Things are getting better, in that I’m back to my usual stuff and nonsense, just now I wear a mask to visit the Starbucks drive-thru and to walk around the block. Let’s catch up on My Corona.
After watching Canada’s Prime Minister’s updates in French (and English), I wish now I’d used that lovely language in my titles instead of Spanish. Let’s catch up on My Carona.
Forget beautiful. I’ll take brilliant any day of the week, and twice on Sundays (as the saying goes). I’ll even take it on a Tuesday.
See, what happened was my bloggy pal Joey posted about a Tuesday that was sooooo a Tuesday. Then I replied:
Your Tuesday was so Jan Brady!
Then she replied:
Tara, Tuesday might actually be Jan Brady Day. Truly. You’re brilliant.
Who am I to argue?
No Brady or blog writer was harmed in the creation of this post. The views of Tuesday are those of the original post author and not this site.
DSF Management (that’s me, btw), in fact, likes Tuesday as it was the day of the week during which the Manager here first appeared on earth. DSF Management enjoys humor, however, hence the reply to the original post person. More importantly, DSF Management respects all differing viewpoints (except anything pro-you-know-who, of course — there’s simply no tolerating / no excuse for that).
DSF Management thinks that Saturday may be the more Tuesday of days than Tuesday could ever be because of the sheer volume of humanity roaming the streets on that particular day. A declaration then: Jan Brady Day shall be any day that is such a day, whatever day of whatever week that happens to be for you. This is no way diminishes the Jan Brady Day-ness of the original post person’s Tuesday. Any day can actually be a Tuesday-like day, i.e. Jan Brady Day.
This post is approved by the New Jan Brady and is brought to you by the letters H and A (squared).
As I write this post and look through recently past ones, I realize I was rocking a personal theme of visiting all my happy places in the past few months. I was unawares, but there it is, in all its bloggy glory. Stressors of all kinds had me pulling out all the stops to try and refill my introvert well (to no avail, at the time). Looking back, though, I’m so proud of Past Me for trying (all those years of reading, studying, venting to professionals, learning all the zen tips one can — apparently pay off).
But let’s not revisit the reasons for the running for respite (all hail alliteration!) that led me to the location for this post. Let’s just focus on the goodness of it, the joy of it, and the gloriousness of doors.
Announcer: We interrupt this bloggy hiatus to bring you a special report from the surface of the sun. Our correspondent, Tara, is braving the elements to bring us the latest.
Me: Well, I don’t know who you are, and I’m not actually on the surface of the sun, but it sure does feel like it. Happy to provide an update, though.
I’ve just finished my taxes and am getting ready to send in my check (electronic payment incurs a fee — no, government, I won’t pay you to send you my money). Came across this gem on the voucher instructions:
IRS Payment Voucher: No checks of $100 million or more accepted. The IRS can’t accept a single check (including a cashier’s check) for amounts of $100,000,000 ($100 million) or more. If you are sending $100 million or more by check, you will need to spread the payments over two or more checks, with each check made out for an amount less than $100 million.
*sigh* Great. What a freakin’ inconvenience, eh?
I’m little and I play piano and, when wanting to join the band, the director suggests percussion. Visions of me playing all the instruments in that section that utilize my piano experience dance in his head. I go along, because the one drummer is really cute.
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It’s Thursday! It’s time to share some doors! What did I capture this week? Let’s find out.
Today is the 8-week Injur-versary from when I fell down, go boom at the roller rink. As you may remember (bear with me — I’m telling the newbies!), I fractured my distal radius and was in a hard, yet removable-after-4-weeks cast for 6 weeks, then a soft brace when I worked and slept until this past weekend. What a strange, weird, interesting experience this has been. I know I still have weeks to go until I have full use of my left extremity again, but I think 8 weeks is a good time to look back at Bone Break 2017.
It’s official. On Thursday, December 8, I finally conceded defeat. After years now of finding and foiling its plot, I am becoming outnumbered and simply can’t go on fighting.
Little white hairs pop out on my hairline. I see some springing to life in my part. And for a long time, I would seek and destroy, plucking them from within their auburn nest. They were short by the time I caught them white-handed. They were (and still are) extremely outnumbered by brown comrades.
But that morning, as I brushed my beyond-the-shoulder length tresses, one popped up on the side, springing to life with a curl all the white hairs apparently long to be. And it was more than half as long as the surrounding brown hairs.
How did you get by me, you little bugger, I thought. I shouldn’t have been surprised, because last year, I bought my first pair of reading glasses at the dollar store (simply because companies are making the text on products and boxes much smaller now, of course). This long white curly hair mocked me, daring me to pluck it.
I thought about it, but then decided to let it be.
Anderson Cooper is older than me and has been white-haired since his 20s, he has said. I accepted, hell, I celebrate the laugh lines around my eyes, which I’ve had for decades. I EARNED those. Well, maybe I earned the white hairs, too, if only by living as long as I have so far on planet Earth.
It’s no biggie anyway, right? I look younger than I am (coworker, bless his heart, guessed 30 and admitted he thought he was guessing too high, and I’m frequently asked what college I go to, still). Plus, the brown hairs still maintain control, for now. Go ahead, white hairs! Come in and curl ’til your heart’s content. I won’t bother you anymore (of course, I can’t see most of you, so that’s a help).
But look out, white eyebrow hair. You stood out like a sore thumb (especially in the magnifying mirrors) so you had no hope of survival. Of course you return incessantly, unlike many a brown hair I plucked by accident (WHY DOES THAT HAPPEN?). I haven’t given up on you… yet. I wonder how long it will be until that one gets a few more friends…
For now, though, white head hairs, be free! I surrender.