I don’t know why but I love $2 bills. I know it’s just money. But you never see them. It’s like the elusive leprechaun of currency.
It’s so unusual that the last time I got one, I put it in my wallet as a sort of good luck charm/emergency fund. I’ve had the same bill for at least 5 years. Plus, I subscribe to the law of attraction theory…you attract what you put out. So I figure if I always have money in my wallet, it’ll attract more money. (Then again, maybe I should scrap the measly $2 bucks and opt for a bill of a larger denomination.)
Anyway, I mention this because there was a little place across the street from my office that had good/fresh/fast food. It’s reasonably priced, to boot! A definite oddity in Brickell. But my favorite part about the joint was the quirky owner and the fact that he loved to give change in $2 bills.
Even when his wife was battling cancer, he always had a smile and a kind word to share. I don’t miss much about working in Brickell. But boy, do I miss my $2 bill guy.
Before anyone calls me old, let me just preface this by saying that I’ve NEVER liked loud music. So it’s not about being old.
But seriously, why??
I can understand playing loud music at a concert. Or even at a club. But a bar or a restaurant is not the right venue for it.
Most people go out to these establishments accompanied by others. Because in addition to eating and drinking, you presumably want to also have a conversation.
And I don’t know about you, but I do not want to yell into someone’s ear. Or get home feeling like I’ve smoked a carton of cigarettes because my throat is sore and hoarse from trying to speak to the person next to me.
And, to add insult to injury, it’s never good music they play. Not anything you can sing or dance to. It’s just noise. Loud, annoying, noise.
So, please, if you own or manage a restaurant or bar, cut that shit out.
By all means, play music.I’m not a music nazi. But make sure it’s good. And for the love of all that is holy, keep it at a normal decibel level.
One whereby people can carry on conversations without incurring injury to their vocal chords.
How do you feel about blaring noise while you’re trying to have a conversation at a restaurant or bar? Leave a comment below!
But lately, I haven’t been running. Haven’t really felt like it. Haven’t felt like doing much of much, really. Some days, it’s all I can do to just get up and muddle through.
That’s something I hope to share. One day. Today’s not that day.
In the Wisdom of Story, Glennon Doyle Melton and Brene Brown talk about writing from the scar, not the wound.
So while I dwell in the wound, waiting and willing and working for it to heal, I’ll just share this:
Today, I ran.
I ran 3.05 miles because it was March 5 and because I live in the beautiful, and mostly hot as shit, 305. Otherwise known as Miami.
But today was a glorious day. The sun was shining. The air was cool.
I ran because I can. Because I’m healthy. And because it reminds me that I’m strong. Even when that’s the last thing I feel.
When you’re young and broke and they shut off your power, you make do and enjoy by blowing up and filling a kiddie pool in your living room. Until you realize you have to get it out.
I first got married when I was very young and then a year later, my firstborn graced us with her presence. My then-husband was in the Navy and had been stationed at a base in Pensacola that was mainly used for teaching. Meaning nobody typically stayed there for very long.
Except us.
Every time he was up to be stationed somewhere new, he got re-stationed there. Of all the bases he could have been sent to, like Germany or Spain…or even Key West, we got stuck in Pensafreakingcola.
This sucked for several reasons, not the least of which was that it was fucking boring as shit. And it was lonely.
But aside from that, it was difficult for me to find a job that paid enough to even cover child care. So I stayed home with the baby and we subsisted on his $12,000 annual salary. Now even though this was some time ago, $12k was still not a hefty sum — not for a family of 3, anyway.
So there were times we struggled to pay our bills. And times where those bastards thought that was a good enough excuse to shut of stuff like our phone. And our power.
We also only had one car. That my ex would take to work. Where he got to enjoy luxuries like A/C on scorchingly hot summer days.
The baby, Astro and I…not so much.
So after several sweltering weeks, I decided I’d had enough of sweating our asses off. And I had a brilliant idea!
It was too hot to go outside. Plus, I’m like allergic to the out of doors. So I decided, why not bring the kiddie pool INSIDE the house?
I set to work on inflating the pool and then I brought the hose in the house and filled that sucker up. Astro and the baby were very entertained by this whole scene.
I grabbed myself a drink, gave the baby her sippy cup and we sat in the pool, chillin’ out maxin’ relaxin’ all cool.
Until my ex got home.
After he looked at me like I had finally gone insane and said some not-so-nice things to me, he plainly said, “This is all well and good. But how do you plan to get it out of here?”
Hmmmm…. I had not thought of that.
He was adamant about not helping because he admonished me about being the one to get myself into this mess and having to be the one to get myself out, so I had no choice but to proceed on my own.
My first attempt to pull the full pool out of the house was unsuccessful. My only other option was to try and decrease the amount of water in the pool. But how to do that?
The pool wasn’t deep enough for a bucket so….I emptied that sucker two solo cups at a time until it was light enough to drag to the door and then tip over to empty it of the remaining water.
Needless to say, I never did that again.
Have you ever gotten into a pickle you then had to figure a way out of? Leave a comment below!
I’ve previously divulged that I have an office supply fetish. So the fact that I’m writing a post about my love for blue pens should come as no surprise.
And by fetish I mean that I have an unhealthy appetite for all office accoutrements. Not that I, in any way, get turned on by or with these things.
Back to my pens. I love them. So much.
And although I like pens with other color ink, my absolute favorite is blue. Dark blue.
But they can’t just be any pens.
I don’t like gel ink. Or roller balls. I say nyet to fountain or quill. And those little marker tips are like finger nails on a chalk board.
Gimme a nice, smooth blue ballpoint with a medium tip and I’m yours forever. Actually, I need more than one. No. Seriously. The more the merrier.
I have serious issues. I can’t walk past a stationery store or office supply store or even an office supply aisle at a convenience or grocery store without stopping to pick up a new pen to add to my obscenely unnecessary collection.
Also, please note that price doesn’t play a role in my affinity for my pen “pals.” I’m equally as attached to my more expensive, fancy writing instruments as I am to my cheapy ones.
And please don’t ask me to borrow my pen if you don’t plan to return it. It causes me a great deal of distress. I will eye you like a hawk until my beloved is back in my possession.
And if you happen to abscond with it under my watchful eye, I will hunt you down and kill you.
Ok. So maybe I won’t actually snuff you out. But believe you me, I will most certainly want to. And it will forever remain etched in my memory that you are a thief of the vilest kind who can never henceforth be trusted.
Do you have an unnatural love of pens? If so, do you have a proclivity for a certain kind of pen? Leave a comment below!
I’m feeling a little less bitchy today so I thought I’d give the ranting a break and talk about something I don’t hate.
As I’ve previously mentioned, when you’ve got young kids and no sitters (and really just no energy nor desire to do a whole heck of a lot) you find creative – and sometimes, fortuitously, more frugal ways to entertain your spawn.
Because as anyone knows, taking a family of four to the movies these days – between the admission and the snacks (and the obligatory wine for mom and dad) – can easily run you a Benjamin.
So tonight, we took the minions to see a free movie, part of their Screen on the Green series, at one of our local parks. We popped some corn at home and picked up some sammies and snacks on the way. We laid out our blanket and set up a couple tailgate chairs and settled in to watch the show.
Our children, however, have the attention span of gnats. So about 10 minutes into the flick, they announced that they were going to run around and play soccer whilst also watching the movie.
So basically, my husband and I watched “Secret Life of Pets.” On the ground.
At least it wasn’t Hades hot out. And some brilliant kid was selling Girl Scout Cookies.
But the best part was we didn’t have to tell the kids to go the fuck to sleep a gazillion times tonight because they basically passed out as soon as their heads hit the pillow.
All in all, I’d call it a successful evening.
Do you take advantage of any of the free activities in your town? Leave a comment below!
Some women don’t know how they survived before the invention of Spanx.
Sure, there were many precursors, probably dating back hundreds of years. From girdles to corsets. All designed to constrict. Make a woman appear thinner than she is.
I’ve even heard that the great Beyonce wears several pairs during performances to keep everything tight. And I guess if I was getting paid millions to gyrate on stage, I may reconsider my stance.
But, seriously, I just like comfort. I do my best to work out and watch what I eat so I’m not jiggling all over the place. However, at the end of the day, If I have to choose between being comfortable and looking firmer or skinnier, I choose comfort every time.
Now, I’m all for girl power and am super thrilled that Sarah Blakely is a gabillionaire for having invented Spanx. And that she’s from Florida. AND an FSU grad — go Noles!
But you can’t tell me that you’re in the best mood when you’re all compressed like that. Just like with pointy, sky-high heels. After you enjoy looking sexy for all of five minutes, you’re just a cranky bitch. And who can blame you?
We weren’t designed to be all sucked in like that. Do what you can to control the jello in the gym and in the kitchen.
And then let your flab fly, I say!
Because form must follow function. It’s like one of the commandments. I’m pretty sure.
How do you feel about shapewear. Yea or Nay? Leave a comment below!
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