You all know how I endeavor to educate you in some small way, to provide you with some tidbit of useless useful information that you might share while idly standing at the office water cooler. While this one isn’t as interesting as say, the time we all learned about Spider Prostitution, it is worthy of sharing with you, and perhaps with your friends and coworkers. However, it does relate in a small way to office attire. Just wait, you’ll see. And you may never be the same. (I haven’t been, but then again this has been “a thing” for many years and, much like spider prostitution, I only learned about it much later in life. It’s likely you are more in touch with the world and already know about this.)
The day I learned about Toe Crack, also known as Toe Cleavage.
While standing around with a group of friends and acquaintances, I notice the acquaintance in front of me is staring at me feet. He’s staring hard.
To give you a little background, this is a “business casual/dressy” environment and I’m wearing an unremarkable outfit, common office attire. And a pair of blue suede, closed-toe pumps.
Pye and my blue suede shoes, with toe cleavage. Pye has a shoe fetish.
The guy briefly looks up to my face and promptly declares he loves how my feet look in the shoes.
This was more than your usual, “I like your (shoes/hair/eyes)” comment. He was practically salivating, much like someone who’s just seen an ice cream cone for the first time after months of sweltering hot summer. Continue reading →
Texas is fond of squirrels. Or perhaps they’re just fond of massive squirrel statues. (And giant beavers.)
You may recall Mrs. Pearl, the Giant Squirrel in Cedar Creek. Well, she’s not the only large squirrel statue in south Texas. There’s another giant squirrel, this time in Sinton, Texas. Why? Because that is the requisite marketing gimmick for pecan shops. Well, that or a giant pecan. Apparently.
And they name them. (The squirrels. I don’t know if they name the giant pecans.)
Is it Karma that sent me a Devil Cat? Is there no way to appease the Gods?
I love my furry monster-child, but Pye needs a hobby. She’s bored, perhaps more so because I’ve been home and she is now awake more than usual. Normally, when I’m gone during the day, she sleeps. When I’m gone for a night or two, she goes on an eating strike and hides when her friendly, animal-loving sitter comes over. And she messes up stuff around the RV. (Or pees on my bed three times after I come back from a trip, like she did when I went to Oklahoma for Christmas.)
But when I’m home, like I have been since my surgery, she is awake and demands constant entertainment and attention. Or she’ll start wrecking stuff.
Pye debating whether to play with the keyboard – again, or push the books off the table – again.
I can’t sit at my computer table without her trying to “assist” by pushing my papers off the table, or stepping on the keyboard. She relocates all pens to goodness knows where. And if neither of those two things produce the desired response from me? She starts in on the curtains and blinds.
She is not much of a lap cat. It would be great if she could sit with me while I’m on the computer. But no.
This is another episode of Tales From the RV Park, stories from the RV parks where I’ve camped. Disclaimer: These stories are fictitious, happened in nightmares, are hearsay, and/or are what others recounted to me. I am part Irish, so there is likely a good deal of exaggeration. The names have been changed to protect the not-so-innocent. There is no relation to persons living, dead, or in jail, even if you think so. In other words, don’t bother trying to sue me.
It’s a shame you can’t buy common sense like you can buy deodorant.
Word of the Day: Farrow. When your pig got poked and is due to have a litter of piglets. The gestation period is generally three months, three weeks, and three days.
The pig is pregnant.
There can be pigs at RV parks. Because this is the country, folks.
This is a quick note to update those of you who don’t follow me on Facebook or Twitter.
I survived surgery.
(Bwahahahaaa. I crack me up! Ok, so I’m probably the only one who found that funny, but whatever, it’s my blog. NO, dammit, it is not the pain meds that made me write that. Sheesh.)
They gave me socks in exchange for my uterus.
Ok, so you want non-gory details… (gory details and pics are at the very bottom, beneath a huge warning.)
I got a pair of socks in exchange for my uterus. (See above photo for picture of socks, pictures of uterus available upon request.)
The long-awaited surgery FINALLY happened Tuesday morning. I got home late Wednesday night, and it is now Thursday afternoon.
My patient advocate is terrific! Besides being a truly kind and caring person, she really got things moving forward for me. She came to visit me right after surgery and again the next day. She is continuing to monitor my situation and report back to all involved. Knowing how much she has helped me when I had no one in my corner made me want to do that for others. I’m not sure what is required to be a Patient Advocate, but I would love to help others as she helped me when I needed it most.
One of my readers, a New York construction worker, sent this clip of himself and a few other folks reading snippets of Fifty Shades aloud. It’s hilarious! They were “interviewed” for Late Night With Seth Meyers. I hear the movie isn’t that good; it’s better to watch these videos or buy the books.
There are many other clips in the series, so have fun!!
We feed, shelter, groom and care for these foreign-looking beings. They’re covered in fur, walk on four paws, and may make a lot of noise. They scratch or dirty the furniture, and often make messes in inappropriate places. (Like when Pye peed on my bed because I was losing my shirt at WinStar without her.) They may even bite or scratch.
Yet, we pet owners tolerate it all. The question is, Why?
My mom recently recounted a story about her cat Zaki barfing on the bed after a traumatic experience at the groomer’s. Ah, the joys of kitty ownership! Hairballs Continue reading →
Author’s note: This is another rant. I apologize. My doctor tells me that after the surgery, my hormones will be back to normal and I’ll feel a lot better.I’ll be stuck at home for two weeks and plan to do some writing about happy stuff, and possibly posting pics from my surgery. (Warnings will be posted for the squeemish.)
Unless you like unsolicited advice, don’t ever tell your relatives or close friends you’ve got a serious illness.
I’m just saying.
Remember when I blogged about looking for a common-law husband with good insurance because ObummerCare sucks? (No, I didn’t find a husband.) I might have mentioned needing surgery.
Well, I do. It’s major surgery, but nothing that millions of women haven’t gone through. Side note: Those of you men hoping I would someday birth your children, well… sorry, but that ship is about to sail.
But here’s the thing that I’m going to rant about…
Do not ever tell your family you’re sick. I know, that sounds horrible. I used to be just like you all, thinking keeping the health secret was a terribly cruel thing to do to your family. They only want to be there for you because they care, they just want to “help”! Continue reading →