Confessions of an Uncultured Loner

OK, What IS this ?

It's tongue.

Well, thanks but NO THANKS !

I'm not eating anything from an animal's MOUTH

I'll have an omelet instead.
 

12a3cbfa0729d4e07536758a698530e1--the-argyle-argyle-sweaters.jpg
 
Today is Sunday so of course the television has been loaded with various religious programs. You know the ones. You'll go to heaven if you do this, you'll go to hell if you do that. This caused me to think about immortal, everlasting life. Well, you have to think about something and I needed a break from shark week (though that's about as close to hell as I hope to get).

Anyway, I started thinking about Paul Harvey. It's interesting how such odd memories just pop into my head sometimes.

Paul Harvey had a terrific radio program called "The rest of the Story." This man had a wonderful voice that was perfect for radio. I loved listening to him. If he had been a cult leader, I probably would have followed him like he was the pied piper.

He would tell an interesting story but would leave you waiting in anticipation for the ending. There would be some commercials, some music, some news then he would come back with the phrase, "and now for the rest of the story." The endings were wonderful. He would reveal the name of an inventor or a musician or politician or some other person. I couldn't wait for the rest of the story.

If I could choose what the afterlife would be for me it would be exactly that. I want the rest of the story.

Basking in the glow of an eternal light with a bunch of other dead people doesn't really interest me.

What I would really like is a front row seat. I want to be an invisible entity who cannot interact, manipulate or become involved in anything. I would merely be a silent observer to see how this story ends. I want to know how it ends.

I want to know if the San Andreas fault will open up as California slides into the ocean. Will Arizona become beachfront property?

I want to know if my great great grandchildren finally figured out that 80% of what they've learned has all been lies and they actually start making this planet a better place to live.

Will we colonize another planet? If so, will it be colonized by genetically manipulated beings who no longer carry disease or violence to a new world? I think of how colonization of other civilizations on this planet has turned out. It doesn't speak very well for humans.

Will antibiotic resistant bacteria finally break out of a lab causing a pandemic that makes influenza and bubonic plague look like a minor event?

Will people finally figure out that the one simple theme that runs through the core of most religions is love. A simple word that doesn't need volumes of books to explain it. Will future generations finally figure out how to live it?

Will the icebergs melt causing the east coast to disappear along with the British Isles, Venice, Cuba?

Will there be a nuclear catastrophe or will a giant asteroid create another ice age that brings forth new species? Will artificial intelligence rule the earth?

Will the Yellowstone cauldera finally explode?

Is there life on other planets? Have we been visited by that life?

Are there wormholes that can take life into other dimensions?

Will there be a huge solar flare that cooks us all like we're on a giant bar bbq grill?

If I should have eternal life, I really would like to see "the rest of the story."
 
GeorgiaXplant said:
Hallmark Channel. Wow. You're one heckuva reckless and adventuresome lady. Er. Person of the female persuasion. I can't remember the last time I went to a movie. I like movies just fine but don't like the crowds, even if the crowds consist of three people. Netflix. Tonight I'm gonna watch The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society. I have no idea what it's about, but the name is perfect.
Click to expand...


I watched it several nights ago. Movie was OK but I had already read the book and it was better. About a very interesting part of English history. Enjoy.
 
The Guernsey Literary and Potato Peel Pie Society was a feel-good chick flick, sort of weepy, movie about a woman city-girl (London) journalist/author who takes on an assignment in Guernsey that she doesn't want, set just after WWII, about a group of folks' lives during the Nazi occupation. The end is predictable, but the story is a good one. I'd never heard of it until a friend recommended it. She tried to read the book but said there was something about the print style that annoyed her. Huh? I watched. I liked it a whole bunch. You'll need a couple of tissues, or if you're a real softie, you'll need more than a couple.
 
Today I feel like paying tribute to my feet.

I don't have a foot fetish. I actually think feet are the most unattractive and abused part of the human body. Well...except for when I was a baby. I think I probably had cute feet then but I think all baby feet are cute.

My poor feet have been traumatized, moisturized and sanitized.

I once had little girl feet that bounced and jumped and climbed. They were feet that ran through the snow, splashed in big puddles of rain water and ran from one neighbors house to another.

Yes, they were little girl feet that stood on her grandfathers feet so we could dance together to the smooth sounds of Benny Goodman or Tommy Dorsey.

I wonder how many miles I've put on my feet. I think hundreds of thousands. If my feet were cars I probably would have traded them in at least four times by now.

My feet have carried me through canyon floors and helped propel me up canyon walls. My feet have helped me balance on the rails of trains tracks (even though my mother told me to never go there). I wanted to see how far I could walk before one of my feet slipped off.

My feet carried me to and from classes. They endured gentle stomping at those first awkward school dances where I would step on his feet and he would step on mine.

My feet have stomped spiders and bugs, kicked rocks and knocked over ant hills. Thank goodness for shoes.

My feet have been on skates, pogo sticks and stilts. They've been bowling and in the military.

Ah yes, the military. I can still hear cadence being called: Give me your left your right your right your left, left 2-3-4 your left as we marched what seemed like miles...and miles...and miles.

I think the worst was standing at attention though. That's when I'd really notice how much my feet hurt. My feet like to move.

My feet have supported my body in long lines at the store, the bank, at theaters. They've carried me through countless state fairs, street fairs, pumpkin patches, corn mazes and zoos.

My feet have always had a tendency to be cold, even when I was a child. My daughter has an old boxer and when I go to visit, he lies across my feet. Does he know? He keeps my feet toasty warm. My ex husband used to always complain about my cold feet so much I started wearing socks to bed.

My feet have been run over by bicycles and tricycles. They've felt flattened under the weight of wheelchairs, laundry carts and grocery carts.

One time I knocked the lid from a can of tuna off the counter top. I ended up with a couple of stitches and a tetanus shot.

I fell asleep on the beach once and got a major sunburn. I was lying on my stomach in such a way that the bottoms of my feet got sunburned. Who ever heard of that? I'd never heard of that. My feet hurt so bad.

My feet have been punctured by those horrible goat head stickers that grow around here. My poor feet have also been abused by those nasty sand burrs that seem to take pleasure by hiding in my socks and in the carpet.

I don't swear very often but hitting my bare foot on the side of a door or on the leg of some furniture does seem to elicit the use of a multitude of four letter words.

Now my feet look...old. Spider veins splay across the tops of my feet creating the illusion of rivers on an old paper map.

Once I had an injury (which has thankfully resolved). My left foot was swollen to the point that my toes looked like vienna sausages attached to a balloon.

I heard a Chinese saying once, " I used to complain I had no shoes until I met a man who had no feet."

So today, I celebrate my tired, over used, old feet. Feet that still get me where I need to go.
 
Good grief! What is going on?

What is this hatred that seems to be directed towards children? School shootings, clergy abuse, parent/step parents killing and/or abusing children, I do not understand why these things are happening.

I was reading our local paper while at this laundromat this morning and there were two articles about local women who were arrested for having sex with a minor. One was a teacher. I'm thinking WTF!!!! School hasn't even been in session for a full month and we've already got a teacher on the prowl.

The second was a woman who had sex with a 16 year old at a facility for troubled teens. I would think the 16 year old had enough problems already without her confusing the situation.

Of course I know there are beautiful young adolescent girls and very handsome adolescent boys. But seriously, why would anyone want to sacrifice a whole career to a few nights in the sack (or backseat or under the bleachers) with someone that young?

I worked very hard for my nursing license. Yes, I had varying degrees of patients attempting to be inappropriate but I was always professional and strictly business. I guess I remember the expense of school, the testing, the late nights studying, the state board examinations to get my license. It afforded me the opportunity to have a comfortable life. No I didn't get rich, but I'm not destitute. Why would I want to sacrifice that just to get some sexual pleasure with of all things...a teenager?

It seems that both of the women today were educated and were in their thirties.

I'm beginning to think schools/colleges need to teach courses called, "self gratification 101" "the art of self control", "It may take two to tango, but it only takes one to...well you know" "Love vs lust-they are two different things" "what you do today may ruin your life and someone elses tomorrow."

There wasn't a lot said about these two women other than where they worked and that they were arrested. I wonder if they were married? I wonder if they had student loans? Children of their own? I would be really angry if someone did that with one of my grandchildren.

I would be mortified to be branded for the rest of my life as a sexual predator.

Have we been teaching too much of that "live in the moment" bullcrap instead of teaching that there are future consequences to today's actions?

Sometimes women seem to get off easier when it comes to sexual predation. I think we need to be more severe with all predators no matter what their gender.
 
I think sexual abuse of children has been going on since the Beginning. It may even be less now than even in the last century. Also, it's out in the open now, and with instant information transfer and 24/7 news, we hear all about it. Nasty business!
 
Cliques

They are everywhere which actually makes it easy to be a loner.

New woman at senior citizen center- female cliques in place with the fear that the new woman might put the moves on one of the three men that attend.

Church- Large churches establish small groups where you have the ability to get to know people except some small groups are established and don't readily accept a new person. Gossip, gossip Oh no, not in a church

Good grief, it seems to be on the internet too.

Always on the outside looking in.

Could be worse I suppose. I could be in prison where I'd be on the inside looking out, but I hear there are cliques on the inside too.

Well, going to call it a night. I definitely need to go find some cheese to go with my whine.
 
Lonely vs being alone

Some people do not know there is a difference between the two. It's starting to get on my nerves.

I know they are well meaning individuals who feel they have my best interests in mind when they do some of the things they do...or are they really well meaning?

I downsized from a house to a 1 bedroom apartment seven years ago. I was looking around at old furniture that belonged to my grandmother, I had a hide a bed sofa that was rarely used, I had a twin bed in an extra bedroom that was rarely used. I had baking pans, cookware, figurines, hundreds of books, some items I had two of (toaster, mixer etc.)

It was my decision to downsize. The old dining room table went to my daughter. A good choice. It has been well used. That would have made my grandmother happy. The twin bed, most of the extra cookware, twin sized linens, some towels went to a young man who just got out of prison. He managed to find a small unfurnished apartment, got a job, is trying to assimilate back into life after being in prison for 5 years for some drug related charges. I let him pick what he wanted. I never saw someone get so excited over some used furniture in my life. Hey, I'm willing to help someone make a new start. I see him a couple times a year. He's doing well, still has the same job, finally got a car and a girlfriend and from what I can tell, he's still off the drugs. Giving to him was good choice.

I enjoy sitting in my sparsely furnished apartment. I have all I need: a bed, a sofa, a recliner, a table and chairs. I downsized my Christmas decorations. The granddaughter volunteered to take some of those off my hands. A good choice. She's a newlywed and they don't have lot of money to spend on "frivolity". I have the books I hadn't yet read, a craft table for my hobbies. I have a small television, my laptop. I don't have a lot of things hanging on the walls but what I do have has a lot of sentimental value for me. I've been happier than I've been in a long time.

Now many of my well meaning friends and family have decided I need a dog or at the very least a cat to "keep me company". I don't know whether to laugh or hit them with my frying pan.

I explain all the reasons I don't want a critter in my apartment. They are logical reasons to me, but for some reason they go unheard.

My apartment charges an additional 250.00 pet deposit. That is additional to the basic deposit I already paid. Then they increase the rent by adding 20.00 a month. I understand the reasons why. Not all pet owners are responsible and you wouldn't believe the damage some pets have caused to some of these apartments.

I live on the second floor. There are 8 steps to my apartment plus a couple of additional ones on the sidewalk. The dog walk is across the parking lot. I'm not a young person and as someone who has already slipped, tripped and fallen the last thing I need to be doing is trying to take a dog out for a walk in the middle of winter when it's icy or snowing. I'd have to take it out several times a day. Good grief, one of the things I looked forward to about retirement is not having to get out in horrible weather.

Then there is the additional expense for pet food, pet care supplies, veterinarian expenses when needed. I think I would rather spend my extra money on other things, like going to basketball games, going out to eat once in a while, going to Texas to visit my family.

I've never been a cat person. I really don't like cats lying around wherever they want acting like they own the place.

The one chore I really hate is vacuuming. I vacuum every week. I think if I had a fur baby, I would have to vacuum all the time just to keep the pet hair down to a manageable level. I think that would really make me mad.

I actually had one friend offer to take me to the animal shelter and she said she would pay the adoption fee, even after I explained to her I didn't want a pet.

I told her if I wanted to be around animals that I could volunteer at the shelter or the zoo. She got kind of upset and said , "I was only trying to help."

Don't you just love those people who try to impose what they want on to you and then get mad if you don't want it?

I am happy being alone in my apartment. I have a nice view. My neighbor has a dog. I pet it. I have a plant that I've had for over 8 months and I haven't killed off yet which for me is a miracle. I don't have a constant need to be entertained by animals, people or electronics.

I wish people would believe me when I tell them ," I AM NOT LONELY".

Sometimes they seem to think I'm depressed and am doing nothing but sitting here watching whatever soap opera is on these days, gorging myself on 5 bags of Oreos while tearfully going through box after box of tissues. Sure, I've watched my fair share of television but just because I hadn't been able to do it for years and years. So, after finally seeing what shark week was all about, after watching re runs of Seinfeld, MASH, That 70's show I have happily decreased my TV viewing to a couple of shows in the evening. I prefer listening to the radio but most of the time, I really do enjoy the quiet when everyone else in my building has gone to work.

I'm newly retired. For the first time in my life I don't have to answer to anyone, take care of anyone, be responsible for anyone except me. If that is selfish, then so be it but I feel I've earned the right to enjoy that.

 
On the subject of cliques, I think they don't exactly welcome new folks because they're comfortable with their established circle. That's fine. Sometimes I get tired of being alone but not tired enough of it to knock myself out finding people who are willing to let me in. Nah.

As for a bunch of biddies worrying that I'd be interested in whatever geezers are available...ha. I'm really not one bit interested in going through all that getting-to-know-you stuff, putting my best foot forward, feeling like I have to dress up in anything besides jeans and a t-shirt, and (heaven forfend!) put on makeup. Ack. Besides all that, who wants to compete for time and attention with somebody else's grown children and grandchildren? And would I really want to go to all the g'kids' baseball, basketball, football games/tournaments, school plays, birthday parties? Nope. Yeah, I know. I'm a selfish b*tch. Nine years of being a widow will do that.

I have a cat because cats are independent and don't need constant attention. And because they use litter boxes. They do lie around any old place they please. Maggie is a pre-owned cat that came from a shelter, has some kind of strange deformity that left her born minus a tail so she sort of waddles instead of walks, and for lack of a tail can't jump very high. She only moved in two months ago, but she must like it here well enough because she hasn't packed her bags and left.

Downsizing was the single most freeing thing ever! I have eight pieces of furniture if we include the two bookcases. And yet The Hovel seems like it's crammed full. Well, maybe it is. It's just a hair less than 300sf. TV? Yeah, the TV is on most of the time, not always for watching. Sometimes it's just on because it's on. When I'm outside on the patio, I have an HD radio tuned to the local public radio's HD2 frequency for all music. Well, except for early in the morning. Have to turn on NPR, just in case we're at war or something.

I hear you. You've earned the right to choose what kind of life you lead in your eld. And the right to be selfish. Carry on!
 
Dkay, you sound like you have it all together and living a good life now. All the reasons for you not to have a pet right now are very valid ones, and you have to do what feels right for you. I believe you're not lonely. :)
 
My uncultured eye when it comes to art.

I have decided that my art appreciation class that I recently completed didn't really help much, at least with the appreciation part.

I did learn about the different styles of art (cubism, realism, pop art etc etc) and the different types of art (folk art, sculpture, oil, water color, metal working etc etc) so it was a useful class in that respect.

I can appreciate that every artist put a lot of time and energy into their creation. Some perhaps even gave up parts of their soul. But the class didn't clear up much for me.

I don't understand who it is who determines that something is a masterpiece. Who is it who declares that because someone struggled with substance abuse or was destitute or was a womanizer or was mentally ill that his art work is a masterpiece?

Mona Lisa- I've always found her to be rather bland. Oh, I've heard all about the eyes, the coy smile, even that there might be some hidden messages within the painting. Would I want her hanging o my wall. Absolutely not! I've always found some of Da Vinci's other works much more intriguing. I will never fully understand all the hoopla over the Mona Lisa.

Andy Warhol- I appreciate that he found his muse in everyday objects, but millions of dollars for a painting of a bunch of soup cans. It boggles my mind (but only because I obviously have an uncultured mind).

Salvador Dali- his work is quite amusing. However, I find the man even more amusing. I kind of like his long slender moustache that he bends around in all kinds of shapes. He's an interesting man who is sort of a cross between Vincent Price and Pee Wee Herman.

Van Gogh- I do like his Sunflowers and Starry Night. A tragic life though.

Anyway, my favorite art tends to be landscapes or wildlife. I have a newly acquired interest in 3D art. I saw some 3D chalk art on a sidewalk in Denver once. That was absolutely amazing they way your logical mind tells you it's a flat surface and is safe to walk on the picture but the way the eyes translate the image to the brain it does look like you will fall into a deep pit. Someone posted a 3D butterfly tattoo on another thread. I though that was incredible. I don't really want a tattoo but I would love to have a big 3D print that looked like that for my wall.

I decided to go check out some art around town, we have an art museum, artwork hanging in public places etc.

Abstract art is one form of art that I really don't get.

A large painting with long dark streaks from top to bottom in colors like black, dark gray, dark brown. It kind of reminded me of that moss that hangs down from the trees in the south. Then there were a couple of streaks of bright yellow.

I love hearing all the "cultured" people discussing art among themselves. "That represents the artists struggle with allowing the light to break through the darkness."

My opinion(which I kept to myself while nodding in agreement with everyone else) : It looks like someone squeezed the mustard bottle too hard and it hit the table cloth instead of the hot dog.

Next painting was a disorganized mix of pastel colors with several dark patches: Cultured people: This shows the artists struggle with the deep moments of darkness trying to overtake the joy of life.

My silent opinion: That's what you end up painting when you start buying your crack from a different dealer.

I'm finished with abstract art for a while. Maybe as I continue to age, as my vision blurs, as my mind becomes a bit foggier I'll be able to appreciate abstract art and say, "Look at this painting. It's a big ole' mess, just like me."

 
Remember "I don't know much about art, but I know what I like"? Nuts to all the analyzing. If I like the way a picture looks, I like it. If I don't like the way a picture looks. I don't like it. What's with all the people sitting on hard benches and gazing glassy-eyed for long periods of time in front of a picture? Hushed voices. Whispers. Mostly it just makes me stifle a serious case of giggles, lest I appear uncultured. One mustn't appear uncultured, dkay! It's okay to be uncultured; one mustn't appear uncultured.

Hey, you could set yourself up as an abstract artist, slap some oil paint on canvases (be garish!), take them to a craft show (just to get started in the art biz) and hang big dollar price tags on them. Tell lookers that they'll be glad they "invested" in your art early on. They probably won't ever get rich on your "art"...but you will.

You can use your newfound wealth to travel to the South of France or Bora Bora or to go to the UK, rent a car and drive through the countryside admiring quaint cottages with thatched roofs. Would you/could you stop and pick me up before you leave for the UK? After driving through the countryside (with a stop at Stonehenge and another one at Winchester Cathedral...bo doh dee oh doh), we could take a turn around London...Poet's Corner, Westminster Cathedral, St. James' Park for a concert at noon. And maybe a boat ride up and down the Thames with a stop for tea. You up for it? We'll go on your dime, of course. After all, you're gonna have all that money from art sales.
 
GeorgiaXplant said:
You can use your newfound wealth to travel to the South of France or Bora Bora or to go to the UK, rent a car and drive through the countryside admiring quaint cottages with thatched roofs. Would you/could you stop and pick me up before you leave for the UK? After driving through the countryside (with a stop at Stonehenge and another one at Winchester Cathedral...bo doh dee oh doh), we could take a turn around London...Poet's Corner, Westminster Cathedral, St. James' Park for a concert at noon. And maybe a boat ride up and down the Thames with a stop for tea. You up for it? We'll go on your dime, of course. After all, you're gonna have all that money from art sales.
Click to expand...

It does sound lovely but I think I'd have a better chance at making money if I could find a three legged dog and taught it how to hold a paint brush. *I've suddenly been attacked by an ear worm after seeing your suggestion of Winchester Cathedral. I can't get that stupid song out of my mind now. I'm going to have to go look it up and see who sang that song, "Winchester Cathedral, the Tower, Big Ben, the rosy red cheeks of the little children". I think it was from sometime in the sixties. Aaaaaargh, But if I ever do make a million, we shall take the trip-you'll have to drive though I'm not sure I'd remember to drive on the left side of the road.
 
I think Winchester bo doh dee oh doh Cathedral was done by a band. Can't remember what they were called.

Er...I never knew how to drive on the "wrong" side of the road. My travel companion was a Brit, and he did the driving. Made me nervous as a long-tailed cat in a roomful of rocking chairs. Let's just hire a driver.

Oh, one more thing. I'm not fond of flying. As long as you'll be rich, and we're going on your dime, how about we sail on a luxury liner?
 
Washing clothes-a lifelong chore

I'm sitting alone at the local laundromat watching the clothes spin around and around. Perhaps I'm nuts but I find watching clothes spinning around to be rather relaxing. It gives me time to remember, time to daydream.

Today, my memories take me back many, many years. I was in a laundromat with my very pregnant mom and my younger sister. Wow, how times have changed. Oh sure, there is still a pop machine, a candy machine, coin changer, dispenser to purchase laundry supplies but now there is a claw machine filled with stuffed animals, a couple of game machines. One thing that no longer exists in a laundromat (or anywhere else) is a cigarette machine but I never had need for one of those anyway.

Machines back in the day were more entertaining. I'd put my money in and then pull the knob under my selection. Sometimes, those knobs wouldn't work or they were so tight I couldn't pull it. There were two kinds of pop machines when I was a kid. One laundromat had a machine with a thin glass window on a thin door so I could view my selection. I'd put my money in, open the door and pull out the glass bottle. No bottles were plastic back then and the bottles were left at the laundromat in wooden crates.

The other pop(or soda or whatever people call it in their particular area) machine looked like a big chest. I'd open the lid, which was not easy to do when I was a kid. It looked like a giant metal maze inside. I'd pick my choice and guide it along the soda pop pathway towards the far left side of the machine where I'd put in my money and pull out the soda.

Mom never let me get candy (she didn't want gooey fingerprints all over the nice clean clothes).

The washing machines had two cycles: wash/drain, rinse/drain. There were no spin cycles. When the laundry was completed a person had to run the clothing through the ringer to get the excess water out. Mom would usually "squeeze" out the water from the clothing with buttons and zippers. My sister and I would take care of the sheets and towels. My sister would turn the crank while I fed the fabric into the big rollers. I would get my fingers caught several times and let out a big yelp. My hands are rather small. I don't have long slender fingers like a lot of women. I blame it on those darn wooden rollers and the many times my fingers felt crushed within their grip.

Laundry is a funny thing. It weighs 100 pounds going in dry, but feels like 300 pounds going home damp.

We always hung our clothes outdoors. Mom had a system. The sheets and towels went on the front and far back clothesline. The shirts, dresses, play clothes, dad's work clothes all went on the line next. Then we would drag the basket full of "unmentionables" to the center of it all where we would hang all of our undergarments so the neighbors couldn't see them. Wow, the neighbors would have a heart attacks now seeing the ladies in the laundromat throwing their lacy bras over the rod on the rolling laundry carts for all the world to see.

I never understood hanging clothes outdoors when the air temperature was 10 degrees but my sister and I did it. I stood on a stool, she handed the laundry to me. When the laundry was good and frozen we'd have to go get it. Oh my, a solid sheet of ice formed underneath. The sheets and towels were stiff as a board. I wondered if I hit them with the baseball bat would they break in half. Then I thought about how mad mom would be so declined to do that. One thing about the ice though, we could slide the full baskets of laundry back to the house where we would hang them in the bathroom, over the headboard of the bed. The clothes and towels were soooooo cold. For some reason, dad's overalls held a lot of moisture and were frozen solid. I could position them in the bathtub where they would stand like giants filled with invisible beings. They began to slump over as they thawed resembling a defeated army instead of an army of giants.

I like clothes dryers. I'm glad those were invented. Actually, I don't mind going to the laundromat. I can get everything washed, dried, folded and in the closet and drawers in less than 2 hours.

I also really, really like not having to iron. That damnable ironing was one task I really hated when I was a kid. We had to iron the sheets because they were all wrinkly. Elastic on everything had a tendency to roll. I ironed elastic on panties, bras, dad's boxer shorts. Thank goodness for the improvement in fabrics and elastic. I love permapress.

I also love colorfast dyes. Far too often, I've had a stray maroon washcloth get in with the whites and turn them all a hideous shade of pink. Now I can throw everything in one big washing machine and not have to worry about that.

My laundromat has Wi-fi so most people sit and play on their phones. A couple of people bring books. I like to get the newspaper and work the puzzles. We all smile, say hi then go about our business. It seems like laundromats were "chattier" when I was young. Mothers would huddle up together to "gossip" about the latest event happening around town. Toddlers ran around like "hooligans"- that's what one older lady called them.

I suppose laundry day will always be with me until the day I depart this world...unless someone invents self cleaning clothes.
 
Enjoying your writings dkay, I remember my mother bringing in the clothes from the washline in winter, as a kid I got a kick out of seeing them frozen stiff. :)
 
In winter our laundry got hung up wherever we could hang anything. We didn't have central heat, rather an oil stove in our dining room that served, or was supposed to, the whole house. (There were registers in the floors upstairs so the heat rose through those.) There were "doors" on either side of the stove, and the sox and unders got hung over the edge of the doors. There were clothes lines strung up in the dining room, living room, kitchen. We couldn't hang clothes outdoors because the sNOw was waaaay too deep. Heck, the sNOw usually covered the tops of the posts where we strung the clothesline in summer.
 
Halloween Fears:

I fear that I might gain 10 pounds because that damnable halloween candy has begun to fill the shelves of the local stores. It terrifies me and thrills me at the same time. This is a time of year when my brain goes haywire and my decision making doesn't make any sense. For instance:

In my mind I somehow think that because those peanut M & M's are in small snack size packages they are less fat inducing than buying a 1 pound bag of the crazy things in bulk. It's cheaper in the bulk size. I know that but somehow I convince myself that I don't eat as much if I purchase the snack size. Well, at least until I see 900 wrappers in my waist basket.

Then I feel guilty thinking about the poor tree that was destroyed just so I could have six M & M's placed in a snack size wrapper.

Should I carve a pumpkin? I never really liked carving pumpkins. The inner workings of a pumpkin are slimy and kind of smelly plus I'm not very adept at handling cutlery. Last year I cut myself twice while trying to carve eyes in a pumpkin. I suppose I should be thankful I missed an artery. I could paint a face on a pumpkin but that isn't the same as having a carved one. I kind of like the eerie flickering of light that glows through the newly created orifices.

Scary movies aren't really that scary any more. They are kind of bloody and gross. Good grief if I want to see that much blood and guts, I'll go get a job at one of the nearby meat packing plants. Those places are terrifying.

Has anyone noticed how dark scary movies are now? I don't mean dark as in the mood of the movie, I mean dark as in pitch dark where you can't see anything that's going on. All you can hear is creaky floors and heavy breathing-kind of like the way I sound when I have to drag myself out of bed to go to the bathroom in the middle of the night. I can't see anything then either, at least I couldn't until I put night lights in all the rooms. I mean there are just so many times one can run into a wall before the neighbors in the next apartment start asking if I should be in a home. That's what horror movies need, night lights in all the rooms. Sometimes when I watch a horror movie I feel like I've gone blind for at least forty minutes. It's sort of like looking at a black computer screen hoping something will show up.

They don't allow trick or treating where I live but usually they do have a trunk or treat where apartment dwellers line up their cars in the parking lots, decorate the trunks and pass out candy to the kids who are all dressed up in their costumes. I keep saying I will participate except my bags of candy usually don't survive that long. They call to me like Sirens called to the sailors.

I fell not too long ago while taking the trash out. I stepped off a step, didn't see a small rock that kind of tripped me up. Fortunately the big bag of trash I was carrying saved my face but my elbows and knees were skinned up. What's the first thing I did after I fell? I rolled over onto my back and instead of looking for help, I made sure no one was video taping me.

OMG, that is my worst fear. That somehow I will be used as meme fodder this Halloween season. I can see it now. A meme of me stretched out on the ground, my trash bag split open with thousands of tiny candy wrappers spilling out with cute little phrases like "what happens when M & M wrappers become to heavy to carry."

Now I'm all stressed out again. I think I'll switch over to the mini Twix for a while.
 
I was once married to a hunter who was like far too many hunters I know. Here's how our conversations went most of the time:

Try this rabbit, it tastes just like chicken. (my opinion...sort of)
Try these frog legs, they taste just like chicken (my opinion...I'm not eating anything that's still hopping around in the skillet)
Try this pheasant, it tastes better than chicken (my opinion...it does not)
Try this deer, it's better than chicken (my opinion...gag)
Try this turtle, it's just like chicken (my opinion...eat it yourself)
Try this goose, duck, snake, alligator etc. etc. it either tastes just like chicken or is better than chicken.

We once got into an argument. I said, "if you want something that tastes like chicken then why don't we go up the road and get some fried chicken that's already been killed, cleaned and cooked. Plus you get biscuits and two delicious side orders." For some reason he did not see the humor in the comment.

Anyway, I saw this meme and thought it was hilarious.

20180919_130703.jpg
 

You must log in or register to reply here.

Back
Top