If you have your entire front yard AND back yard at your disposal, WHY THE FUCK would you, yet again, set your cornhole boards up in your side yard one foot from your neighbor’s bedroom window (which you absolutely do know is their bedroom window because your houses have identical floor plans)?!?! I can hear the THUMP THUMP THUMP all over my house, but especially in my bedroom. So much for recovering from my headache.
I had to go to the post office today to mail dad’s Father’s Day present, so I took a Lyft. I figured as long as I had paid to get there, I should walk over to Kroger in the same strip mall and get some more fruit since I was down to a single banana (which I’ll eat for breakfast tomorrow). Thanks to Covid, there are still no damned benches anywhere, so once I got to Kroger I had to go all the way to the pharmacy at the far end of the store to sit for a few minutes (it’s the only place to sit other than the ledge in front of the bakery case). There were, of course, no disabled/motorized carts—this is why I normally avoid this Kroger. I grabbed a few things as I passed them but I was too exhausted and stressed to think clearly about what else I should get unless it was literally right in front of me. I originally wanted to get a soda and some peanut butter m&ms as I left but self-checkout was closest and they only have that shit in the real checkouts. The Lyft driver who drove me home was super kind and insisted on carrying my groceries up to the porch for me.
My phone pedometer says I walked about 3/10 of a mile, but it honestly felt like so much further. But I did it, and I did it without incident. I’ve now taken my pain meds and I’m lying down in the a/c with the fan on. At some point I guess I should probably eat lunch, though.
The walk today was 1.5x longer than the home to Dunkin’ Donuts distance, so whenever I can manage getting my rollator up/down my front steps I can definitely do that. Plus, Dunkin’ has iced coffee and plenty of chairs.
It’s been well over a week since it occurred and this conversation with a fellow buddhism student on the way home from class is still bothering me.
If you are actively working to criminalize/penalize those who are giving sandwiches to unhoused people in a public park because “sometimes the people being fed leave trash behind” you’re facing a steep uphill battle to convince me that you’re not really some minor league Spider-Man villain in disguise. (Also, accidentally/unintentionally criminalizing picnics in city parks will NOT end well.)
If the potential for random garbage bothers you far more than the reality of hungry people not having enough food to survive, that’s a huge YOU problem, and probably one you should meditate on. (Tonglen, anyone?) Then, seeing as we’re heading into prime picnic season, perhaps you can organize volunteers to pick up any incidental garbage that ALL park visitors leave behind.
Baby boomers (some) + Buddhism = Boomer-dhism (compassion and loving kindness sadly not included)
Saturday morning I woke up with a lump in the front of my left armpit, deep under the skin. Maybe the size of a tangerine? It hurts to use that arm, or sleep on that side. Tonight it also hurts when I sleep on my other side; the pressure from my left arm lying against it is too much. My spine refuses to comply with sleeping on my back, so that’s out, too. I guess I’ll try the recliner.
I’ve been putting a heating pad on it, but I don’t know what else to do. I can’t stand the cold pack. I can’t get in to see my doctor until the first week of December. I think so far I’ve been doing a decent job of NOT jumping to horrible conclusions and panicking.
If your cat is on two different oral medications (in Sutton’s case a pill and a liquid med) DO NOT schedule them at the same time even if they have the same schedule. You will not be saving either of you any trauma – you will in fact be doubling it, and you WILL bleed.
Also, if you’re designing a liquid medication for cats, why the fuck would you make it cherry flavored?
My one year old cat had to go to the emergency vet this morning. He was diagnosed with idiopathic cystitis which has caused a urinary blockage, which in cats is potentially quickly fatal. He has to stay in the hospital until at least Monday.
Since I’m on disability, the total cost is going to be at least three times my monthly income and I’m just barely keeping my head above water as it is, but I can’t lose my baby boy.
I managed to borrow some emergency funding to cover the deposit so they would treat him, but I’ll have to pay that back. If anybody has experience using GoFundMe, I’d appreciate some advice. TIA.
It’s not yet 7:30 am.
Why are your children outside shrieking at the top of their lungs?
Jesus.
The chairs in the Tuileries* seemed to have personalities, both individually and in the groupings.
*I think this was taken in the Tuileries, but I could be off a kilometer or so in old Paris. Photographed during my 2015 trip.
Ugh. Trying to help my mother with her phone but I didn’t know she’d downloaded a font keyboard. It wasn’t obvious (at least, not with my crappy vision) so I spent a highly frustrating twenty minutes trying to figure out why the App Store couldn’t find a banking app I knew existed, or why I couldn’t register her for the banking app once I sent it to her UNTIL I tried to type the phone number and the screen showed every digit in Martian. Even though the rest of the text looked perfectly normal, apparently it was undecipherable to the apps.
Why is this something that exists?
NEVER accidentally take a nap while Bones is playing in the background. I woke up having strange dreams about french fries and semen and sexual tension. Part of my mind recognized some of the dialogue from an earlier episode but still couldn’t write it off because in my dream version the drug dealer with the attack dog who understood German commands was now a pink-wigged drag queen and I knew he hadn’t looked like that on Bones.
“Strange dreams about french fries and semen and sexual tension” sounds like an interesting autobiography title—just not for my own life. Maybe that should be my NaNo project?
I. HATE. My. Neighbors.
My iPad is a foot from my head, but I can’t hear it because they’re trying to deafen the entire neighborhood via their backyard sound system. AGAIN.
I think my cats might be defective.
Sutton and Finn both insisted on trying ketchup tonight (I had baked some frozen sweet potato tater tots) and they both begged for it. I put a bit on my finger and they happily ate it.
Mimsy has zero interest in leaving her bed to see what I’m eating—no surprise there as she rarely begs unless she sees the Haagen-Dazs container. Quite a change from when she was a kitten – then she would try to eat the food out of my mouth while I was chewing.
Here’s baby Sutton and lazy Sutton for photo tax.
I went out to lunch today for my 50th birthday in a gauzy coral hoodie with a matching bra, and a denim miniskirt. I’m pretty sure I did 50 right.
(Here’s the tiara my sister ordered for me. Since it just says “50” and not “birthday” I think that means I can keep wearing it all year, right?)
MY mother didn’t say this, of course. When I mentioned Roe yesterday, and all of the problems this decision was going to cause, my mother declared herself too old to be involved and changed the topic to Russia, saying, “I just hope Russia doesn’t start World War III so our grandchildren [read: grandsons] get dragged into it.“
Woman, you have three young granddaughters, and SCOTUS just effectively declared open season on them! Also, a lot of the people who fought for you to have rights that are now (or likely soon) disappearing were too old to benefit from them, and they fought for those rights anyway!
I am beyond done.
The Supreme Court just launched the country into a trash compactor, and this is the shit Facebook vomits into my feed? Well, this and 74,000 ads about Ree Drummond, whoever she is.
For the record, I review my “interests” on FB every few months. I’ve had to remove “god”, “jesus”, and “christianity” at least three times each because FB keeps adding them back. Stop it.
Tumblr’s in real danger of losing its hellsite designation.
One month from today. There is only one month left until I turn fifty.
How did this happen?
Meet Whitaker! He was an unchipped stray who was wandering my street on Sunday morning. Maybe 7-8 weeks old? When I called “kitty!” he ran to me and ended up adopting me. He’s currently racing around the screen porch and trying to spot the birds he’s hearing.
Mimsy isn’t sure about it, but Sutton keeps sitting outside his quarantine bathroom to chat, and gives him kisses when I bring him to the living room.
This Gen X’er definitely doesn’t get their weird voicemail fetish. Good luck, young ones.