Filed under: Food/Drink, Middle Age, Misc. Humor | Tags: Food, health, self-care, stress, winter
Morning Me (and by morning, I mean 6:00am) is half-asleep, full of optimism, lists and plans to eat fruits and vegetables all day. I’ve scheduled my water and stretching breaks from the computer. Sometimes I even decide to skip a shower so I can have some extra time to write my stories before the real world starts intruding. In my mind, I’m sitting by the window, calmly sipping a cup of coffee, musing about what my latest characters are doing, or what the next blog topic will be.
I’m also feeling pretty superior to, well, everyone because I have control of my life. I’m ready for anything.
And then one or all of these things happen:
- I realize it’s winter, and I still have the upstairs thermometer set to FRIGID because I’m 50. I know I’ll have to sprint to the bathroom to take a shower to warm up, or put on my new Comfy (a Snuggie on steroids) that I got for Christmas and hope I don’t have any zoom calls later. I am not molting back into human form once the Comfy is on.
- I make the mistake of reading the news on my phone. Then, because I’m disgusted by the partisan slant, I read the BBC news to get a more balanced view. This is followed by a quick check of what’s new on FaceBook Marketplace, because who doesn’t love thrifting from their bed? Suddenly it’s 8:00 and there’s no way I’m taking a shower now because… I’m adulting.
- I step out of bed and realize I didn’t do my stretches the day before and my feet are acting up again. There’s no way I’m going for that early morning walk. Now I have to take a shower to loosen up my feet and leg muscles, but by the time I’m done with the shower, I’ve already had two freak-outs about work or something else in my life, and that picture of coffee sipping by the window isn’t even a distant memory anymore.
Afternoon Me, or Monster Me, is like Dr. Jekyll to my morning Mr. Hyde (or is it the other way around?). Afternoon Me has changed into sweats. Afternoon Me’s styled morning hair has been yanked back into a ponytail with a scrunchy from 1988, because I realized on a video call that I need a haircut and a dye job. There are three half-empty cups of coffee on the windowsill and zero glasses of water. I’ve eaten a bologna sandwich at my desk with a side of cookies. Afternoon Me has gone from planning to sip coffee by the window to planning to drink a (large) glass of wine and declare it’s Cereal Night. Again.
I don’t know about you, but despite Afternoon Me’s ragged appearance and snarky mood, I still have hope. All is not lost because, if it was, I wouldn’t be Morning Me at all.
So, here’s to all the Morning Me’s out there and all they represent for us. May your Morning Me always be there for you.
First, thanks to everyone for stopping and reading this when there is so much other stuff to read and watch, like TikToks and memes of Bernie Sanders at the inauguration. I know it’s been a while, but apparently, I’ve been storing up a few rants over the last few months.
One of my resolutions this year, in addition to just trying to be nicer to people, is to try some new recipes and stop making Hubby eat the same five things every week, plus pizza or cereal night. Sounds pretty basic, right? Well, who knew that the most challenging part of this would be getting to the actual recipes online!
When I finally find a recipe that has less than 10 ingredients, doesn’t call for some weird spice (like celery salt) that I’ll only ever use once, and doesn’t contain anything resembling fish oil, I have to keep it together long enough to scroll
down,
down,
down,
through the author’s family history, passion for turning said recipe leftovers into a gross smoothie afterward, and tips for cleaning my house while I stand on my head and cook.
To the people who post recipes online: No one gives a crap about how your grandmother used to clean her oven or that your 5th cousin is from Bulgaria and that’s where the recipe came from. We just need the damn ingredient list. We’re tired from being at work all day and we don’t want to touch anything more in Kroger than we have to, so stop making us scroll with grocery store-COVID fingers. We just want to cook without ads popping up that we have to close with raw, chicken covered-fingers.
So please, for the love of all things cookery, STOP giving us your life story and just post the damn thing with a picture of the finished product so I can see where I messed up!
Filed under: Exercise, Misc. Humor, Posts | Tags: COVID-19, Exercise, Food, quarantine, self-improvement, writing
We’ve all seen the memes about gaining weight while under quarantine, and how we should all be trying to better ourselves during this time. So, after 4 months of working from home, I have come to the conclusion that the Quarantine-15 is a real thing, and that I’m pretty much as lazy as I thought I was. I was secretly assuming it was me just being too hard on myself.
I don’t have any excuses.
I have extra time because I’m not commuting, and I can drop in a load of laundry when I need to get away from my computer and stretch my legs. I live out in the country, so not going to the gym should have been replaced by lots of activity outside, like running (which is solitary and free) or the 50 million online exercise apps available. I even am lucky enough to have a pool, which I’ve been in only to just stand in the shallow end, like a hippopotamus.
Instead of bettering myself, I have coped by consuming copious amounts of wine, opening the fridge and staring at its contents for minutes at a time before eating yet another vat of pimiento cheese, watching too much tv after dinner and reading smut novels with heaving breasts and raised lettering on the covers (some are so bad even a book addict like me has to put them down).
I have not learned a new language, edited my novels, blogged nearly enough, or even tried more than one or two new recipes.
So here’s what I’ve decided to do. I’m going to create a short Quaran- Tuck It List (like a bucket list) of things to do during the pandemic that might get me moving forward again. Feel free to make your own, or if you need some accountability, share your list in the comments!
- Lock the refrigerator on a timer.
- Attempt to not drink any alcohol for one week. (Don’t judge – there’s only so much I can inflict on the Fam all at once.)
- Sell stuff on my local FaceBook market page – yep, Hubby is probably going to have a heart attack when he reads this. Dude, RELAX….I’m not touching your t-shirt drawers.
- Let the cats live. I CANNOT clean up anymore animal body fluids. If one of them shits on my outdoor cushions one more time, I’m going to lose it.
- Actually do the stretches every doctor I’ve seen has said I should be doing. The problem with thinking of yourself as 30 in your head is that your body likes to laugh and go, “let me remind you…”
- Edit and finish the fantasy novel I started 20 years ago. Not 50 Shades of Gray fantasy…magic and swords and stuff. If I had to write the 50 Shades of Gray novel it would have ended after her interview with him and all the red flags she could only miss if she’d been locked in a box for the first 20 years of her life.
- Write an alternative novel to 50 Shades.
- Create an author website page.
- Publish a bunch of these blogs in a book so future generations can just hand it over to their therapists and say, “See? It’s genetic…”
- Start a workout program to do in my pool (see next week’s blog).
What’s your Quaran-Tuck It list?
Filed under: Food/Drink | Tags: adulting, dining, fish, Food, humor, Kona Grill, pizza, restaurants
I recently had a restaurant fail that made me realize:
- Food should always be clearly labeled
- Not everything “tastes like chicken”
- I have a very weak sense of smell
- Customers should not be too proud or shy to ask questions
A month or so ago I went to a local chain restaurant for lunch with work friends. I like to try new things on the menu and saw this:
I like mushrooms and Brussels sprouts. I don’t know what bonito is (I do now), but it sounds like another kind of fancy mushroom, so I’ll get it. And no, I didn’t just Google it because I was being polite and not using my phone at the table.
This is what was delivered to my table:
It MOVED.
I freaked out until I realized the heat from the bread was making whatever that was wave like things you see swirling around your feet at the beach – they don’t hurt you, but you don’t want to think about it much, either.
I ate about three pieces before I realized that my friends were looking at me like I’d just pulled a rabbit carcass out of my pocket, put it on the table and kept eating. About the same time, the smell emanating from the plate finally penetrated my sinuses and I got a whiff of…fish. And not a good, seasoned salmon or tilapia, either. It smelled like fish that had sat on the counter too long and the cats were thinking they would reach Nirvana if I would just let them have it.
My stomach flopped and I stopped eating. Lacy, my co-worker with a five-year-old’s palette, took pity and offered me one of her BBQ sliders. (Lacy I will not make fun of you again for at least a month).
I didn’t get sick, and I know I’m partly to blame for not asking questions. But seriously, who puts mushrooms, Brussels sprouts AND FISH SHAVINGS on a flatbread? And what part of the fish did that come from? I don’t think you can shave anything on a fish except maybe the skin, and I sure as hell don’t want to eat fish skin unless its salmon and deliciously crunchy inside a sushi roll.
The only kind of fish shaving should happen here.
Filed under: Misc. Humor, Travel | Tags: cat, driving, family, Food, Holidays, late, Middle-Age, mouse, mousetrap, road trip, Thanksgiving
Thanksgiving is a time for families to get together, eat too much, drink too much and share WAY too many opinions.
Many folks (usually what I like to call “the Middles”, aka the sandwich generation) try to juggle seeing several crooked branches of the family tree during the holidays without offending anyone. To accomplish this, we end up driving all over creation with our kids texting in the backseat, picking up our assigned foods at the grocery store on the way or juggling a pan of some sort of casserole on ourr knees.
And don’t forget to grab that extra bottle of wine because, frankly, Uncle Jack is going to start in on (fill in a political topic here), and one of the cousins already declared “this time I’m not gonna just sit back there and let him say that shit just ’cause he’s a thousand years old. It ain’t right.”
It’s what we do.
It’s also why we’re often late (although sometimes that’s by design).
But I will never be able to top my brother’s excuse for why they were late one year. My brother’s known for being late; in fact we used to plan for it. We would tell him to get there at least an hour before we needed him. One year, he and his family were pushing two hours late for Thanksgiving dinner, and I finally called him on his cell phone to find out where the Hell he was.
“You wouldn’t believe it if I told you.”
(What follows is the best excuse ever):
We were getting ready and heard the cat meowing like crazy. So I followed the sounds into the garage, and there was Jackson (their large calico cat) with a sticky mousetrap stuck to his face…and the mouse still on it!
Jackson had seen the mouse wriggling in the trap and tried to bite it. The cat got his cheek fur stuck on the trap glue, and was running around howling, with a trap and a mouse about a half-inch from his eyeball.
We caught Jackson and tried to pull the trap off – not a good idea.
Then we tried hot water – in 30 seconds we had an extremely pissed off, wet cat and lots of scratches.
In desperation, we tried cutting the mouse free from the trap, but Jackson was struggling so hard we cut the mouse’s tail off. Blood was spurting everywhere, and the mouse was still stuck.
Finally, cold water did the trick. We got the trap of and put the mouse out of his misery.
“So,” he said, “we’re going to be a little late.”
Subourbon Mom 