My Corona

I never thought that when the Apocalypse came, I would be scrounging around for toilet paper.

Without a square to spare, am I going to put a sign on my powder room door that reads:

“For Residents Use ONLY!”

Will my parties have to be a BYOTP?

Are we going to have to start wearing Depends?

On the first morning of “Shelter in Place,” I woke up to screams.

“Mom! The dog ate all the granola bars.”

“What?” I said stumbling into a kitchen filled with wrappers and empty Costco-size boxes.

“We only had enough granola bars for ten days!”

“Mom! There is dog barf all over my room!” Lindsay hollowed.

“Clean it up,” I said.

“Where is some toilet paper?”

“NO! DON’T USE THE TOILET PAPER!”

“Where are the paper towels?”

“We’re all out! Crap! Just grab the newspaper.”

“It’s not working. It’s not soaking it up!

“Fine.” I grabbed a real towel, scooped it up and threw it all into the trash.”

“Mom, they just announced school is closed.”

In a Steven King novel, this is where I would be in the lineup to kill someone.

I grabbed the barfing dog and walked out into the cloudy afternoon. The streets were unusually full. I’ve never seen so many kids playing, and other people walking their dogs.

I have watched enough horror movies to know how this ends. I wondered what type of character I would be in this exact situation.

The doomsday type, hoarding toilet paper and canned goods to fill my bunker.

The “You’re overreacting!” type. This part is reserved for the arrogant old man, usually the first one to die.

The stupid jokester, “If I drink too much and get sick, is that the Corona Beer Virus?”

I think I would like to be Mrs. Davis when she asked George Baily if he could give her $17.50 to tide her over during the bank run in “It’s a Wonderful Life.”

We walked, I thought…  We’ve survived bad things before: 9/11, earthquakes, Wall Street crashes, evacuations.  I fear, we may have really done it this time. Is Earth really mad at us?  Global warming, massive fires and now a deadly plague forcing people to stay in their homes.

Or is this what we’ve been asking for along? As a society we’ve been social distancing for years. Text or pick up the phone to chat, stop by a friend’s house for coffee? Do you know your mailman, grocer, neighbor?

Malls have been near extension for months, it’s all online now. Who goes to a store to shop or socialize? Our groceries are delivered anonymously. We date on computers, not in bars. Our closest relationships are reduced to one small device.

That’s when I stumbled upon it…a sign… from Earth, written on the sidewalk in chalk.Picture1

We can do this… not just survive this but change our ways.

When this is done, I will become a better advocate for Earth. Use my phone to just talk, share my experiences in person, hug more. Shop in stores with people.

By the time we walked back, the rain had washed the chalk sign away. But I got the message. Together we can do this!

Earth Day, on April 22nd,, seems like a good day to start.

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Flipping the Bird

As a kid Thanksgiving was the holiday squished in-between the Most Fun Holiday of the Year, Halloween, and the Best Day of the Year, Christmas. Its sole purpose was for me to spend time with my relatives and drop useful hints for the Christmas gifts they can buy me for the next time we meet in a few weeks.

As I got older, I would come home and be a celebrity of sorts, do nothing but watch football then sit down for the best meal of the year, thankful for my family, friends bla bla bla. My mother was a great cook and she made it look so easy.

One year I went to a boyfriend’s house for Thanksgiving, it was horrible. They served the meal in Tupperware for easy cleanup. Who does that? We broke up just before Christmas prior to any gift exchange because I could not see any of that in my future.

But now, it’s all different, I’m the grown-up. The meal I had once loved has become the source of unbridled stress. In other words, it’s all on me. And it must to be perfect. The day after the “most fun holiday” I was bombarded with emails how to make the Perfect Thanksgiving Meal.  You can’t stand in a line anywhere without glancing at a magazine cover, Perfect Dinner Your Family Will Treasure. All I could see is that Normal Rockwell illustration of the man showing off the picture-perfect turkey. What if I fail? Will my family be scarred for life? Not having the same ideal childhood memories that I have. Yes!

It’s all about the main attraction… the turkey.  I have only cooked 2 turkeys in my entire life. The first one could have flown off the platter if not for the tiny rope keeping its wings together. The second, based on past experience, was so over cooked it could have been used as building materials for any of the 3 Little Pigs houses. (Straw, Sticks and Bricks). It was Turkey Jerky and I was the Jerk for trying to make Jerk Turkey!

Everyone says it’s so easy, but it’s really not. Which side is the breast?

After hours of setting and resetting my overly decorated dining room table including autumn leaves from Vermont because California doesn’t have seasons anymore, just to make it so perfect Martha Stewart would gobble with glee at the sight of it. But it looked more like a National Lampoon Thanksgiving. I broke down in tears.

“What’s wrong, Mom?” Daisy asked.

“IT’S NOT PERFECT!” I spewed.

“Yes, it is. It’s our perfect.”

“What?”

“Mom were not the kind of people who have a designer house, super clean or perfect like that. We have the house all our friends call home.”

“Really?”

“Isn’t it you who always says if you get your guests drunk enough, they won’t even care?”

“Yes, that’s me.” I beamed with pride.

So, Happy mismatched table linens, random bar stools as dining chairs, paper napkins, dirty aprons, crumbs in the silverware drawer, oversized plates as platters, ladles as serving spoons, chipped wine glasses, pumpkins leftover from Halloween filled with family and friends… Perfect Thanksgiving.

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Protected Species

I know I’m not the only person to think animals are like people. Truthfully, I think animals are better than their mammal counter parts… the human.

The other night I was at a friend’s house when I heard the most aggressive bark I have ever heard. A resounding, “Get the hell out of my yard!” Bark. What made it so interesting was the “barkee” was a Yorkshire Terrier, couldn’t have weighed more than 10 pounds I’m guessing, wet. He tore throw the garden, wiggled through the hole in the chain link fence, and charged a BEAR! The bear couldn’t have weighed more than 400 pounds I’m guessing, wet or dry. The startled bear immediately shimmied up a tall tree for his own safety. The tiny warrior remained vigilant at the base of the tree calling him all sorts of names I can only image. The frightened bear clung on to the thin branch for dear life. It was inspiring, to witness what this animal was willing to do to protect his family. It was David versus Goliath. Not being able to hold on, the bear tumbled down the tree trunk and ran away, the dog fast on his heals.

“That’s right Big Guy, get outta here!”

I have a rescued golden retriever, Lucky, with protective instincts to revival the Yorkie. As the sun rose this morning, I heard a commotion. From my window I saw a large well fed coyote in my backyard hunting for his next meal. Lucky barreled out the back door and attacked the coyote. These two distant cousins were about the same size and stature. They rolled, limbs flailing like a cartoon. The coyote yelped, hopped over the fence and was gone.

“You’re not eating my cats, not on my watch.”

My cats are equally loyal, and fierce killers. The carnage is overwhelming, rats, birds, lizards, sometimes whole, sometimes just parts. Mae is deceptively small, demure, but she is like the Gestapo, delivering her victim in a state of almost dead, letting it drop to the floor with a lifeless thud.

“I found zis intruder on za property. I played with zit for a bit to show ze other raaats a lesson, see vat vill happen to you.  Ve are safe now.”

To the contrary Skippy is brawny for a feline. Without fail he must deliver something to me during a every gathering. Most recently at my son’s graduation party.

He strutted calmly through the house with the deceased oversized rodent hanging from his mouth, not letting all the screaming guests deter him until he found me.  Modeled after Luca Brasi he dropped the rat at my feet and stood before me,

“I am honored and grateful Godmother that you have invited me to the graduation of your eldest son. And I hope his first child be a masculine child. I pledge my ever-ending loyalty.”

While I fetched a bag and a shovel, the other “pets” looked at him and shook their heads.

“He’s is gonna sleep with the fishes if he keeps that up.”

Hmmm, the next morning I found a dead rat in the pool.

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St. Valentine’s Day Massacre

I’m not bragging but I’m accustomed to receiving cards, flowers, something on Valentine’s Day. But this year, I checked my phone for a text, or a missed call. Nothing. It was a massacre of the heart. It was time to take matters in to my own hands. This travesty will never to happen again.

On-line dating. I signed up on all the dating sites. I filled out the questionnaires about my likes and dislikes. Apparently children, smoking and drinking are the three biggest determining factors in finding a mate. After telling some truths and some fudging I snapped my photo sent it off to Cupid. Then I waited for the pouring in of dates and my life to dramatically change.

I consulted with my friends.

“Well I don’t know what I would do if I was out there again.”

“This new age of computer dating is all different.”

WRONG!  The venue may have changed but the premise has not.

The same bar rules still apply. The “not really my type” are the first to approach, in this case a smiley face emoji, while the cute ones are playing it cool.  Still a taboo for a girl to reach out first. If I sent a smile I never got one back.  The ones who do ask for your number don’t call. Unless he’s not interested in me…crazy talk.

Some bios read like a beauty pageant contestant who only want to find true love, end world hunger.

The photos, my goodness!  Most of them look like they’re standing in a police line-up. They take selfies in the bathroom with piles of dirty laundry in the background.

Do they think this is a mail order bride service?

My favorite was a bio picture of Al Pacino in Scarface, hmmm potential.

Things were looking up. I got my first date request from a nice man.

Red flag – dinner at 6:00. Were we getting the early bird special?

Red flag – when I arrived he was drinking hot tea and offered me some as well. Tea? No cocktails!

I feel badly in saying this, but if he were a sandwich he would be mayonnaise on Wonder Bread, cut the crust. Come to find out chemical engineering is not fodder for scintillating conversation. There was a lot of dead air time. By 7:05 the dinner was done, bill paid, leftovers boxed up. It took me longer to get ready than the actual “date.”

“This was great,” he said, “do you want a second date?”

Ugh, I hate this part. I swung into old habits. “Sure.” I lied. In the past I’ve gone as far as to move to avoid hurting someone’s feelings. Here was one advantage to on-line dating… anonymity!

Men are like computers you think they’re going to change your life for the better, improve things, make it easier and more fun… but they don’t!

I hit the delete button. I canceled all my subscriptions. With that money I would be better served going to Anthropology, buying a sexy dress and hangout at a bar.

Before I deleted I sent every man a smiley face emoji.

Fat men, skinny men, men who climb on rocks,

Tough men, sissy men, even men with chicken pox.

Mic drop.

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St. Valentine’s Day Massacre

I’m not bragging but I’m accustomed to receiving cards, flowers, something on Valentine’s Day. But this year, I checked my phone for a text, or a missed call. Nothing. It was a massacre of the heart. It was time to take matters in to my own hands. This travesty will never to happen again.

On-line dating. I signed up on all the dating sites. I filled out the questionnaires about my likes and dislikes. Apparently children, smoking and drinking are the three biggest determining factors in finding a mate. After telling some truths and some fudging I snapped my photo sent it off to Cupid. Then I waited for the pouring in of dates and my life to dramatically change.

I consulted with my friends.

“Well I don’t know what I would do if I was out there again.”

“This new age of computer dating is all different.”

WRONG!  The venue may have changed but the premise has not.

The same bar rules still apply. The “not really my type” are the first to approach, in this case a smiley face emoji, while the cute ones are playing it cool.  Still a taboo for a girl to reach out first. If I sent a smile I never got one back.  The ones who do ask for your number don’t call. Unless he’s not interested in me…crazy talk.

Some bios read like a beauty pageant contestant who only want to find true love, end world hunger.

The photos, my goodness!  Most of them look like they’re standing in a police line-up. They take selfies in the bathroom with piles of dirty laundry in the background.

Do they think this is a mail order bride service?

My favorite was a bio picture of Al Pacino in Scarface, hmmm potential.

Things were looking up. I got my first date request from a nice man.

Red flag – dinner at 6:00. Were we getting the early bird special?

Red flag – when I arrived he was drinking hot tea and offered me some as well. Tea? No cocktails!

I feel badly in saying this, but if he were a sandwich he would be mayonnaise on Wonder Bread, cut the crust. Come to find out chemical engineering is not fodder for scintillating conversation. There was a lot of dead air time. By 7:05 the dinner was done, bill paid, leftovers boxed up. It took me longer to get ready than the actual “date.”

“This was great,” he said, “do you want a second date?”

Ugh, I hate this part. I swung into old habits. “Sure.” I lied. In the past I’ve gone as far as to move to avoid hurting someone’s feelings. Here was one advantage to on-line dating… anonymity!

Men are like computers you think they’re going to change your life for the better, improve things, make it easier and more fun… but they don’t!

I hit the delete button. I canceled all my subscriptions. With that money I would be better served going to Anthropology, buying a sexy dress and hangout at a bar.

Before I deleted I sent every man a smiley face emoji.

Fat men, skinny men, men who climb on rocks,

Tough men, sissy men, even men with chicken pox.

Mic drop.

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Wait A Second!

It’s easy to look at time in weeks, months, years but life happens in a second.

When it comes to time I’m not very good at keeping track of it.

“We have so much time and so little to do. Strike that, reverse it.” Roald Dahl   

Today, I wish I had a clone, but one cuter and more efficient.

Daisy was already at her swim meet, a qualifying meet for the State Finals. The big kahuna of swim meets and nerves were frayed.

I picked up Dewey from school at 3:00 for his mountain biking practice, slowed the car down kicked him out, “Start pedaling!”

“MOM!”  Daisy texted. “FIRST RACE IS IN 20 MINUTES!”

“No problem. I’m only 10 miles away.”

Jinx. Accident on the freeway, 2 lanes blocked expect 30-minute delay.

I relied on the magic of WAZE to help me navigate as I drove through the heavenly countryside like a bat out of hell.

I got to the pool deck just as she kicked off the starter stand, one second later and I would have missed it. More importantly I was there when she tapped the finish.

Actually I wasn’t really sure it was even her race until she popped totally out of the water. But that’s our little secret.

During her break between races, I raced back to pick up Dewey taking a second route altogether.

“Wow Mom only a few seconds late. Bad news my tire needs to be fixed before my race tomorrow.”

“Of course it does.  We have a choice. I can take you to the bike store now but then we’ll miss Daisy’s big race. If we go to her race we might not make it to the store before they close.”

He thought for a second, “let’s go to her race.”

“Well done!” I commended.

This time we arrived with seconds to spare. They called her name then, “Take your mark.”

She swam second to none.

“Yay you Daisy! See ya, we gotta go to the bike store.”

“Mom were not going to make it.”

“Not with that attitude were not!”

Again, I drove through traffic like I was involved in a police chase.

“Mom, Mom…”
“WHAT?”

“They close in 7 minutes.”

I called the store. “Hi, we have a flat bike tire and were 10 minutes away can you stay open?”

“That won’t be a problem.”

“Thanks.”

I don’t think that kid had a clue. And I was right.

When we pulled up at 7:05 they were closing the gate.

“Hold on a second! I just called.” I shouted out the car window like I was the President of the Tour de France. “Pardon! Dropping off une bicyclette.”

“OK. One second later and you would be looking at a locked gate.”

When we got home Daisy was crying in the kitchen. “I missed going to the finals.”

“That’s OK, honey.”

“BY ONE SECOND!”

“What?! Daisy that’s awesome!”

“There’s more,” failure filled her eyes.

“More?”

“The election results just came in.”

Yes, on top of everything else today Daisy was running for Vice President at school.

“You mean for VP, actually the second in command?”

“Yes.”

“Let me guess.”

“I lost.”

“You came in second?”

“Yes, out of two.”

What a difference a second makes.

 

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How Was Your Weekend?

Well…

9:00 AM Saturday morning I worked at an Event in Century City.

12:00 headed home to pick up Dewey and change cars. The SUV was loaded with camping gear, Dewey’s bike and my clothes for the evening.

1:00 PM left home and headed to Chapman University to pick up Huey. A simple 45-minute drive, or so I thought. I believe Saturday traffic now is worse than weekday traffic.

3:00 PM pick up Huey and drive to Temecula, on the Highway that goes through the Super Bloom. A lovely treat.

But as breathtaking as the Super Bloom of wild flowers are, is as breathtaking it was to watch the idiots trying to get as close as possible to take a selfie!

“…attractive to the eye and soothing to the smell . . . poppiespoppiespoppies will put them to sleep.”

Well it didn’t. It actually made me crazy! By now the traffic had come to a standstill. We needed to be in Temecula by 4:00 and me back to Pasadena by 5:30 to make this plan all work out.

6:00 PM arrived at Temecula. I pulled into the camping spot, slammed on the breaks and dumped out the tent, sleeping bags, bike.

“You’ll be back for my mountain biking race tomorrow right?”

“Of course.”

You see, Huey as the wonderful big brother volunteered to camp overnight with Dewey and his mountain biking team so I could attend my event tonight.

“Go Mom, I’m not giving up my Saturday night for you to miss yours.”

6:15 PM back on the road with a large ice tea, I trudged through the Super Bloom yet again.

7:40 PM arrived at the Metro Station in Pasadena. Parked the car and in a dark corner peeled off my dress from the morning’s event and flung on my Prom Dress.

Not enough time for the train so I called an UBER. Minutes later it arrived. “Step On It!”

8:05 PM arrived at the theater in Downtown LA.

8:06 PM sat next to my friends.

8:07 PM GREASE the Sing Along began.

I Was Made in the Shade!

After the movie, all us gals dressed in our 50s Prom Dresses went bar hopping.

We carried the flag for all Beauty School Drop-outs!

2:00 AM I rested my spinning head on my pillow.

6:00 AM alarm goes off like an Atomic Bomb. I popped two Advil.

6:15 AM back in the car, still a bit drunk.

I flew through the sleeping Super Bloom.

9:00 AM arrived just in time to see Dewey’s race.

His first lap around the five mile track he whizzed by us. But on the second lap I counted riders…8, 9, 10, 15… “something’s wrong.”

“Mom, maybe just a bad race.” Huey said.

A mom knows.

My phone rang, “Dewey crashed. We’re in the medical tent.”

Dewey had a gash over his eye, and legs all scratched up. His front bike tire exploded.

11:00 AM waiting in the ER.

When the doctor removed the Dewey’s bandage Huey looked at me, “Are you going to barf, Mom?”

“Maybe.”

Yes, to the sight of bodily fluids but more I was now hungover.

1:00 PM Dewey’s head glued back together, we’re back in the glow of the Super Bloom.

3:00 PM dropped Huey back at school.

5:00 PM dropped Dewey at home. I still had a party to go to.

5:15 PM arrived a party declaring, “I am the Shell of the Girl I used to be.”

“Sangria?”

“Heck yes!”

“How was your weekend?”

“Well…”

 

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Spring Break

What happened to the good old days when my kids were younger? Spring break meant going to the zoo, the beach, having a picnic in the park. Now each day needs to be filled with one big activity after another. Or worse filling it with some big trip.

I overheard Daisy and Dewy talking in the car.

“Did you know the Jones are going to Belize for spring break?”

“No way, John’s family is going to Hawaii.”

“Susan’s family is going to San Diego.”

“Really? That’s too bad.”

Too bad? What’s happening?

“Mom, where are we going?”

“Going?”

“We have to go somewhere.”

“Why? Just because everyone else does? Let’s be original. Let’s stay home. There’s Spring Cleaning. It will be fun!”

“Really? It’s so boring.”

And there it was the look of total unfiltered disdain. It would have been better if I had said, “Let’s kill the dog, and eat him.”

These were desperate times, desperate measures…I did what anyone would have done. I called these parents.

“Hi, I’ve heard you’re going to Hawaii for spring break I was wondering if you could tell my kids you were going someplace less fun, less exotic. Like say North Korea. Please it would just make it better for me, and quite frankly for all of us who are staying home and forced to be eclipsed by your full moon’s shadow.

Surprisingly not warmly received.

It was up to me.

“So kids, did you hear the Smiths are going on this great trip to Afghanistan where they are going to clean up the the homes destroyed by endless fighting? Now doesn’t staying home where its safe sound a whole lot better?”

“No, that sounds awesome.”

“You mean you would rather go to a war zone and clean houses than stay home for Spring Break.”

“Yeah.”

And that is when it hit me.  A plan so divisive, so sinister, that only a mother could think of it.

“Then let’s do it. It is the latest craze you know. I think it was called KleanHouz.”

“Really?”

“Yes, I might be paraphrasing a bit, but I think you are right, a great adventure. But you realize there is training involved.”

“Training?”

“Well yeah. You’re going to be doing huge amounts of cleaning and organizing peoples’ things, their “war ravaged stuff.” Clothes, their closets need to be sorted out and cleaned, everything will have to be hung with care, old clothes thrown away. Toys gone through and old games, you get the picture.

“Wow, Mom you’re right.” Dewey said.

“Well you better get started. Of course we will have to submit photographs of our living environment to prove we are up for the task.”

“Ok, I’ll start on my closet. Do you have trash bags?”

“I like how you are thinking Daisy. More Kool-Aid dear?””

“I’ll start on the garage.”

My eyes filled with tears ”I love you so much.”

Next is summer…maybe a remodel.

 

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Painted Ladies

Back in September I was walking by a Patagonia store when I noticed a small sign that read ATTRACTS MONARCH BUTTERFLIES Seminar tomorrow night. I have always dreamed of having a garden that attracts butterflies. Beautiful butterflies just fluttering about. And now here it was a seminar to tell me how to achieve my goal.

I eagerly went and learned all about the migration pattern of the Monarch Butterfly. The secret… the Milkweed plant attracts these treasures. Monarch butterflies only eat Milkweed. Bingo! I signed up to have my house be put on a registry so that they will know to stop there. How do they do that, I wondered? Is there a butterfly whisperer? Some guy dressed like a butterfly waving his arms, “turn left at the big dip in the road.”

No matter how it happens I was happy to know I was on their radar.

On the following Saturday I was at the Farmers Market and low and behold Milkweed plants for sale. 72 hours earlier I had never even heard of Milkweed and now it was everywhere. Coincidence? I don’t think so.

I bought all plants they had and immediately planted them on my hillside. The next morning a beautiful Monarch butterfly showed up, then 2 then more. I cried it was so wonderful. And then they were gone. “Happy Trails.”

Last week butterflies began to show up again. But they were smaller than I remembered. They were still beautiful so soft and fragile.  First just a couple then more and more. Too many to count, too many to even see clearly.  All stopping by my roadside butterfly cafe.

My God! What have I done? I’m attracting all the migrating butterflies with my magic Milkweed plants! They were everywhere, like autumn leaves floating through the air.

I was in my car stopped at the traffic light with the sunroof open when low and behold a butterfly flew inside my car. The first thing I thought of was Meg Ryan in “You’ve Got Mail.”

Kathleen Kelly writes…
Once I read a story about a butterfly in the subway, and today, I saw one. It got on at 42nd, and off at 59th, where, I assume it was going to Bloomingdales to buy a hat that will turn out to be a mistake – as almost all hats are.

“Where are you going?  Possibly to Patagonia? Most likely.” I inquired of the small creature resting briefly on my arm, only to take off just as the light changed.

“Good-by little friend.” I shouted out my window.

Apparently due to all the rain we’ve had in Southern California swarms of butterflies from Mexico are traveling through on their way north just ahead of the Monarch butterflies’ migration. Wait a minute! Those Painted Ladies are going to eat all my Milkweed that I planted for the Monarch. There is only one thing to do to stop these imposters from coming over the border.

BUILD A WALL!  STOP THE ILLEGAL MIGRATION OF MEXICAN PAINTED LADIES

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New and Improved

 

In case you haven’t noticed I haven’t posted anything in a bit, and that’s because I’ve decided to change things up here at waffletude. An update. It will become New and Improved.

But is it really? Is new – er always an improvement? Does the old adage, “If it’s not broke don’t fix it?” even apply anymore? It seems like were always fixing, touching, doing, updating whether it needs it or not. I think there is a down side to updates.

It shouldn’t surprise you that I don’t update anything, so this idea seems foreign to me. If you look at my phone right now there are 20 requests for various updates that I will never fulfill.

That said, I’m feeling anxious because I’m behind on my updates. My computer needs an update, my phone needs an update, my watch needs an update. All this updating makes me want to upchuck. We should take a lesson from COKE, stop trying to change perfection.

I find that simply changing fonts and background colors only confuses me. Just when I figured out how to use the current version of an app there is an update to throw me right out of my comfort zone. Busy Work.

But in this case an update is warranted, even though I waffled with the idea for a while. A fresh coat of paint will do it some good.

Recently I was forced to update my online bank account. Now I have “Erica.” She pops up every time I simply want to check my balance.

“Hi Leslie. Want to chat?”

“No.”

“Not a good time to talk about your money?”

“No.”

“Okay Leslie let’s talk another time.”

“No.”

“No? Are you sure?”

Erica is becoming “that friend.” The one that you don’t want to be rude to and tell her you don’t want to be friends with her any more, so you hide in your car while she’s walking by.  I need to break up with Erica, but I’m afraid she won’t let me back into my bank account.

Lest we forget:

“HAL open the pod bay doors please!”

“I’m sorry Dave I’m afraid I can’t do that…”

Don’t worry I won’t be popping up to chat! Honestly, this update really is to make my life easier not yours.

So, in the future there won’t be any pictures, too much work for me and come to find out I can get in trouble for using copyrighted materials without asking or paying for them. Crazy Talk. It will be shorter, again too much work for me to write all that other stuff. This way I can post more often. It can be more casual not a precious work of literature… well at least it is to me. Hopefully not just lipstick on a pig!

Sit back and relax here comes the Grand Re-Opening…really? How grand is a re-opening? Again new fonts and paint?

Stellar Update

Amazing Re-opening

Coming Soon! Really? Soon? How soon? Well as soon as I can get to it.

One thing is constant…

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