There’s this controversy swirling around about Halloween costumes for females of all ages. Go to any party for adults tonight, and count the number of women dressed as French maids, dominatrixes, and the like. My guess is the percentage will be high.
Personally, with the exception of the sexed up stuff for pre-pubescent girls, I don’t care if Ms. Smith, CPA goes as Lolita or not. I wouldn’t do it, but that’s me, I don’t generally show my knees, let alone boobs. I think this desire to dress provocatively is a way to cut loose from the normal boundaries of acceptable public behavior. If I wore a conservative suit all day, I might dress like Catwoman as well….maybe not, but I understand why someone would want to.
Be it known that I deeply disapprove of the sexualizing of young girls. I don’t like makeup, halter tops, heeled shoes, or midriff exposing tops. Our society is pushing these girls into an arena they aren’t mentally or emotionally prepared for. Mike Straka calls the available choices “Prostitot” wear.
Now, that’s out of the way.
What about sexy stuff for men? Speedos? HAHAHHAAAHHAHAHA!! *whew* yeah right. I call them cod pockets and they look ridiculous, even on olympic swimmers.
A man in his boxers wearing a tool belt and a hard hat? Ok, right. Tell me a man who’s actually working who’s going to show up at the site in his underroos.
Once, many years ago, someone sent me this picture of a man wearing a cowboy hat, boots, and a prodigous erection, and that’s all. He was standing out in a pasture, and all I could think was “oh my, the chiggers that poor man must have endured.”
You wanna know what I think is sexy? Of course you do.
A great fitting (not tight) pair of old jeans. A flannel shirt with the sleeves rolled up, and a pair of beat up Wolverines. Sawdust in his hair, scars on his hand, a beard on his face…
and he’s changing the baby’s diaper.
ooh yeah…hose me down.
A well tailored classic 2 pc tuxedo is nice, pleated shirt, Bay Rum aftershave. But no jewelry. Jewelry on men (beyond a wedding band and maybe college class ring) does not impress me. Neither does jewelry on women, for that matter…
But all that, in a picture, does nothing for me. I simply am not interested in looking at photographs of people I don’t know, simply to ogle their phyz.
It takes a while for sex appeal to develop. I’ve never met someone who I felt an immediate sexual attraction for. There is a barrier to overcome. I have to learn their character, decide if I can get past the sound of their voice or skinny fingers. (I can’t stand skinny fingers…blech) It takes a while to do that. Generally the barrier is never overcome, because of some perceived character flaw. There have been a couple of times where a little bell went *ding* in my head about someone, and I made the effort to get to know them better, but generally…no.
What intrigues me, captivates my imagination, is the works thing, so much more so than the looks thing. I think that’s why I love the sight and smell of sawdust. It implies competence. If one knows how to make good sawdust, then one by inference knows how to make furniture, and I love that. If one is a person who works with one’s hands, those hands become calloused and scarred and muscular…I REALLY love that. I don’t care if he’s good with words, or can sing, or knows how to work a crowd. If he looks good in an old pair of jeans and a flannel shirt, and smells like sawdust and linseed oil. Well…what more could I ask for?… it’s a place to start, anyway.
I’m walking with a cane today! Feeling brave, I briefly set aside the walker and the crutches, took a deep breath, and stepped out with the cane.
This cane:
made by Dad out of white oak and mesquite. The handle closely resembles the head of a human femur, since I was unsuccessful in aquiring mine own femur head, Dad fashioned one out of mesquite, a hard and very heavy wood most noted for making fabulous campfires.
It is remarkably comfortable. For some reason the contours fit my hand nicely, almost as if God meant for femur heads to do dual duty. The ball is a handy weapon as well. Imagine crossing me when I’m in a mood, and getting a whack on the noggin with that. I tried to get Dad to load the ball with lead shot, but no. He’d already glued everything in place.
Ohh…walking with a cane…it’s a milestone! It’s something to be celebrated because it’s tangible evidence that I’m healing.
And not a moment too soon, either. Last night I was so frustrated trying to do a simple chore that I threw something. “What’s wrong??” they all asked. “Leave me alone!” I shouted. “I’m sick of depending on everyone else!” I yelled. I know, childish behavior on my part, but I really was annoyed.
I’ll see Dr. S on the 7th. and I am excited that I’ll be able to walk into his office with a cane instead of the granny-walker.
Filed under: food
Those of you who know me in real life know that I am a purist where food is concerned. I use fresh vegetables, occasionally frozen, but never canned unless it’s tomatoes. I prefer whole wheat bread over white, and real butter over margarine. I’ve never met a complicated recipe I didn’t like.
However…
I really, really like Tropical Punch Koolaid.
I like lemon jello. 
I LOVE Oreos. 
See, 20 years ago, when Sweet Daddio and I were just starting out, money was tight. I simply could not justify spending the money on something that wasn’t absolutely nutritious. There just wasn’t room in the budget for chocolate pudding, red koolaid, or yellow jellow. That sensibility has carried on these many years, and I still balk at buying something that won’t give me any nutritional bang for my buck.
Even tho, if I wanted to, I could go out right now and buy Oreos and jello, and the budget wouldn’t be impacted at all. I admit, however, to indulging by purchasing those little cans of mandarin oranges. So good with cottage cheese! I feel guilt when I do it.
Fortunately (maybe, maybe not) you can get this sugar free drink mix, so when I drink 2 quarts of Froot Punch I’m not drinking 2 cups of sugar. It is entirely and without reservation, Artificial. NO nutritional value beyond the hydration properties of the water in it. It is a scarlet red, shirt staining completely fake drink…that I love. Yum.
I’m also fond of instant mashed potatoes. Everyone here loves them, and I’m all “why the heck should I go through the effort?” when pondering Real or Instant potatoes. They can be dolled up beyond recognition with cheese, or sour cream, or bacon, garlic, seasoning salt, whatever. Heat a pot of milk and water, dump in something that probably looks like manna, and there you are. No peeling, mashing, or other culinary calisthenics.
My favorite instant mashed potato recipe is this (we’re having it for supper tonight):
Shepherds Pie
1 pound ground beef, browned
2 packages brown gravy mix, mixed with 2 cups water
2 cans french style green beans (yeah, I know, canned, but I’m still in Convenience Mode)
2 teaspoons dried oregano
Mix all this together and put it in a casserole dish.
Then make the topping:
2 cups water
2 cups milk
2 teaspoons seasoning salt
However much instant mashed potatoes it takes to make it thick…Im guessing 3 cups, but I never measure, I just dump
Put the mashed potatoes on top of the meat mixture and bake at 350 degrees until bubbly and the potatoes start to brown.
Filed under: aaawwwww
Stolen off Cute Overload
Filed under: Stupid online quiz
| Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse
Your Result: War
When the second seal is opened, you will ride forth on a red horse carrying a sword, unleashing war and destruction. Your mission is to take peace from the earth, so that man will kill one another. The color of your horse represents the blood spilled on the battlefield. | |
| Death |
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| Famine |
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| Pestilence |
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| Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse | |
Filed under: Monday Melee
1. The Misanthtropic: Name something (about humanity) you absolutely hate.
I’m having a hard time with this one. Humanity has been pretty good to me lately, from bringing me Ethiopean salad to reaching the stuff on the top shelf at Walmart so I dont have to get out of the buggy.
2. The Meretricious: Expose something or someone that’s phony, fraudulent or bogus.
Hm. I’m having a hard time with that one as well.
3. The Malcontent: Name something you’re unhappy with.
OH, that’s easy. I am unhappy that it’s taking SO LONG to WALK. I mean, massive surgery, a foot long scar with accompanied numb patch the size of a banana, and here it is 4 weeks later and I STILL can’t walk unaided. I resent it. Oh, and there’s this weird fold along the outside of my hip where the scar is. Maybe if I lost some weight…
4. The Meritorious: Give someone credit for something and name it if you can.
My 8 yr old #4, and his persistance every day in doing something to make me smile.
5. The Mirror: See something good about yourself and name it.
I refuse to allow myself to wallow.
6. The Make-Believe: Name something you wish for.
For Sweet Daddio to be recognized in a concrete way for his hard work at Tha Company.
Sunday…wasn’t there something in the Bible about Sunday being a day of rest? Ha. Here’s how it goes down:
Church-once or twice, which means much time spent ironing clothes and getting ready a Fine Sunday Dinner including setting the table. Because I hate going anywhere and coming home to a mess,some cleaning is involved, and no, cleaning on Saturday doesn’t work (what, with 4 kids? Are you kidding?). Sunday, as my particular demographic sees it, is NOT a day of rest.
So, a couple or three years ago, I balked and went on strike against Sunday. We quit church, I quit cooking entirely (that’s right, in this house, you’re on your own for Sunday Dinner), and Sunday is spent watching the race, eating ramen noodles, or maybe piddling in the back yard. It’s been liberating.
Now, immediately now, that is, Sunday is spent cleaning, supervised by me as Queen of All She Surveys. Since I can’t sweep, mop, or reach the floor to pick up stuff, the menfolk of the house are doing the work. I am doing my best to swallow my harsh words, because honestly, they don’t do it like I’d do it, and I do it Best. On the other hand, the house smells like lemon cleaner, and that makes up for a multitude of transgressions.
I told them yesterday, all I really, really wanted was for the floors to be swept and mopped. As long as I’m not having to walk across sticky patches, I’m good. I can do the kitchen (except the floor), and dust the furniture (except the legs), and with my grabber-thing and a basket I can pick up everyone’s detritus and throw it THE HELL AWAY.
Oh yeah…I love throwing other people’s stuff away! They’re all “Have you see ” and I’m all “Not recently” and they’re all “Darn, I was saving it for a special occasion “
My (almost) 18 yr old son, he spent a couple of months saving Vault cans, not rinsing them out so the sugars attract roaches and ants. He had some 100+ of them (any wonder why he’s up past midnight?). “Why are you saving Vault cans?” I asked. “I’m going to make Art.” he replied. *sigh* So we made him throw them all away and he’s all “Wow…my room is bigger than I thought.”
My 16 yr old son saves animal body parts, from innocent woodland creatures who’s demise he was intimately involved in. He has squirrel tails, (Mom, I’m going to put them on the whip CB antenna on my truck), turkey wings(Mom, I’m going to mount them with the fan, when I shoot a turkey without ruining the fan, that is) and deer antlers (Mom, they’re cool!). Lord knows what else he has in there. He, not too long ago, saw a man with a skunk hat, and decided he wanted one. I warned him about attracting unwanted attention, he just smiled and said the kind of girl he likes would think it was sexy. I’m not sure you’re allowed to shoot a skunk in Georgia,anyway.
The 8 yr old son, when confronted with the mess in his room, just said he liked to be able to see all his stuff, if he couldn’t see it he’d forget he had it. That makes sense in a way, because I’m kind of like that, too.
Don’t get me wrong, I really, really appreciate the effort they’re making. Really. It’s just that…It’s my job to do, and I do it better.
Because everything in her home is waterproof, the housewife of 2000 can do her daily cleaning with a hose.
It looks like I’m gonna need lotsa new shoes. At least 2 pair, maybe 3. Earlier, I performed my morning ablutions, and decided I’d wear Shoes That Tie today. I have this new pair of loafers I’ve been wearing, simple and classic, brown tassel loafers. Invisible shoes, I think of them, because they are utterly inoffensive. They’re also remarkably comfortable. I am, however, weary of wearing plain brown shoes, and decided since I had help, I’d wear something that ties on. My blue and grey New Balance trainers, relatively new and with delicious, squishy soles. Sweet Daddio tied them for me, and I was happy and excited.
I got on the crutches and tapped out the bedroom door and down the hallway to the stairs, halfway down the stairs I felt like someone stuck an icepick in my back. “#%&*!” I shouted. Then I went the rest of the way down the stairs, feeling more decrepit and that icepick was really digging in.
So, I went back upstairs, pried off the trainers and slipped on the loafers. My back is still disgruntled, but some stretches and tylenol are helping matters.
SD had to go into work for an hour or so, but has promised an immediate visit today to the shoe store, for new ones. I’ve taken inventory of my shoe shelf, and most of what I have is little worn, with the exception of 2 pr of much beloved boots. If I can’t wear my boots I’m going to cry. I bought them half price 15 years ago, a pair of brown and one of black, low heeled riding boots. They are buttery soft and beautifully broken in, so so comfortable. I worry that they will no longer be, and I’ll have to buy new. I don’t want new. I want these. $300 boots, bought half price after Christmas with money made finishing a set of cabinets for the local Episcopal Church. They’ve gotten me out of wearing pantyhose these 15 years, and they’ve seen me through football games and emergency Dress Nice sessions. These aren’t just foot coverings, I have a relationship with them, and I don’t want it to end. They’re even old enough to be back in fashion, with a modified pointy toe and fitted shaft.
With the exception of the boots, I need a pair of black loafers like the boring brown ones I’m wearing now, because I wear black and brown pants in the cooler months. I’ll probably need a pair of black pumps, something conservative with a 2 inch heel, and maybe navy blue ones, tho I need to put on my current blue ones to see if they’re ok. I know the black pumps need replacing, even tho they look fine. I’ve worn them all over Atlanta and to church (whenever I wasn’t wearing the boots), and even tho they are excellent quality and very comfortable, I have had them 15 years…or more. I don’t remember.
It was truly startling, the way by back and hip responded to the application of old shoes. My hip was just popping…not painfully, but alarmingly nonetheless. And my back…ow. It’s still whining at me. I mean, just shoes, doncha know.
But then, that’s my philosophy on shoes. I don’t wear cheap ones, and I don’t wear worn out ones. I can wear clothes from Goodwill all day long, and not be bothered by it, but I will NOT put cheap flimsy shoes on my feet. Nor will I wear shoes worn by someone else. It’s not a matter of being shoe-proud, it’s a matter of feeling good in my back and legs and feet. It’s why I don’t own 100 pr of the things. I generally keep about 10 pr. 1 pr trainers that I wear every day (when I can tie them), 2 pr loafers for looking somewhat put together when I go into town, black and blue pumps for winter, cream and white sandals for summer, 2 pr boots, and these scarlet red loafers that are just too cute to get rid of even tho I wear them maybe once a year.
Today, I’m getting a new pr of trainers. New Balance, maybe, or Adidas. They tend to fit well and are wide enough.
*edit* 3:00 pm
SD and I went to lunch, then to the mall where I bought 2 pr new shoes. I got a pair of Nike trainers…Oh So Comfortabuhls! I wore them out of the store. And a pair of sort of Clarks loafer-flats in black leather, good for pants and skirts, and also very comfortable. I am so happy!
Filed under: Hooray!
For some reason I’m having trouble posting Youtube videos, however, I can still put in a link.
Go here/ It’s my own private fantasy.
Demolition Derby
If I were less of a proper Southern woman, I’d shout “Fuck this shit!” as I hitch myself onto the abominable crutches and poke down the driveway yet again. Since I’m not, tho, I won’t say that. Instead I’ll say “Damn the torpedoes, full speed ahead!” and poke down the driveway.
Yestderday, fed up with inactivity and the inability to clean my house, I reached a major conclusion. That is, since I can’t DO anything productive, I’ll work on walking instead. I made 4 trips up and back the driveway (roughly 50 yards), and did the prescribed course of exercises 4 times, 20 reps each. Today, I intend to make 5 trips up the driveway and 5 sets of exercises. I was tired and a little sore last night, nothing a horse-pill couldn’t handle.
That’s my decision. Since I can’t clean like I want to (have you ever tried to sweep on crutches?), and daytime TV stinks, and I only have enough Netflix movies for half a morning, what better to do with my time than rehabilitate?
The hope is that it will put me in a mind to really exercise. I bought a Pilates video, and I have an assortment of resistance bands from Physical Therapy. Once I get the all clear from Dr. S, I intend to spend time getting into shape. I had this dream recently where I was all toned and flat-tummied and had defined muscles on my arms. I woke up from it with the thought that maybe it really was possible, if I was willing to do the work. I was there once before, when I was a member of a gym with trainers and machines and little TVs on all the cardio machines.
I like being muscular. I am never, ever going to be slender. It just isn’t in the genes. I can, however, be toned, and strong. I’m tired of the flappy tricep thing on my arms. I’m tired of the folds in my back, and the THING on my stomach. I will always own wide hips, and narrow shoulders, and a bubble-butt. I don’t know that I’m wanting to be able to crack a walnut with my buns, but I would like it if they jiggled less.
So. I am determined, for the moment, to walk unaided. Every day is a little easier. I can now go from sit to stand without having to pull up on something. I can indeed trudge from the front door to the mailbox, if slowly, with crutches, but my legs are bearing most of the weight, and the crutches are just for balance. I am taking tylenol only for pain, and I am able to do a bit more around the house (throw dishes in the dishwasher, pick up stuff with my grabber thing, make the coffee). Since all those chores take…oh…10 minutes out of the day, I will…I WILL I WILL work myself, exercise, walk walk walk.
It’s been 3 weeks and a few days (what day is today, anyway)…4 weeks come Monday, since my surgery and that’s plenty of time to lay around and feel sorry for myself. Time to get to work. I’m going to the driveway now, then a set of leg things.
I’m going to do this…you’ll see.
