee cups I never use anymore and could donate to Good Will. What the eff brain? The only thing that stopped me was the realization I don’t have a box big enough to hold them all.

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Haters Gonna Hate: Comic Sans, Underwear, Et Al

Have you ever wondered if part of human evolution has been to make us more extreme? Or has technology simply made it seem that way? It seems like more and more often I read, hear, or somehow experience extreme reactions to even the most mundane things. Of course, it may be that my Gen X “meh” is just showing. After all, it seems ludicrous to expend so much energy on some of this stuff.

Take Comic Sans for example. People seem to largely have feelings about this font. And their feelings tend to run mighty big. “LOVE IT!” some scream in the style of Wheezy from DragonTales. Others scream just as loudly, “Burn it with the fire of a thousand suns!” like the grumblers they are. The whole thing leads me to say, “It’s a font folks.”

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