I walk by it every day and try not to cringe.
Rising up out of the driveway…
The miniature mutant brain….
Is starting to…..
Crack!
Tag Archives: humor
What is it about shoes?
Hello, My name is River…. and I’m an addict.
There I said it.
I’m an admitted shoe-aholic.
And while it’s entirely possible I started out life like this –
My love of shoes has been a constant through the years. In the past I had racks full of sexy high heeled shoes. Truly… I never met a pump or peep toe mule I didn’t like. But now, in my decrepit early 50’s with evil bunions paining my every step, you’re more likely to find sandals, sneakers and boots clogging my closet.
But that doesn’t mean I still don’t have a slight problem.
So I went shoe shopping last week and bought a few pairs for fall/winter.
But in my defense, I never repeated a color so that should count for something.
Grey, olive, navy, brown, putty, (yes, be quiet…that’s a color) black, and beige.
Okay….
I lied.
I did buy 2 black pairs. But one was leather and one was suede.
And yes, I bought 2 beige pairs… but look. That one has lacy cutouts on the top.
And that blue pair? Well, they’re fleece lined so that’s totally different.
The brown.
Damn. I have no excuse for the brown.
But I’m an addict, remember? Shoes are my crack!
There are those ( My husband, my friends, my family, my old coworkers… alright basically everyone. You happy?) who say I have too many shoes.
To which I reply –
Too many shoes?
Pffftt! It’s like being too rich or too thin…. just not possible.
And please don’t raise the possibility of me returning any of my recent purchases to the store.
Because it’s not going to happen.
I love me some shoes.
And clearly the universe agrees…
Because it sent me a sign in the mail today.
Did I mention I also love the word free?
Let’s talk, Philadelphia…..
Disclaimer: I am not a hockey fan and I have nothing against the city of Philadelphia.
So if I offend any die hard Flyers out there, apologies. But your new mascot has me (and frankly all of sportsdom) freaked the f*ck out a bit baffled.
Meet Gritty.
Who is, as one site put it:
“An amorphous burnt-sienna blob that looks like the product of the unholy union between a third-tier H.R. Pufnstuf character and an even-more-hirsute-than-usual Seth Rogan.”
I mean, what exactly were the creators going for here…
Homicidal maniac?
Under medicated sociopath?
If they meant to terrify women and children and send them home with bone chilling nightmares…. well done Philly.
Face it, this thing is disturbing.
Witness it’s nod to Kim Kardashian.
And the fact that Gritty took numerous spills on the ice his first night did not go unnoticed.
When the Pittsburgh Penguins reTweeted the photo with the line, “Lol, ok”
Gritty showed his true colors.
Be afraid.
Be very afraid.
Class is in session.
I admit when I chose this week’s course I thought it was a joke.
But clearly I am woefully uninformed because Pickleball really is a thing.
*******************************************************************************
Beginner Pickleball.
Have you heard the buzz about Pickleball and wondered what it was all about? Come learn to play this wonderful paddle sport, suitable for all ages. Taught by an experienced tennis professional who has become a Pickleball devotee, this class will have you playing in no time. Paddles and balls supplied. Bring tennis shoes to put on when you arrive (no street shoes allowed on the courts).
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Pickleball?
I had visions of this:
But no…. it really does exist.
There are courts, equipment, instructors, a magazine and evidently…
Nomenclature.
After doing a little research, I discovered it’s a rather slow paced game primarily embraced by the retired set.
Although not without it’s vanguard.
And hey, if you’re lucky enough to live in Pittsburgh…
(Yes, I said that with a straight face.)
So maybe I’d better get a jump on my sunset years, grab a ball and start pickling.
Who’s with me?
Wednesdays 5:30-7:30 pm for 6 weeks.
$59/$64 Non refundable.
And the summer sucking project turns another corner.
Yeah, we’re still at it.
Another corner turned, another paper wall flapping in the breeze.
I am officially sick of vinyl siding.
If you’ve ever put it on, you know what I mean. If you’re thinking of putting it on? Don’t. Second mortgage the house, sell a future unnamed child… whatever it takes…. and hire a professional. Yes they charge an utter fortune, and now I know why. This stuff will drive you to drink.
Yes, he screwed that in place. And no, he was too annoyed to answer my innocent WTF question.
Hell, even the dog looked confused.
(Not ours, we were dog sitting for the farmers over the weekend. Dogs, chickens…. whatcha got? We’ll watch them all!)
Please let it be noted I cringed when I saw this –
Because when your husband pays $4,000 to fix scratches and paint his old truck? And then uses it as a workbench?
Grrrr.
But the back was finished…
With the third side well on it’s way.
And in case you’re thinking all I do is take blog pictures while he’s hard at work, think again.
I have to take up the mowing slack this project has left behind.
And trust me, it’s a lot of mowing.
I earn my keep.
If only I had a little help…
A fashion question.
I was flipping through New York magazine the other day…
And being from Maine, one particular photograph struck me.
It was of a Dolce and Gabbana evening gown.
And it got me wondering.
Exactly to what kind of high society event does one wear a giant lobster claw?
I could see her snatching a champagne flute off a waiter’s tray with it, sure.
And maybe crushing some Harvey Weinstein like idiot’s roving hand.
But still.
It seems a trifle cumbersome for a night on the town.
Where are Scully and Mulder when you need them?
I told you!
I told you there was something weird going on around here, but nooooo. You all just thought I was nuts.
Well, crunch on this pistachio for a moment people:
There is something (or someone!) trying to escape from under my driveway.
You heard me.
It’s in there… and it wants out!
I was mowing the lawn the other day and thought I saw a mushroom.
We’ve had a lot of rain recently and the little bastards are popping up everywhere.
So when I caught sight of this one, I tried to kick it over…. because you know, ick.
But it didn’t move.
Not one single millimeter.
It’s stable, and solid.
And growing..
Rising up out of the tar like some mutant alien organism.
And that can’t be good.
I mean Holy guacamole Batman, look at it!
It’s beginning to look like…
A brain.
It’s….. evolving.
And I’m scared.
😱😱😱😱😱😱😱😱😱😱😱😱😱😱😱😱😱😱😱😱😱😱😱😱😱
More chicken history….
(Just because I can.)
In the continuing saga that was our chicken babysitting duty, the coop was on the move in 2011.
Well, technically the coop in the woods was turned into a migrant farm workers cabin.
Before –
During –
Yes, that’s a water heater in a tree.
Isn’t that where you keep yours?
After looked something like this.
So while the new workers were sleeping on top of a few years worth of buried chicken poo…. the new feathered residence was born. Although we were happy not to have to hike through snow, ice and frigid temperatures that next year, we were less than thrilled with the Rube Goldberg like design our neighbor put close to the road and right in our line of sight.
Pretty, it wasn’t.
A greenhouse for free ranging and an old horse trailer for roosting….
With a box in between for an entrance. Thankfully this incarnation didn’t last long, but it worked for a while.
And we fed the ever expanding flock whenever the farmers were out of town.
The birds didn’t seem to mind the new digs…. and my late mother, who was 88 at the time, always enjoyed visiting the little cluckers. (Please note the double protective head gear. Momma was no fool.)
Required chicken butt photo below.
Because they’re just so…. fluffy!
And yes, there’s riveting video as well.
🐔🐔🐔🐔🐔🐔🐔🐔🐔🐔🐔🐔🐔🐔🐔🐔🐔🐔🐔🐔🐔🐔🐔🐔🐔🐔🐔🐔🐔🐔🐔🐔🐔🐔🐔🐔🐔🐔🐔🐔🐔🐔🐔
Just in time for Christmas!
Never let it be said I don’t help my friends.
Do you have one of those hard to buy for people on your shopping list?
You know…. that one person you struggle with every year because they already have everything?
Well, I can almost guarantee you they don’t have any of these.
Yes.
Those are gifts made with moose poo.
Well, Mainers love to recycle.
As well as sell tourists lots of useless crap they don’t need.
I can’t really answer that.
But if you need a floating moose turd key chain, I can probably hook you up.
You’re welcome.
😎
Diet is a four letter word.
I used to be one of those blissfully happy women who never worried about their weight.
I’ve never been rail thin mind you, but I was a fit child, a coltish pre teen, a slim teenager and a curves in the right places adult. I wore whatever was in fashion and if I don’t mind saying so…. rocked it.
Then I turned 30 and gained 10 pounds. No biggie, I’m short but I could carry it.
I turned 40 and gained another 10 pounds. Hmm… had to rethink those crop tops and short skirts, but okay.
When I turned 50? Only 5 more pounds… I figured I’d reached my leveling off point.
Then…. after a medical issue made a full abdominal hysterectomy necessary and I was thrown into menopause? I gained another 15 pounds. That put me in the “Hooray! Long loose tops are back in style and where do I find that Jane Russell 18 hour bra?” category.
WTF? My body was in revolt. Food was no longer my friend!
I dieted, I cursed my womanly existence, I exercised, I swore like a longshoreman, I drank the equivalent of friggin’ Lake Erie in water every day and nothing happened. I tried low fat, low carb, I gave up every delicious thing I could think of (except alcohol because… well, geesh. I had to have a reason to live.) But still the weight didn’t come off.
To be honest it drove me nearly crazy for 2 years until I said …..
Life is too short to never eat bread. And cheese. And every other wonderfully fatty high calorie thing I’d been denying myself. (Come to momma cappuccino mousse trifle… I’ve missed you!) If my body wanted to be round, voluptuous, larger than it was, then who was I to argue.
So I bought bigger pants. Hell, I have bunions and had to buy bigger shoes, so what…. it was another excuse to shop.
Yes, I miss thin. Not everyday mind you (thank you yoga pants!) but when I have an event like a wedding, or funeral, or horror of horrors… a class reunion where there are people I haven’t seen in 20 years? It drives me to drink. No, I won’t be unrecognizable from my former self, but I’m always conscious of the difference. And women are famous for beating themselves up about that. Men embrace their beer bellies and proudly pat them. Women try and squeeze their muffin tops into torture devices called Spanx.
Oh, well… such is life. It took me a while, but I’ve learned to embrace the larger version of myself. I may not always love her, but I’m healthy and happy…. and in the end, isn’t that much more important than squeezing into a smaller size?
And exercise? Okay, you got me.
It was never my strong suit.
River's world..... 