3/8/10 – Monday

Please, if you’ve ever added me as a friend on Facebook and I haven’t friended you back, friend me again, or email me and tell me to PAY THE FUCK ATTENTION TO WHAT I’M DOING, because it’s likely I wasn’t paying attention and hit “ignore” (or whatever the other option that isn’t “add as friend” … Continue reading “3/8/10 – Monday”

Please, if you’ve ever added me as a friend on Facebook and I haven’t friended you back, friend me again, or email me and tell me to PAY THE FUCK ATTENTION TO WHAT I’M DOING, because it’s likely I wasn’t paying attention and hit “ignore” (or whatever the other option that isn’t “add as friend” is). I’ve never NOT friended someone who wanted to be Facebook BFFs and I’m pretty sure I’ve never unfriended anyone that I’ve friended, I am clearly a Facebook slut who’ll friend anyone who’ll have me.

And of course, I wouldn’t want you to miss out on my pearls of Facebook wisdom. HA.


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I mentioned something to Fred the other day about Facebook, and he said “No one ever friends me on Facebook!”

“They don’t?” I said in surprise.

“Never,” he said grumpily.

“That’s strange,” I said. And then I realized.

“You don’t HAVE a Facebook page, dumbass,” I said, swatting him on the arm.

“That’s no excuse.”


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Saturday mornings, Fred and I leave the house right before 7:00, so we can get to Publix the instant it opens (or shortly thereafter). Our grocery list is usually short, but I need Fred along to lift the heavy stuff (the gallon of milk and such). I’m sure he’s counting the days ’til I get clearance from the doctor to resume normal activities so he can stay at home while I schlep off to the grocery store.

We blew through Publix pretty quickly, picked up the stuff on our list, and headed for the checkout. Fred started bagging the groceries while I ran my debit card through the reader, and then I stood and watched him doing the rest of the bagging.

I glanced over as a teenage bagger, clearly intending to walk by, approached our lane. He saw me see him, winked at me, and then abruptly changed course to help Fred with the bagging duties.

Our stuff bagged, Fred and I headed for the exit, and I said (JOKINGLY, I assure you), “That kid was totally flirting with me!”

Fred smiled. “Obviously he thought you were a GILF.”

“Huh?” I said, stumped as to what the “G” could possibly stand for.

“Yeah, a GILF,” he said proudly.

“Girlfriend I’d like -?” I began.

Grandmother,” Fred said, and grinned at me.

I swatted him on the arm, laughing.

“A girlfriend wouldn’t be buying stool softener,” he added, guffawing at his own wit.



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On a side note, while the bagging was going on, the bagger held out to me the box of stool softener we were buying, and said “Do you want to put this in your purse?”

I struggled for a nanosecond with the idea of saying “Oh, let my husband put it in his pocket, SINCE IT’S HIS.” before I said “No, you can go ahead and bag it.”

On the way out to the car, Fred said “When the cashier was ringing everything up, I almost pointed to the box of stool softener and said ‘THAT belongs to my WIFE.'”

Tell me we’re not perfect for each other.


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Yesterday we went to Dog Days, the flea market in Tennessee, because Fred got some t-shirts from there a few weeks ago, and not only were they inexpensive, they were the thick fabric he likes (he doesn’t like thin t-shirts), and they held up well in the wash. He wanted to get some more and we didn’t have anything else planned, so off we went.

That place was PACKED. The line stretched almost out to the main road, and it took forever until we got to the entrance, paid our $1 parking fee, and parked.

I told Fred I wished we’d brought a trash bag with us, because the trash by the side of the road was bumming me out. I cannot STAND the fucking garbage people toss out their windows, it drives me nuts.

(It especially drives me nuts when they do it on our lawn. A few weeks ago there was a goddamn DIAPER by the mailbox. Fred watched me go to the mailbox, get the mail, look at the diaper, and then come back to the house. He gave me hell for not picking it up, but please. I AM NOT PICKING UP SOMEONE ELSE’S SHITTY (I assume) DIAPER. If I had any idea what motherfucker tossed that on my front lawn, I would have picked it up, taken it to their house, and set it on fire on their front steps. Fuckers.)

This little swamp is by the entrance to the flea market. The little tricycle in the middle of the swamp has been there as long as I can remember. It kind of creeps me out.

So we parked, and started walking up the aisles, looking at all the usual crap. I don’t know why we bother with looking at the stuff on the near side of the bridge (there’s a small bridge over a creek), because all the stuff we’re REALLY there for – the chickens and turkeys – are on the other side of the bridge. But we moseyed along and looked at the stuff for sale, and the people who were moseying along as well, and eventually we made it to the GOOD part of the flea market.

Fred ended up buying five t-shirts (and I live in hope that he’ll get rid of the awful, hole-riddled t-shirt he bought at Fuddrucker’s in Fort Walton Beach, FL several years ago), I bought a box of Girl Scout cookies (Samoas), and we spent a lot of time looking at all the puppies for sale.

Puppies sure are cute.

We also looked in amazement at the HUGE table of pickled goods (pickles, pickled okra, pickled eggs, pickled bologna), but didn’t actually buy any of it, though I certainly made some mental notes.

We looked longingly at the chickens and turkeys and eggs, but even though we’d brought a carrier with us (just in case), we didn’t bring any living thing home. “We don’t need any more chickens” is our new motto. Not that I expect us to abide by our motto for long, but we stuck to it this time!

We were home by noon with Fred’s new shirts and my Girl Scout cookies, and spent the rest of the day hanging out like the slugs we are.

Today, it’s supposed to be sunny and 68. I’m keeping my fingers crossed that it really happens!


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Kara says, “Come over here, darling. I won’t chew your face off. Much.”


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2009: No entry.
2008: No entry.
2007: No entry.
2006: Not that I downloaded them illegally, because I would NEVER.
2005: “This is good!” he said. “Old people always know where the good food is!”
2004: That guy, I thought to myself, looks an AWFUL lot like Larry the Cable Guy.
2003: No entry.
2002: Know what made me laugh so hard I cried, and even now when I think about it, I grin and giggle involuntarily? The idea of a cat using the word “manipulate.”
2001: It’s a comfortable pattern for me.
2000: No entry.