Don’t hate me because I’m brilliant

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?

——

 

tacos-1613795_640
Are you having a bad Tuesday? Think TACOS. Image: Constanze Riechert-Kurtze / Pixabay

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).

 

Thursday Doors: Sea Me

ThursdayDoors DSFI had forgotten what a letdown the days after meeting a huge challenge/goal can be. After all that preparation and anticipation of singing my solo in choir’s concert, I deflated like a balloon a couple days after the party ends. Seeing how busy the calendar was going to get soon (at work, blech), I decided that respite (and reward!) by the sea was required.

It was just long enough.

It’s never long enough.

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This Is Us: Super Bowl Sunday

Welcome to my weekly review of This Is Us. Today: Season 2, Episode 14, Super Bowl Sunday. (The reviews will include spoilers, so don’t read if you haven’t watched and don’t want to know what happens!) My reviews are based on a single viewing. If I were to watch several times, as I can obsess over my favorite shows (I’m looking at you, True Detective, Season 1), I might be even more insightful (or over-Randall-ing it all). But I’d rather write my initial impressions than take time dissecting after many views. So…. Continue reading →

Thursday Doors: Reopen

It’s Thursday! It’s time to share some doors! After a (not-so-brief) hiatus, I have returned. Autumn began early, in September, and I ventured out with my phone (still need to take the DSLR out). Then summer reared its ugly head again, but I didn’t let that stop me!  I have photos to sort and post in the coming weeks. YAY! Today, I’m reopening the doors, so to speak — with one that keeps in the spirit of the me-me-me work I’m doing this Autumn.
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Waving the White Hair

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.

Woman pulling white hair

Artist rendering of the actual event.

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.

 

Introvert’s Lament

A rare moment alone, so I sit in silence, not saying a word. I can do this for hours, perhaps days (have to try that). No music. No TV. Just the sound of the wind outside my window blowing through the trees (whose leaves may never change color since the temps are back in the 80s).

Continue reading →

The Spider I Named Lazarus

Either the counter was moving or something was on it. Upon closer inspection, I discovered a teeny tiny spider crawling along. He ended up walking on my most recent grocery receipt — perhaps an accountant spider? I wanted to throw it away, though, so I picked it up and gently tapped the edge on the counter, hopeful Mr. Spider would simply slide off.

Continue reading →

Do I need to RSVP?

 

One of my favorite things about me: I’m usually late to popular parties. I saw Forrest Gump more than a year after it came out. I didn’t start going to Starbucks until a few years ago (for tea, too, not coffee). And right now, I’m rockin’ Take Me to Church and Chandelier, songs that have been out, like, forever.

I can’t even say it’s fashionably late. The rest of the world has moved on and then here I come a-runnin’ in when the party’s over.

Yes, I heard the church song in one ear when it came out, but it just didn’t grab my attention. And yes, I know of the Chandelier video and the fact that the uber-talented wee one from the dreadful Dance Moms is in it. I saw it. Didn’t really listen to the song, until the past week or so, and BOOM! It’s on repeat for a week.

I never pass on the virus of viral videos. I don’t do trendy bucket challenges or read the latest horrible book that has gotten published and everybody’s reading because the repressed Puritan nature of our country’s founding means if people think sex is included, especially in some taboo or kinky fashion, they can’t wait to get their hands on it.

I don’t do it on purpose (well, the not reading that horrible book, I did, but most other “popular” things, I don’t). Things that interest the masses just never seem to interest me. Sometimes, I come to them later, like with Chandelier and Take Me to Church. Most times, I don’t (see: most viral videos). I don’t know why I am this way. But I kind of like that I am.

Of course, I did get on the bandwagon early — had a seat up front, in fact — for True Detective. I even got other people to watch it — that’s right, I was a trendsetter! Early to the party and invited others! Even though that ended up being a bit of a phenomenon, I’m not sure it rises to the level of viral cat videos in popularity, though. So I’m not sure that counts.

I like weird things, it seems, not so much what’s in the mainstream. Sometimes, what’s in the mainstream finally catches my eyes and ears, but apparently, only after you people are done with it or have moved on to the next one. I may be a step (or a year) behind, but it’s way less crowded that way, which I love. Who knows, maybe one day I’ll be so far behind, it’ll look like I’m at the beginning and y’all will try to catch up with me.

 

In case you’re even further behind than I am, here are the videos for Take Me to Church and Chandelier. You’re welcome.

I’m gonna swing from the chandelier, from the chandelier
I’m gonna live like tomorrow doesn’t exist
Like it doesn’t exist
~ Sia


Take me to church
I’ll worship like a dog at the shrine of your lies
I’ll tell you my sins so you can sharpen your knife
~Hozier

Drop it like it’s hot

 

I didn’t see it coming.

I didn’t think it could happen.

I’ve been on the planet long enough to have learned this lesson by now.

In the kitchen, I danced around the island, arranging Tostitos Scoops(tm) on a plate, then filling them with a Mexican four-cheese mix. The cookie sheet heating in the oven was to make them extra crunchy on the bottom (an experiment). Mom’s dog came prancing in as he’s wont to do when I’m near the island. He knows that’s where the magic happens. I stand there and teeny pieces of shredded chicken or cheese sometimes accidentally drop onto the floor just under his nose. Just a taste.

He seemed especially excited about what I was making. I deduced it was because, as a Chihuahua, he favored Mexican-inspired dishes. I started singing ~ it’s our thing.

“Little puppy, here for cheese. You would cross your paws, say please.
‘Drop some cheese onto the floor and I won’t beg for any more.'”

(I make up lil’ songs for the boy. He wags his tail and barks, i.e., sings along)

Humming whatever tune I put those words to, I put an oven mitt on and pulled the now-hot cookie sheet out. It sat on top of the stove as I created verse 2 of my new doggie song. I thought about bringing the cheese-filled Tostitos over to the stove a couple at a time. It might be quicker if I held it, I thought, then did the unthinkable ~ swung around from the island to the stove and reached for the cookie sheet with my bare left hand.

Thumb, index finger ~ full grab. Middle finger, just starting to grip when 3… 2…. 1…

OW!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I dropped it immediately (twas only lifted a bit ~ hadn’t a full hold of it) and ran to to sink. The dog looked at me, wondering why his song stopped. So I made up a new one, while cool water ran over the forming blisters.

“Doggie, I have burned my hand. I know you do not understand.
You just want more cheese and chips. My fingers, they hurt like a bitch…”

An hour later, with pruned multi-crimson-shaded thumb and finger, I turned off the faucet and dried my hands gently. The mere idea of air made the skin tingle as if a flame was trying to break free from the inside out. A white bumpy blister formed quickly on my index finger as I wrapped it loosely in gauze. The thumb, extremely red, seemed to have escaped such serious injury. Still, I wrapped it, too.

“That’s a pain that will tend to linger.” Ed Grimley, clutching his burning fingers after removing a batch of cookies from the oven without using a mitt

The pain did linger, for a few hours, until the Advil kicked in. The gauze/Hello Kitty combo did a great job keeping the enemy ~ air ~ at a distance.

A couple days later, both fingers are a wee bit sensitive still, but the blister’s just about gone. The Tostitos were delicious ~ filled with cheese and topped with homemade pico de gallo. I ate them while holding my left hand awkwardly upward to stop the throbbing blood flow. I wasn’t letting something that good go to waste for a blistery burn and a wee bit of pain. I ate my way through the pain. Twas delicious.

What I’ve learned:

  • (again) the human body is an amazing healing machine
  • finger injuries hurt like a *&@#$!
  • And being on the planet for several decades is not long enough to avoid doing something stupid.

They have all kinds of treatments for burns and finger injuries.

Unfortunately, as of yet, for idiocy, there is no cure.