Just Breathe

It's quite lovely when you no longer associate a song with a certain person. And you love it again, perhaps even more than ever before.

It Also Comes in Blue

I don't know what this is. Well, obviously, it's a handbag. A designer handbag, Betsey Johnson, to be precise. MSRP-ed at $99.99. As you can see, it sports an old time telephone receiver on the top equipped with a headphone jack. I think it's supposed to be animal print, though I can't come up with an animal found in nature that has pink spots. Unless it has a rash. But I digress. I was not able to further investigate the interior of the bag to see how things might work, it was all festooned with pesky little ties attaching the festive pink receiver. In any case, this type of receiver would be very impractical as a headset. If you will recall the dark ages for a moment, fancy hands-free headsets soon took their place on landline cordless phones. The only possible explanation is that this phurse pone purse/phone device is what the tech people at CONTROL devised for Agent 99 when she became envious of hubby Maxwell Smart's shoe phone. 

Ten Milligrams of Pain

When the drug prescribed to you for one thing ends up creating all sorts of other problems, it's time to rethink. I was an optimistic patient. I didn't read the list of possible side effects until I started to feel really crappy. Then I stopped taking it altogether. I have message into the PA who prescribed my drug, but she has not yet responded. I wonder how many drug trials we will have to do in order to find something that works without doing me in. I wonder how much it's going to cost. In the meantime, spring has arrived. More outdoor activities and more veggies will help, I expect. And I'm still working on not taking it personally that the clinic's scale had me at a whopping 195 pounds. Seriously! I know, it's been a long winter of carb-leading and I'm solidly into the size 14 jeans. But please! The last time I weighed that much was a week before I gave birth to a nine-pound-plus baby. All I know is, next time I'll set down my purse and kick off my shoes. Maybe blow my nose. You can never be too careful. 

Raw or Cooked?

My Disguise for Tomorrow

Keeping it Fresh

I think it's entirely more appropriate that I have some of mom's ashes in a wine bottle. Not just any wine bottle, mind you. The Edna Valley Chardonnay was lovely. 

Pass the Spam, Please

I delete all spam comments, even when they are particularly clever. A recent one was posted in Arabic, which I thought was exceedingly clever. I don't have an enormous following, that I'm aware, among folks whose primary language is in Arabic, so I was a bit puzzled. I was relieved when it translated to a company name instead of some political diatribe. This is my blog, dammit, so I'm the only one who gets to go on rants about stuff. The comment has been deleted.

It's The Little Things

Behold the tardigrade.  They're very small, about half a millimeter long when full grown. Capable of surviving all sorts of inhospitable conditions from the vacuum of space to boiling volcanic mud, they are hardy little beasts. Which gives me one more tiny thing to worry about. Like the tiny critters that make their home in your eyelashes. And dust mites. I fear I have wiped out entire multi-generation colonies of them while cleaning. Plus, now I'm concerned that I have eaten multitudes of tardigrades, totally by accident. I expect they can tolerate the hazards of the human digestive system, which means I have also pooped them out. I really need to stop thinking about this. There are plenty of bigger things that require and deserve my attention.