So long, and thanks for all the fish

It's become pretty clear that it's time for me to close up shop. I've been feeling it for awhile but didn't want to pull the plug until I understood why. Well, I just figured out why.

I'm sure you're relieved to learn it's not you, it's me.

Believe it or not, this month marks five years since Mr. B and I made our re-acquaintance. This blog turned out to be a chronicle of those five years. Sad to say, that chapter of my life is over, along with the need to write about it. No idea where I'm headed, but I've found I've already left "here" behind.

Thanks for your patronage. Thanks for the virtual shoulder(s) to lean on. It's been quite a ride.
 

Fifty-seven

Happy Birthday, Mr. B. If you were here, I would make you a cake. Miss you.
 

Thankful

I know, I'm late to the Annual Thanksgiving Blessing Count. It's taken some considerable pondering and navel-gazing, but I realized that, believe it or not, I am most thankful for each and every Fucking Growth Opportunity that has come my way, as miserable as they have been.

Sounds crazy, no? But since I am still (relatively) sane, I can only assume I am stronger. As I stand here (well, sit here on the couch) staring down my 52nd birthday in a few weeks, I feel like I am doing OK. Damned OK, in fact. Probably better than I can ever remember... doing. Or being. Or whatever.

Now, that being said, I want to make it perfectly clear, Universe, that as grateful as I am for the opportunities I've had to grow and evolve and all that shit, I am NOT volunteering for any more missions in the near future. I'd really like to take 2012 off. Maybe give someone else the opportunity to buff up their karma. My Angel of Death and Mercy outfit is packed away in the bottom of the storage unit and I really don't want to have to go dig it out.

If there's a form or something I need to fill out to make that official, send me a link, OK? You obviously know how to reach me.
 

Just say no

Not buying what they're selling: What a concept, especially this time of year.

WTF am I talking about? I am talking about not blowing all the money we don't have in the next thirty days.

Confused? Leo sums up (much better than I ever could) the perfectly logical reasons for doing so... or, would that be not doing so?

Click below to read the rest of this radical and (hopefully) sanity-inducing post.



I'm in. And you? What do you think? Deep inside, is shopping your true "reason for the season?"

Hmmm?
 

This is the week that was

I do love someecards.com. Somehow they always know exactly what's on my mind.
 

Three bucks the hard way

Today, Lovely Daughter and I visited a large national financial institution I will call BoA to close a joint account we had opened a decade prior when she left for college. Since then, I have come to hate BoA, mostly because of the user-hostile policies that have netted them obscene amounts of dollars from this modest account through overdraft fees alone.

As we waited outside for the branch to open (at TEN O'CLOCK!) we joked that they will probably have to lay off several people once they realize this account is closed.

The door finally opened and we walked over to the counter to state our request. That simple act launched the most blatant and fascinating display of ass-kissing I have ever seen. Not only did the customer service rep act like everything LD said was the most fascinating thing he had ever heard (maybe it was?) but before he would hand her the magic slip that would allow her to withdraw her meager funds, he called over his supervisor to grill her, in a most friendly and concerned manner, about her hopes and dreams and goals.

Really?

Suddenly, after ten years of indifferent treatment and can't-win policies, BoA was now her Best Friend Ever! They Cared About Her and Her Life! It was a frightening yet wondrous thing to witness.

Those folks worked their asses off in a desperate attempt to keep her two-dollar-and-ninety-two-cent account. And they made sure we sat through their entire spiel, waiting for us to relent to shut them the fuck up.

But they lost. Eat shit and die, BoA. And I mean that in the nicest possible way.
 

Vogue

I could take a photo of her every day and they would all be hilarious.

What's going on in that brain, as she lays there and stares (and drools) for hours? Crickets chirping in the dark? The sound of howling winds racing across the empty plains?

Yeah. Gotta be something like that.
 

Diversions

How did I spend last night? Why, creating a WinXP virtual machine on my Macbook, watching Eureka, eating Kit Kats, and knitting, of course. Wasn't everyone?

No wonder I'm single. It's just easier that way.
 

Home again

In early September I moved the blog to Tumblr. I was certain the new and exciting Tumblr format would magically dissolve all my blogging blocks, much like each new and exciting Swiffer product will magically make me want to clean my house.

Yeah. It worked just about as well. Surprised?

So I'm back in my old, familiar Blogger home. I've moved most of the Tumblr posts (9/2 - 10/13) over here so you don't have to worry for a moment that you might have missed something, uh, interesting. I also turned comments back on. (I'm hoping the Mumbai escort services have forgotten about me.)

Unfortunately, my last Tumblr post still holds true, so here it is, slightly modified to fit the current venue:

I was afraid this would happen. I’ve hit the wall. I knew I had wa-a-ay too much energy after I got back from Boston, and I knew I would have to pay for that. And paying, I am.

I’m going to crawl into my burrow for awhile and, um, groom myself or something. Forecasts say it’ll be awhile before I am able to cough up anything new… aside from a random Facebook status update.

So keep the tender bits down and I’ll catch ya... eventually. I always do come back, eventually.

p.s. Oh, and you can breathe now. The rumbling from my Oct. 3rd post turned out to be just gas. I do still like the connection between blogging and IBS, though.
 

Star Trek Universe

Watching the first episode of Star Trek: Deep Space 9 from 1993. Just realized that the computer pads everyone is carrying look suspiciously like color Kindles.

Hmm…