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Currently Browsing: Silly I Tell You

The Emperor’s New Couch

I had finally found “the couch”.

Our TV room couch, aka Parlor couch, is a slip-covered mess. When I got it in the 90’s back in Baltimore, it reeked of smoke and was covered in a blue gray 80’s fabric. The only thing different now is that we’ve gone through several slipcovers and the smoke has been replaced with farts.

But it’s gargantuan and fits all of us on it for a movie. And if you stuff a pillow behind you, your back won’t hurt as much.

But in the back of my mind, I’ve been cheating on the couch with new sloped armed two deep cushioned couches. I’ve pinned some more pricey ones on my secret Pinterest page and then I decided to go to the IKEA website. And lo and behold, there it was, the Farlov sofa. And for half the price.

I told my husband we were buying it, especially since this is also his office space and anything bought for this room is tax deductible. So heck yeah. I got ahold of the company credit card and I dove in to make the purchase. Couldn’t figure out my password. Who cares. Pushed through only to discover there is no delivery and the “drive to pick it up at store” option has got the stores in a state of befuddlement because they can’t keep everyone safe from “the Virus”.

So I guess we’ll be enjoying the Emperor’s New Couch. I’ll exclaim, “Oh how luxurious the fabric is” and “how cushy and comfy and spacious” our new luxury couch is. And everyone will exclaim “OOOhhh” and “Ahhhhhh” !!! And we’ll drop popcorn and spill wine on it because, after all, it is invisible. So who cares.

And If you enjoyed what you read, subscribe, via the subscription box in the sidebar, to my thrice weekly posts via your emailbox. And visit me on Instagram to see my daily pictures, friend me or like my page on Facebook. Or come find me on Twitter or Pinterest too. I am always practicing Intentional Intouchness so chat at me please. I live for conversations.

And, as always, Thanks to you for your visit.

The Forced March and the Madness of New Tech

So we finally broke down and got a new car right before Christmas. We got the right price and it’s a Honda so it will last forever. Was I completely happy? Of course not. Go ahead and call me ungrateful. We could either get a new car or put money into the old one. HA! Yes, it’s a lovely smooth ride but there was no choice in color (they said they searched the tri-county area for my first choice of grey) and I despise black interiors.The Forced March and the Madness of New Tech on Shalavee.com

And insult to injury, there are no more CD players in new cars. Dammit! Our entire CD collection has been made obsolete.

Then I promised my old phone to my son when his birthday came. Well his birthday came and I walked myself into the phone store to get my upgraded phone and do you think I’m happy with it? Nope.

We get used to what we have, be that a jalopy of a car or an outdated phone or a dysfunctional marriage. While change is inevitable and necessary, it doesn’t mean it’s easy or fun. 

As for the fancy new phone, a Samsung Galaxy S9 to be exact, after having it for a week, these are my problems:

  • The on switch is so stiff, it doesn’t even feel like a switch.
  • The calculator application gathers a paragraph of numbers and then stops accepting your additions when it’s full. As opposed to the old one which was a continuous line so you could check to see all the numbers were there. Had to download a whole other calculator app.
  • I can no longer take a picture by touching the screen. Although by chance, I did decide the volume button can be used as a shutter button.
  • The modes for the camera application are so twitchy that it seems wants to go into selfie mode constantly. Figures.
  • Without a case, which I purchased separately, the phone is super slippery and apparently made of glass so it breaks quite easily.
  • The downloads are so buried I had to use Google to find them.
  • Notifications on the home screen don’t have a direct link to their applications. Am still searching how to edit this.
  • I can’t search my emojis.
  • And there’s no frame option for the pictures. Again, I’ll have to use another app.The Forced March and the Madness of New Tech on Shalavee.com

I use my phone to do a lot of picture-taking and daily Instagram posting. I had a system down for this that is now being interrupted. Eventually I will adapt another system but the adjustment period will be painful. Very painful.

So I told my son that I must really love him to be dealing with the jerky phone. And I hope he appreciates my old phone as I will be resentful for a while longer. Why don’t I just give him the new phone? Because it’s pink, that’s why.

Oh and my brand new car? I left the window down last night in the pouring rain. I never did anything like that with my old disgusting cars. Sigh.

If you enjoyed what you read, please subscribe, via the subscription box in the sidebar, to my thrice weekly posts via your email box. And visit me on Instagram to see my daily pictures, friend me or like my page on Facebook. Or come find me on Twitter or Pinterest too. I am always practicing Intentional In-touchness so chat at me please. I live for conversations.

And, as always, Thanks to you for your visit.

Fool-headed Husbands Need to Let Go of Control

I was a lunch guest of a woman whom I liked her and admired for starting her own Interior design business. I always thought interior decorating was one of those professions I’d missed my calling for. And she was a liberal thinker, funny, and kind.

Within her lovely home, there was a dining room set that was funky and chunky but dark. And when I suggested she just go ahead and paint it, she said “Oh no, my husband wouldn’t approve of that.” They’d bought it together at an expensive local antiques dealer’s you see. He felt had a stake in it’s future. Fool-headed husbands need to know their place.Fool-headed Husbands Need to Let Go of Control on Shalavee.com

While speaking to another woman recently about something house decorating oriented, I heard her repeat the echo of how her husband wouldn’t like that. And I realized I feel slightly crazed at this concept. As in, what the heck are people doing?

In the case of the designer, she’s the designer! Unless her husband’s a renowned designer himself, who cares what he thinks. In the case of every other woman, the home is ours to command. We deserve at least this much room to be happy within. Husbands are typically installation and demolition. Why do they feel the need to control all other realms of the home? If it makes us happy, let us be happy. Did I say What the Heck?Fool-headed Husbands Need to Let Go of Control on Shalavee.com

I often say to women, “You know you are in charge right?” Maybe you don’t really want to always be and I can understand that but the man who doesn’t fear and respect his wife is a ding-dong. We’d give selflessly of ourselves, share our food and our lap with any small beast in need. I believe we deserve to be supported in whatever makes us happy within the house. We need some compliance within reasonable bounds. The generosity shows back up in your beds you fool-headed husbands.

Because, as a former president once said to the rest of the former presidents at a luncheon for incoming president Obama, “If Mama’s not happy, no one is happy.” Wise men they all were.

And If you enjoyed what you read, subscribe, via the subscription box in the sidebar, to my thrice weekly posts via your email box. And visit me on Instagram to see my daily pictures, friend me or like my page on Facebook. Or come find me on Twitter or Pinterest  too. I am always practicing Intentional In-touchness so chat at me please. I live for conversations.

And, as always, Thanks to you for your visit.

51 years and Counting

Oh I know I don’t look like I’m 51 years old. Because somehow the beauty is supposed to have faded by now. We recede into the cracks at the menopausal age, no longer prized for our beauty, not yet wise enough to be called such. Or is that just the crap I remember being terrified of when I was in my 20’s considering the aging process?

The good news is, my genetics are such that I’ll always look younger than I am and I’ll outlive everybody. But the mental shift which is suggested I embrace, from valuing my outsides to considering the alternative value of my insides is just as good, well that’s rubbing me the wrong way just for today.

My hair began falling out in clumps when I had Fiona. The hormone levels that I needed to carry her but no longer had, plummeted and I was already 46 so who needs hair. My metabolism slowed down and I began to fear my every ache as something cataclysmic. So, as I’m battling those aches and pains with everything I’ve got, I’ve felt the gooeyness that is the slowing metabolism and loss of collagen. It completely freaks me out to feel my skin rolling over and touching itself under my bra. Not cool.Yup, I Just Turned 51 on Shalavee.com

I am energetic, young at heart, and enthusiastic about grabbing all the goodness and gratitude out of my life that I can before I pass on. But I refuse to act graceful as I continue to age. If I want to rage against the fading of my beauty or my strength or stamina after a while, that is mine to have a fit about. And I will think no less of you if I catch you muttering ungraciously about your aging under your breath too. That being said, I really had a ridiculously fun and celebratory month so far. I planned all sorts of dates with my family and friends all culminating in a crab feast this weekend. My life’s pretty grand. Perhaps I’ll don my tiara for our crab feast too.

 

And If you enjoyed what you read, subscribe, via the subscription box in the sidebar, to my thrice weekly posts via your email box. And visit me on Instagram to see my daily pictures, friend me or like my page on Facebook. Or come find me on Twitter or Pinterest  too. I am always practicing Intentional In-touchness so chat at me please. I live for conversations.

And, as always, Thanks to you for your visit.

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Proof That I Have More Guts Than You

This past Friday, I willingly subjected myself to my obligatory “You just turned 50!” booby prize procedure and had my very first colonoscopy. Yes I know, am I really 50 already ? I made sure I dyed my daggone roots before I went so they would feel it necessary to card me and make sure I was old enough. Best news is, with this done, I have nothing more to dread for the upcoming year. And I was compelled to tell all because it seems I have more guts than most.

My body based homework from my annual exam included a full panel of bloodwork, my yearly mammogram (getting my boobies squashed), and that horror procedure reserved for the newest eligible members for the American Association of Retired Citizens, the colonoscopy.

This procedure is the number one thing everyone dreads. Foremost, it means you have to fast for 36 hours. You have to pop laxatives like they’re candy and then drink almost a gallon of fluid laced with thankfully tasteless stool softeners. It’s the prep that’s the hell. Concerned that I hadn’t yet cleared myself out 5 hours beforehand, I was forced to drink one last liquid bomb at 5 am. And in telling this to my doctor before I was knocked out for the procedure, I said that I suspected something was going on in there. My colon is like the lazy river at the theme park. I often suspect my body of trying to make butt diamonds.

After a marvelous and speedy sleep and wake up administered by the most kick butt anesthesiologist ever, I was informed that, yes, there’s a reason for my seemingly slower than molasses in the wintertime bowels : I have more guts than normal people. Literally, my innards are lengthier than other people’s which I later found out is called a redundant colon. Just in case, here’s some more exit ramp. Annoying but true.

Then I thought, if you thought me a little more brazen and risk-taking than other people,  I now have actual proof you are right!  I do have more guts than other people. Hahahahahaha ! Proof That I Have More Guts than You on Shalavee.com

After the procedure, as I had announced on social media on my boring long fasting day, I was ready to go eat my predestined cheese steak sub. After some thoughtful discussion, my husband and I decided to take our business to a well established Easton, Maryland eatery in the strip mall that houses the JC Penney and the Kohl’s stores, called Rusticana Pizza. Exactly what I had wanted. The cheese steak submarine was made with care, the fries were soft on the inside and crunchy on the outside as they always are, and I washed it down with a coke over crushed ice. That hit the spot. Mark’s Stromboli was great too. I kept being reminded of the one delicious bite I took by my burps throughout the day. Our waitress has worked there a long time and her dearness just added to my gratitude.

And what I learned too was how I can see fasting as a noble religious practice. It will show you what you are and aren’t made of. I am not the sum of the contents of my belly or my fat cells. I can withstand discomfort and still live. I was glad that it all went well and that the found polyp was benign. Does however guarantee that I’ll be another total colon cleanse years from now. Yeah because who doesn’t need a complete colon reset every once in a while?

And If you enjoyed what you read, subscribe, via the subscription box in the sidebar, to my thrice weekly posts via your emailbox. And visit me on Instagram to see my daily pictures, friend me or like my page on Facebook. Or come find me on Twitter orPinterest too. I am always practicing Intentional Intouchness so chat at me please. I live for conversations.

And, as always, Thanks to you for your visit.

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