So our plan to go motorcycle riding didn’t pan out the way we planned and my pants leg got caught in the spokes of Tinker’s BMW bike. Marie and I had what we once might have called a “blast” this weekend in Memphis while we were trying to prove that aging can be exquisitely wonderful and excruciatingly painful – all at the same time!
Given the struggling economy and a nagging fear that my retirement fund will run out before I do, I’ve reluctantly decided to reenter the work force. Yes, I’m going to become a productive citizen again – although I won’t actually be producing anything you can see, touch or eat. This job is uniquely suited to my talents and experience and I was tickled to death to be picked from several hundred applicants.
There’s a new sport in town and perverts of Massachusetts are rejoicing today!.The law is apparently on their side when it comes to taking photos up the skirts of unsuspecting women in public.They can go ahead and slip their cameras underneath the table in a bar or restaurant and shoot away to their dark little heart’s content.
Good reason to throw away your dresses ladies. Pants are a necessity now, and not just because of the weather.
Is it just me, or do all people go through what St. John of the Cross termed “the dark night of the soul?”
This well documented personal disaster can occur when less than happy circumstances stack up all at one time and you collapse under the pressure. We can handle one or two disasters at a time, but occasionally the planets line up in such a way that every dark thought you’ve ever had comes at you with the speed of an 18 wheeler going 100 miles an hour. I think they used to call it a nervous breakdown.
Ever since I got a paddling from my first grade teacher, I’ve followed the rules of “fitting in” obsessively – no cutting up in line, no talking with your mouth full, and no running with scissors. I subscribe to the old adage “pretty is as pretty does,” and the biggy – keep up with those snooty Joneses at all costs.
Hey, not only did I keep up with them, I BECAME one of them. Little good it did me. Suddenly I arrive at the Middle Ages too repressed to say “boo” without blushing. My entire wardrobe is black, white and gray – depressing and lackluster. I do love the color purple but I was led to believe the color was garish and generally worn by floozies. I had no idea what a floozy was but I was pretty sure I didn’t want to become one. Continue reading