Moving On

You know, I’ve known that I was gonna write about this since yesterday and yet, I’ve looked at my laptop at least 10 times and said ‘Later’ for no real reason. I see that writing fluidly again is going to be a battle. I hope I win. I have (another) book thought. That makes, oh, I don’t know, six? But they all stay floating around in my head, not getting written, not developing, not coming to life. I guess we all have our fears.

But this post isn’t about moving on past fears, because I’m just not sure how to do that just yet. It is, however, about the next chapter. Since it’s official (meaning I told my boss), I’ll speak openly (because you just never know who’s looking over your internet shoulder and that info should come from me) about our move. Yes, move. One mo gain. Crossing the country, back to Florida. You see, Colorado, you are nice, but buying a house here is for people that make more money than I do. Or, at least, buying a house that would be the house I would want to live in practically forever here simply isn’t feasible. So, off we go.

We have an outline and it gets filled in a little more all the time. We don’t have a solid leaving date though, lol. Some things still work in estimates. Packing has started though. Thinning of the clothing herd has started as well. I can’t yet donate the rest of the items because I don’t yet know if I’ll still need them. Fun, right? A few more weeks of waiting to find out if I get to keep my job and work remotely. If I get that ok, see ya work clothes! Well, with the exception of five super comfy dresses that I could rotate through if I absolutely had to and they’re still cute enough to wear out regularly. Look at me, doing adult stuff!

Location, location, location. We have ours pinpointed to between Port Charlotte and Lakewood Ranch. Tiny area, huh? (If you’re not familiar with SW Florida, it isn’t a tiny area.) I’m definitely open to hearing about awesome places or places to avoid. We spent a little bit of time driving around some of the areas and saw one or two that looked pretty decent, but you know you just never can tell with a daytime drive through.

Do you happen to know what will be in driving distance when I’m settled? Do ya know, do ya know, do ya know? Busch Gardens, baby. Season pass to that mofo. Why? Because I’m much more level-headed when I have that sort of adrenaline on the regular. Roller coaster fiend? Who? Me? Yeah, me. I’ve never had a season pass to an amusement park. This is exciting to me. I am a nerd.

I suppose I could ramble on about something else, but I’m not gonna push myself. I’ll try to see you tomorrow.

How Many Lights Do You See?

Before I get to the lights, let me tell you a little story.

You see, it’s been quite some time since I have written anything and the thoughts and reasoning behind why I’m back will be after the story when I will try to tie this all together and probably end up with a ball of knots. Anywho, for reasons to be explained later, I’m back. Usually, when I fall off and then show back up, I change the look and feel of the blog. It gets me kinda excited about writing again, or at least about looking at this page. Off I go to WordPress.

I’m not really picky with what I want the site to look like since there’s all of maybe five of you reading it and I’m not quite concerned enough to go do some CSS work. Proceed to downloading! First theme I didn’t really care for since it didn’t want to embed videos and videos are often quite related to the point I’m trying to make. The second theme looked good. I installed it. My site died.

Now, not to the point where if you just went to the site, it gave you a pretty 404 or anything. The Internet taught me that I basically had the white screen of death. Broke-ded-ed. Shit. Ok, well, I’ll just go change the theme from my dashboard. Ohhhhhh, FUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUDDDDGE! But I didn’t say fudge. Because I’ve got the WSOD on my dashboard. I can’t access my site. Sad face.

Lucky me, y’all. I’m a bright star when I wanna be and I know how to use dem dere dubbyas. Also, lucky me that I remembered how to actually access my account where this madness is hosted. And I know basic stuff. And FTP-ing. Yeah. Fixed. And damn if I can remember the name of the theme that killed my site, but if I do, you better believe I’m gonna complain.

Moving right along….

It seems that, as of late, I’ve had some anger management issues. Ok, they’ve probably always been there, but I maybe have letting it slip out a little bit lately. Pretty sure that my attitude has been THERE ARE FOUR LIGHTS! complete with the ‘get off me’ arm shake. Because there were four lights. You were right, Captain. Four. Fucking. Lights. Unfortunately, the Enterprise isn’t coming to get me and being right isn’t getting me anywhere except straight to the land of frustration.

What’s changed? What’s changed? Still working for the man. Still working out. Still getting my ommmm on. Ohhhh, hey, remember back when you used to write all the time? When you published gems like this or led congregations like this? Remember when you were funny? Like, regular funny, not I’m laughing but man is that chick a bitch funny. Remember when you could turn your anger to funny? Remember when you could let go of shit? Let it literally flow through your fingers and into the webiverse? You gotta get back there. And that’s why I’m back again.

I probably won’t ever go into specifics about anything because it’s 2018 and this isn’t private, but I’m sure that I can get back to funny me. I can shake em off like Picard, but those Cardassians we’re shaking off, they’re all the frustrations of the Corporate Federation. BUT I’M STILL THE CAPTAIN OF THIS MOTHERFUCKING STARSHIP! On this ship, it’s still a motherfucking party. It’s like a mullet. Business when we’re on-screen, party when we’re off. Right, Number One?!?!

Aaaaanywho, it’s Monday and does anyone else get an obscene amount of junk email in their work inbox related to other jobs?!?! It’s total madness. Dear Spam Emailers, I don’t make decisions! Leave me alone. Ok, I do make decisions. I’m the Captain, after all. And I’m back.

 

You’ve Got Mail!

Man, I loved me some Blue’s Clues.

This post, however, is not about Steve and Blue and Magenta and Mr. Salt and Mrs. Pepper and Paprika. It is about good old snail mail. Remember that? People actually communicated like that. Used pens and paper and whatnot (emphasis on the h). As a child, it was one of my greatest joys to get the mail.

I grew up living next door to my grandparents. We lived in the country. The COUNTRY. We lived on over an acre and there was a farm around the corner country. Deer grazing at the bottom of the yard country. You get the picture. Oh, no street name or house number country. Just a rural route and a box number. That my parents shared with my grandparents. I can’t remember what year it was when they finally named our road and gave us house numbers, but I remember it being about calling 911 and having emergency personnel be able to find us. Although, truthfully, everyone knew where everyone else lived or gave directions by landmarks. For example, take 981 South until the cemetery on your right. Turn right at said cemetery and go 7/10ths of a mile and look for the house with Christmas lights on the left hand side.

But anywho, the mail. I loved to get the mail in the summer and sometimes during the school year because the mail would sometimes come really late. More often than not, my grandparents would indulge me in my little girl silliness. I was spoiled in my mail watch also. Gram and Pops installed a little yellow flag on a spring that they picked up that, when the door to the mailbox was opened, would pop up to let you know you had mail. So I would look out our front window down to the bottom of the yard to see if the mail had come when I thought I heard the mail truck go by.

After getting the mail, I would go to my grandparents’ house to sort it out. Funny, I almost never went in their front door. I would go around the back because the front door is for visitors. Typically, my grandfather would be sleep watching a soap opera and my grandmother would be sitting at the kitchen table doing a word search. OMG, sidebar.

I would do word searches with my Gram all the time. It’s partially due to her that I have this love of puzzles and word games. Well, one day we’re sitting at the kitchen table doing a word search and I am kinda leaning over her arm. Much to my horror, a dried up booger fell out of my nose and right into the center of the puzzle. Gram never said a word. Brushed the boog onto the floor and circled the next word.

I’d sort the mail out with my grandmother, and then, if I wasn’t going back up to the house right away, I’d put our mail on top of the fridge with part of the envelope sticking out. It was our little yellow flag inside the house.

Jump forward 30-ish years. I still love getting the mail. I love getting mail. Even when it’s junk. I mean, I realize that there’s a waste factor involved. But for me, it’s the difference between having a book in my hand as opposed to my Kindle. Luckily, hubby indulges me in this level of silly also. In the decade and change we’ve been cohabitating, pretty sure I can count on one hand the number of times that he’s gotten the mail if I didn’t specifically ask him to. I am a special star. I know.

How’s about it? Got a quirk you wanna share?

Great Service

Randy says it’s not on, but it’s on. Fortunately, I can’t recall a time where the service was so bad that I would write about it, but I can certainly remember when it was awesome.

Picture it: Mexico. July. Hotter than your taint. I’m getting hitched. So, we didn’t just get a couple of hours of good service, nor did we get a day of good service, we got an entire week of awesome service. Now, I’m not dumb. I realize that being the bride gets you some privs, but it isn’t even as though I was the only one that day. Although certainly we had the best ceremony, or at least according to the new groom whose bride we royally pissed off with our ceremony.

About that service, the pool butler knew us by name. Anything we asked for, we got. More food? Pile it on. Oh, the Mixteca. That sandwich I would eat it every day. By the third day, when we went to breakfast, even though we didn’t see the same waiter every day, they knew I wanted the green juice. By the way, still not sure what all was in it but it was delicious and healthy, or so they said. Oh, you don’t like the pillow you picked? Let’s get you a new one. We know that housekeeping is a pain in the ass when you’re on vacation, so what time works for you guys for us to come by? Oh, hey, you wanna walk around your room naked AND get room service? Sure, we’ll just put all your stuff in this little window and turn the light on so you can get it at your leisure.

Now, not about my receipt of great service, but of this hotel continuing to provide great service. A couple saw our ceremony, which had been planned ahead, months in advance, and they went to the planner and said we want that ceremony too. Tomorrow. And you know what? They gathered it all up – the decoration, the shaman, the dancers, everything, and they gave that couple the wedding also. Now that, my friends, is what we call great service.

I Ain’t Skurrrred

I’m back since I liked today’s writing prompt. Too funny, today’s prompt says:Naked, with black socks. The prompt itself is about how do you feel about public speaking. But first, a sidebar.

Naked, with black socks. Now, the person who this most reminds me of has passed away, sadly. A couple of the crew have passed on. More sad, but I digress. Back in the day, we (and that’s the royal we, because I was an the outsider-iest insider there ever could be) were a randy group. As the story goes, one or three folks walked into a certain place to find a certain someone bumping uglies with another certain someone. And, as said story goes, all that was visible was white ass and black socks.

Back to the topic at hand, public speaking. At this point in time, it’s no big whoop. (Remember saying that as a kid? If you’re around my age? Maybe?) Way back in the day, when I was naught but a whippersnapper, I was in dance classes like so many little girls. We definitely had at least 2 recitals where we were on stage in front of millions (hundreds). No speaking during those, but it was a good start. I think my very first “public speaking” event was reading the morning announcements in junior high. I mean, I’m not counting book report type things. But it wasn’t long after those announcements that I truly had my first public speaking event. I was the president of the pep club and I had to speak in front of the school at a pep rally. Some of my friends heckled me and I told them to shut up right into the mic. I think some teachers may have cringed. Oh well. You gave me this mic.

Now that I’m thinking about it, I’ve pretty much been on stages forever. High school mascot, then cheerleader (read token). Bartending gigs, Club Med, life in general. I suppose it’s why I’m comfortable here. Plus, I’m so damn good at it, ya know?

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