I’m not done… Signed, Cranky Pants

It’s fucking hot.

The too-tight clothes stick

to the squishy parts.

Is that a poem?

The hair I’m trying to grow (why?  why try to grown hair after a certain age?) is damp and frizzy and doesn’t look good in a ponytail (long-waisted AND weird shaped head) and the bangs are not quite long enough to be held back.  Bangs are a constant hassle…at least mine are…so I’m trying to get rid of them.  I know that won’t last long, however, because then my forehead wrinkles will be on display.

I have to go to an outdoor party this afternoon.

I know; boo hoo.  Yes, it’s a party – wine, good food, lake, people I work with, but OUTSIDE?

Did I mention that it’s FUCKING hot?  (That’s about 97 degrees to people without a potty mouth.)

My daughter is coming to stay the weekend in my tiny apartment…That’s good…but the bf is banished…he can’t help feeling jealous…and who knows what kind of mind fuckery her dad will have in store for her…and I will be on call to anticipate this interaction and pick up the pieces as best I can.  She deserves one reliable parent.

Do I need medication?

Is this what’s going on here?

Am I an ungrateful a-hole about my single lifestyle and party-going obligations?

Is that what’s going on here?

I just know one thing, whatever’s going on…

It’s FUCKING hot.




Some Slapdash Thoughts on Virginia Woolf

I’ve never actually read A Room of One’s Own by Virginia Woolf, published in 1929.

Yet, I was an English major.  I don’t know what happened there.  Poor education?  Poor attitude?  I don’t remember.

It didn’t keep me from continually referencing the title; it has such a nice ring.  I have now read the Wikipedia page on it, so I feel “qualified” ; – | to tell you that this blog is the cyber room of my own and my new attic apartment is the tangible room of my own.

Virginia Woolf created Judith Shakespeare?  She said that Chloe liked Olivia?  Like, LIKED, Olivia?  In 1929?

She said about women:

“She pervades poetry from cover to cover; she is all but absent from history. She dominates the lives of kings and conquerors in fiction; in fact she was the slave of any boy whose parents forced a ring upon her finger. Some of the most inspired words and profound thoughts in literature fall from her lips; in real life she could hardly read; scarcely spell; and was the property of her husband.”

You go Ginny!  May I call you Ginny?


Thank you for your essay Ms. Virginia Woolf.  I’m going to go get a copy of A Room of One’s Own to read in my attic room.  I hope I become as modern and educated as you were in 1929.



RIP Married Woman

What would you like for your last meal, married woman?  What would you like the tombstone to say?

It isn’t “official” yet, but will be in a matter of days.  I’m dipping my toe in the water:

  • Changing my login at work.
  • Changing the cat’s last name.

Hey!  It’s a thing.  She has a middle name, too.  (God, I can’t believe I have to tell some people that.)

Welcome back young woman from 1992!  A lotta shit happened out here while you had your head up someone’s ass. This guy  “-”

  • You’re fatter now. Sorry.
  • And wrinkly – er.  Sorry.
  • Older
  • Wiser
  • Single
  • And ready to mingle.  You know, in a geriatric kind of way.

I actually think it will be fun.  I’m excited.  I’m not sad, or mad, or depressed.

Not today.

I’m ashamed that I don’t know certain things by now

Write it down:
At 50+, I’m ashamed that I don’t know certain things, or have learned certain lessons, by now.  They aren’t weighty things, like knowing that I don’t have to fix the dent in my car door, but I DO have to get the oil changed regularly, or how to humble myself in prayer, but I think that’s why I’m so ashamed.  They are things that should have been accomplished or learned many years ago!


Let it go:
I have no idea how to open one of the light boxes under my cabinets to take out the burned out bulbs, and I have a burned out bulb.  I pulled on the box in a couple of places but it didn’t budge.  Shit.  Another thing for the growing fix it list.

It should not be a mystery what my body likes to eat, or how much, or when is a good time.  Right?  Or what it likes for exercise.  (I know what it doesn’t like!)  The only defense against this, that I can think of, is that we change all the time and our needs are different. Is that true for everyone?  I feel like some people understand themselves very well and do the same things over and over and are happy with that.  The trick for me becomes how quickly I can recognize and adapt to what my body needs.

I received the kindest words at a work gathering last Friday.  The gathering wasn’t about me, but several topics were discussed.  I said that I was shocked to learn that my bf was the same age as a very old-seeming guy in our office.  I went on some more about our age difference – 11 years.  Almost every one of them said that at our age, “age” is not really a concern.  Some “old” people are “young at heart” and some young people are older in their heads, or more conservative, or whatever.  The old-seeming guy at our office does have a very young wife, younger than every woman at the gathering!  As I write this, I know I’m not conveying how good this made me feel.  But it did.  I felt relieved.  Maybe because I found out that they don’t judge relationships as harshly as I used to.  th6WF5Q6O5

Moving on:
I think I will try to stop overlaying labels and rules on everyone and everything.  It’s my nature, but it doesn’t seem to be that helpful.  A more useful skill would be to be open and adapt to what’s going on.  No judgment.  Might free up a lot of head space.


Moose Meat and Tequila Talkin’

My bf and I met online, but instead of lots of back and forth chat, we decided to meet at a local Japanese restaurant for dinner.  Neither one of us drank.

Today, about nine months later, we are proud to announce the birth of …

JK!  It just seemed natural to follow “nine months later”  with “proud to announce the birth.”

Eventually, we enjoyed trying different wine, beer, and mixed drinks together.

I didn’t used to be a tequila drinker, but my bf makes it with Paul Newman’s limeade and whatever.  Other stuff.  So GOOD!

He gets bottles of tequila that I have repurposed into vases, etc.  th9MT3OWZH

They are so pretty.  Now he’s starting on a collection of Mexican sugar skull inspired bottles.

th[5].jpgActually, maybe just skull inspired bottles.

It’s fun!  However, tequila gives me very vivid, usually weird, and sometimes violent, dreams.

Saturday we drank tequila with our grilled moose meat, pepper, and onion sandwiches.

Oh yes.  Very wild, fast, dreams.  Vivid.  Weird.  Violent.

And apparently, for the first time, I talked all night in my sleep.





Dress Code

th0OHCTYTGI work in a law firm.  Not as a lawyer, let’s be clear right away.

The horror.

The dress code is anywhere from jeans to power suits from the secretaries to the partners.

I hardly see clients, or go to meetings with my peers, and yet, I’m old.  Old fashioned.  And law firms are generally late to anything trendy, so we have a simpatico relationship that way.  I dress more on the formal side most of the time.

Today, however, I have a lunch date with my bf.  I’m pretty excited about that.  We met for lunch a few times last summer, but because of his work schedule, it was not an option to meet for lunch over the winter months.

So, today I chose to wear a dress.  It’s a dress I’ve worn to the office before, so I didn’t think I projected anything different by wearing it, but it IS killer on me for some reason.

I mentioned to my work bestie that I had a date for lunch and she said, “That’s why you’re so fancy today.”


I admit I spent quite a bit of time thinking over what to wear.  I want my bf to see me in my work clothes.  I think they look better than the shabby clothes I wear to go fishing on the weekend.  We are just about the same height, so, I also thought hard about the shoes I am wearing.  I like to wear heels, and do often at the office, but if I wear them, I will be taller than him.  I chose the heels anyway.

My bf gets to dress casually for his work, but one time he had a funeral to go to, and he made a point of putting on his nice suit early enough so that I could see him in it before I left his house.  thVDEOXVKP

Similar thing.  We are not just the casual fisher-people we are on the weekends.  We dress up sometimes.  Apparently it’s important to show each other.  Calling Dr. Freud?

th3QU3M1K6Oh, screw it.  I have a fabulous lunch to attend!