I’ve decided that since Facebook isn’t actually showing my posts anymore – one has to click at least twice to dig down through the menus — I’m going to make my pithy remarks here. After all, you guys are the only ones actually reading this blog and I love you for it.
Life in general is wonderful, and I’m not sure that’s entirely due to the anti-anxiety herbs my chiro is giving me for my freeway claustrophobia. Every day away from the June day on which I freed myself from anger and frustration is another day of happiness. Sometimes I wish I were more regretful about leaving teaching, but then I have to slap myself into a reality check.
One of the things that is wonderful but also scary is that I’m dreaming again. For some reason, my Darth Vader CPAP mask keeps me from remembering my dreams. I just wake up refreshed with deep indents on my face where the straps were, and that’s a small price to pay for a good night’s sleep. The experts say that remembering dreams is a sign of good sleep, but I know I sleep very soundly with the CPAP.
Now I’m trying out the dental appliance, and I can remember my dreams. The first night I wore the appliance, I had a nightmare and woke up screaming that someone was breaking into the house. I will assume that was claustrophobia-driven, since I had this alien thing in my mouth. Recently, I’ve had dreams about wedding showers and being in a movie, which is not surprising since I’ve got my son’s wedding coming up and have been trying to see the Academy Award nominated movies. Growing up, I had a recurring nightmare about being followed that I recently had again. I’m not sure that I like having these dreams — I’ve gotten used to not having them. It will be interesting when I have the sleep study in March with the appliance and find out how many sleep disturbances I actually have.
I hope that you are also following the trajectory of Got My Reservations. I’ve been trying out new ideas to see what people really want to read. It’s fun and makes my brain work, which is good for me at my advanced age. 🙂
The Pillsbury Doughboy died last Friday of a yeast infection and complications from repeated pokes in the belly. He was 51.
Doughboy is survived by his wife, Play Dough, two children, John Dough and Jane Dough, who has a bun in the oven. He is also survived by his elderly father, Pop Tart.
Doughboy was buried in a lightly greased coffin. The ceremonies were leavened with lighthearted reminiscences. Dozens of celebrities turned out to pay their respects, including Mrs. Butterworth, Hungry Jack, Melba Toast, The California Raisins, Betty Crocker, and Captain Crunch. Sadly, The Hostess Twinkies were unable to attend as they recently bit the dust themselves. The grave site was piled high with flours.
Aunt Jemima delivered the eulogy, and lovingly described Doughboy as a man who never knew how much he was kneaded. Doughboy rose quickly in show business, but his later life was filled with turnovers. He was not considered a very smart cookie, wasting much of his dough on half-baked schemes.
Despite being a little flaky at times, he still was considered a roll model for millions.
The funeral was held at 3:50 for about 20 minutes on Tuesday.
I found this lesson in idioms in my paperwork, and thought it should have one more airing before being confined to the recycle bin. I hope you enjoyed it. 🙂
On Friday I went to Costco and was so horrified by what I saw that I decided to write about it.
What, you are asking, could horrify me so?
If I saw one more flabby ass in skin-tight leggings and a short shirt, I was going to have to slap the stupid woman wearing them. In other words, leggings worn as pants are NEVER acceptable in public. Even this picture of the stunning Olivia Wilde tells you that they look bad. And trust me, none of us look like Olivia Wilde — not even in our wildest dreams.
Let’s get one thing clear: if you are older than five, you are too old to wear leggings as pants. I can’t tell you how many middle-school girls wore skin-tight pleggings to school with short shirts that didn’t cover their butt or their hoo-has. Really? Is that what their mothers and fathers wanted the middle school boys to think about all day?
I don’t hate leggings. Even I have leggings that I wear with long tunic tops and short sweater dresses. They are comfortable and appropriate for a mature woman if worn with a suitable tunic top. Apparently women wear them in France with tunics, so they must still be fashionable as well.
So ladies, get a grip. Grown-ups do not wear pleggings. Don’t let your daughters wear pleggings. End of story. And don’t even talk to me about meggings. Surely this is someone’s idea of a cruel joke.
Men, this is pretty much a post for the girls.
I recently discovered a blogger who writes as Fifty, Not Frumpy. Her posts about dressing one’s age are to the point and relevant to my first year of retirement. As I go through my clothing it’s important to have a point of reference. I’m pretty sure I will NEVER wear a skirted suit again, but since I never met a shiny thing I didn’t like, it’s hard to get rid of the beaded evening wear. And do I have to?
That being said, this understated but gorgeous collection would be easy to put together; you probably have most of it in your closet already.
Susan at Fifty Not Frumpy uses Polyvore to create beautiful ensembles. If you have not tried Polyvore, it’s worth a retirement afternoon. Susan also has opinions about what to leave to our younger friends and relatives to wear.
See you at the party!
This is the perfect saying for the week, courtesy of Pillows A La Mode.
My refrigerator is bare — it’s a good example of the meaning of the word barren.
I’ve been so busy burning the retirement candle at both ends for the last couple of weeks that I haven’t had the time or, quite frankly, the motivation to go grocery shopping. The top shelf is full of condiments and the door is full of salad dressing, but there’s nothing to put them on. There’s some floppy broccoli that’s going to have to turn into quiche or something. And I discovered this morning that there aren’t any eggs in the house. I can’t remember when that has ever happened. We ALWAYS have eggs.
Since I usually choose to take the positive side of stories, I’m going to look at my vast wasteland of a refrigerator as an opportunity to clean it.
And after that I’m going to clean my socks drawer. 🙂