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The Bang Bang Theories

Right Turn

Today was not my favorite Monday. Now, I know good and well, Reader, Monday makes no promises.  Except I had that whole brand new vitamin routine to test out, and maybe I put too much burden on its shoulders.

I expected too much, perhaps, from a lone Centrum Women.

I actually debated if I was a Centrum Silver candidate, and had them in my hand, but just couldn’t make that commitment yet. I think I’ve got at least fifteen more years before I’m a Centrum Silver.  Sshh, Reader. That’s the story ‘m telling myself.

This morning I got off on a late foot.  I overslept after a night of fitful sleep.  Why is it that I can’t be as tired at 11 p.m. as I am at 6 a.m.? I get the best sleep from 6 a.m. to 10 a.m.

Tonight I’m hoping for a better go at it under the covers.

I remember when that phrase had a whooole different meaning. Ahem.

The workday itself was meh, nothing big, just meh, which is frankly a win in a whole lot of books for a Monday at work.  I have a lot to get done this week.

After work, since the day wasn’t setting my soul on fire, I took a right instead of a left and headed towards the beach.

I decided to make Florida work in my favor. Again.

It often delivers without my even asking.

I have witnessed some of the most beautiful sunsets driving home from work. So so pretty. Pinks blending into oranges and then into reds. All the puffy clouds.

The reach of the palm trees.

That right turn led me here.

The sea was angry today, my friends. Crashing and aggressive. I sat and watched it for a while and inhaled deeply and exhaled what was stressing me until the salt air soothed my restless soul tonight.

And then I headed to Canal Street and had an appetizer and a $5 margarita and talked to a nice woman who sat down next to me.

She and her husband lived in Florida for 18 years, with a home right on the beach. They sold it and moved to Georgia to be near their oldest daughter. But then Georgia just got too damn cold for her, so two years ago they moved back.

Lived a block away from where we were having dinner. Asked why I lived so far from the beach.

Money, honey.

When they moved from their beach house, they got a cool million for it.  When they moved back two years ago, they couldn’t have afforded their old house. It’s now valued at three million.

And that’s why I live 30 miles from the beach.

Today found a little bit of it’s soul for me.  Some crashing waves. Some friendly words. A nice drive  again watching another beautiful sunset close out the day. And my small girl waiting for me when I got home. 

Let’s do it again tomorrow, Reader. Only I’m going to work harder for less meh during the day.

How We Do It

I worked really hard on my Vitamin D today, Reader.

It was hard work, because we had intermittent rain showers and I had to plan my pool time carefully and effectively to strategically maximize the sun.

All my corporate experience really came into good use today.

I have also been hyper-focused on HYDRATION, Reader, because it’s important to get your insides as wet as your outsides. I think that’s how the saying goes. If that’s not a saying maybe I need to embroider it on a pillow so it feels like an official statement.

So I worked on wetting my insides and outsides today.

A co-worker gave me a tip about drinking coconut water for a good dose  of potassium and really good interior wetting, so I’ve been adding that to my mouth plan and yes, I have an official Mouth Plan, everyone does, Reader it’s absolutely not something I just made up. Other sections of my Mouth Plan today included finding a cake and shoving a slice in there, so I went out and hunted one from the Publix and just enjoyed a little Red Velvet.

Last Monday I had made a proclamation to go sugar-free for 30 days, but then on Friday I thought that’s silly, what if I die on day 25 and completely have missed opportunities for cake based on some rule I imposed on myself, so I had a little Klondike bar yesterday and a slice of cake moments ago because otherwise death might win and no one wants that.

That’s how we fight death over here in Florida, Reader. We eat the cake.

You know what else is super fun about Florida? Well, since you asked, I’ll tell you.

All the street names.

They are just fun and make me happy.

I can drive down Avocado Road, to Pineapple Way, to Palm Leaf Drive.  I work on Hibiscus, which is a section of streets in Edgewater that are named in alphabetical order so there’s Hibiscus and Indigo Palm and Juniper and Kumquat and Lime Tree and Mango…well, you get the idea.

So basically you could give directions to take a left at Mango and head to Pineapple and then merge onto Avocado and there you are.

Of course I don’t live on a fun street name like that, but I do have a fun address. 1000 is my mailing address, which is interesting because back in Cle my mailing address is 6000. So something about the triple zeros pulls me to ’em.  Maybe that’s only interesting to me, but you know the rule, Reader: if it’s in my head, it belongs in yours, too.

You’re welcome for all the things I don’t actually tell you.

It’s time for bed, or else I’d tell you more, but let’s close out on the day and get a good night’s rest so we can GET IT tomorrow.  I bought some new vitamins and I am excited to try one out tomorrow morning. I want to see how much pep they put in my step.  My couzin swears by it, and I always take advice unless it involves something I don’t want to do.

Also, it’s a clear sign you’re not 25 anymore when you’re excited for morning to try out a new vitamin. Oh, the things we look forward to, Reader.  Hope you have some bright spots this week!

 

Reminder to Self. And I May Be A Little Tipsy. Probably. Most Likely.

Okay, I’m going to set the table for us here, right now, before we even get started.

In the spirit of full disclosure, I didn’t even WANT to drink this entire bottle of wine tonight*, but here we are, the last remains in that fingerfucked glass.

*of course I did.

I was compelled to drink that entire bottle because my refrigerator is too small to fit an opened bottle upright on any of the shelves, so I would have had to leave it out on the counter,  and we both know a nice chardonnay should be chilled for freshness** so since I didn’t have a suitable “save it for another night” method, I just drank it. Or am in the process.

**I’m not sure if that’s a rule or not, but it sounds reasonable so I’m sticking to it.

My super personal too-personal-to-post-to-here-sorry-Reader-but-you’ll-have-to-PAY-for-those-thoughts-one-day journal (also noted in the photo) details all the Worries I’ve had recently, with the most recent worries centering around Which Cat I Hostage-Situation To Florida With Me.

It has pages of worries.

I kept trying to assuage those worries by reminding myself of All The Reasons we shouldn’t worry, but the reasons not to worry did no good.

At the end of the trip, I decided to bring Kitty Purry to Florida with me instead of DJ. I had kept vacillating between the two. I love them both, but DJ charms me more*** and he loves me and I love him and it was just a tough call. I love Purry, too, but she also loves Kenny, and hates change. But ultimately I choose her because while she’s sixteen and old and doesn’t like change, she HATES cats and I figured she could use the vacation.

***stop judging me for having a favorite, Reader!  We are a NO JUDGE zone! That starts with DON”T JUDGE ME!

Anyway. She was The Chosen One.   And the morning we were packing up to go, I put her in the airline carrier and off we went at 5:30 a.m. in the godawful-early hours of the morning to the airport.

A minute way from the house I questioned My Mister, “Why do I smell pee?? MY GOD, I forgot to put a pee-pad in the carrier in case she has an accident while we’re travelling!’

I can’t remember a fucking thing at 5:30 in the morning, Reader. It is not my optimized time. Just so you know, in case you’re ever quizzed about me on Jeopardy.

My Mister assured me there was no smell of pee, I was over-reacting.

He’s worse with mornings than I am, just so you know, in case that’s ever a question on Jeopardy.

We arrived at the airport and I moved the carrier to get out of the car and discovered my lap was completely wet.

Remember where I said a few sentences ago that I’m not good at 5:30 a.m.? It crossed my mind that I peed my own pants and just didn’t know it.

Once I came to my senses, I realized that I had ONCE AGAIN**** been peed on by Kitty Purry.

****This is at least the FOURTH time, I’ve lost count. And yet still she lives because I heart her and obviously I need to do a better job of meeting her needs.

Luckily I had a suitcase full of clothes with me.

I presto-change-o’d into a non-peed-on pair of jeans in the minivan. Luckily I had a spacious vehicle to change clothes in while curbside at the airport. Lucky, lucky Me, Reader. All the lucks were happening.

But when I think back to All the Worries I had, and what actually has become our reality – a little pee, but mostly good travel – I realize how SMART those quote-creators are, that we don’t need to have so much worry.

Because while she spent the first few days hiding in a duffel bag deep in my lone closet, she’s also going to be okay.

She’s looking around.

I had the door opened tonight while I was cooking to keep our little place aired-out, and I turned around and she was gone. Outside in the courtyard exploring on her own, without me.

Prior to today, she wouldn’t even stick a toe out of the doorway without Mama by her side.

She’s adjusting and getting more comfortable and she’s beginning to realize the threats in her mind aren’t founded in reality.

She’s relaxing a little.

Mama’s relaxing a little.

I like having her little body at home when I get in from work. I like having to tend to her. Scoop her litter. Feed her treats. Sweep up. Freshen her water. I needed something to have responsibility towards more than just myself.

It’s good for me.

It’s good for her.

We’re going to be okay.

And all those worries?

Are all just things I worried about three worries ago.

So keep perspective.  Worry about the things you know, and not the things you think.

There’s often a solution. Like changing your pee-pants in the car, grabbing your cat and getting on that plane.*****

*****I know that’s not a Universal Specific, Reader. But bear with me, it’s All The Wine. I had to wrap this up.

Life Hack

Reader, what I’m about to disclose is going to have you EATEN UP with jealousy over another glimpse into my magical, adventurous life.

I’d apologize, but I won’t, because some things need to be told.

So here goes:

I spent a morning this week cleaning my shower with a dryer sheet.

Naked.

I threw the naked part in to make the detail a little more salacious, but really I was naked because it’s just easier to clean a shower naked. Do you know my very first job was as a “housekeeper” at Holiday Inn? Well, it was.

I didn’t clean those rooms or showers naked, in case you were wondering.

But here and now? I clean my shower naked, and then just finish up with a shower. I’m efficient that way. That should probably not go on my resume.

Anyway.

I’ve been “home” in Ohio for just over a week now.  I had an extended stay due to the threat of Dorian.

Outside of a few giant little life problems to contend with, it has been deliciously nice.  Cold, but nice.

Yes, my Florida Blood has already started to thin, I guess, because I find the weather to be a tich on the cold side.

I’ve done a lot of cat cuddling. 

 

Friend visiting and patio-sitting.

Late-night bar-snacking and big-drink drinking.

I have missed all those things, and also the people who I’ve had the good fortune to enjoy the week with. It’s difficult, because while I’m here as a visitor, my car is in Florida so I rely on the good grace of my people to pick me up and haul me around – and Uber. TGFU.

I have tried to squeeze in All The Things in 8 days, and clean my shower with a dryer sheet, because #CleanHouseGoals.

Today is my last day to and I need to get to squeezing MORE out of it.

I have my carpet to clean.

A new litter box arrangement I’ve given some thought to.

Packing up. I have more things I need to take to FL with me. Including Kitty Purry.

It’s been an angsty decision, which one of my seven three cats to bring down with me.

I’d love to have DJ with me – this belly every night? Yes, please.

However. I don’t think he would be as happy down there with much more limited running-around space.

He’s like the Dixie Chicks, he needs wide open spaces, room to make his big mistakes. Or at least poop in the grass.

So after careful thought, Kitty Purry is moving to Florida and starting her role as Sophia from the Golden Girls – she’s small and grouchy, so naturally.

She likes small spaces. Hates other cats. Loves mama. She will miss Kenny, but she’ll be the one who adjusts the easiest.

She and I will be just fine for a while.

What I  know for sure is that where ever we end up and for however long, we will make the most of it, despite the hard parts.

It’s hard leaving, and not knowing when I’ll be back. Maybe Christmastime? It’s hard having a foot in two states. It’s hard having people and family and problems and good times, and leaving it all behind me to let it sort itself out.

Sometimes you have to push though it and grow through the chaos.

So I’m still working on that. And in the meantime, I’m cleaning the hell out of my house. It was really fine, but I just have a different method than Kenny and while I’m here, I TCB the hell out of things.

If nothing else, I will leave a clean path behind me to make way for clear paths in front of me.

 

stressin’ and obsessin’

Reader, it’s been Monday all damn day so far.

I got very short sleep last night. For a girl* who mostly has an upbeat attitude and an unclenched jaw, I still have a lot of stuff on my mind, and it tends to run away with itself as I’m trying to settle in for sleep.

*girl, yes girl, not middle-aged woman. because it’s my story and i’m holding on as long as i want.

Recently I read a thing that I wrote down because it was prophetic, and it said something like, “What were your worries three worries ago?”

I think I read this from Liz Gilbert (eat-pray-love), and I’ve actually gone and tried to recall my worries from three worries ago, and some came right to mind, but others were tough to drum up. So I’m trying to just Calm Down, as T-Swizzle sings, and remind myself that these worries will all be past worries at some point and probably won’t even amount to much of anything.

I’m mostly worried about going home this weekend, and then making the decision to bring one of mon petite chats down to Florida and letting him – or her – settle in here with me.

I worry about who to bring. Probably DJ, but I miss Purry, too, and also Toby (but he is NOT a good candidate for change); the others wouldn’t be good with change either, especially in a small temporary house, so it’s really just one of those two.

I worry that once I bring him, he’s going to feel confined in this space vs. the house.

I worry that I’ll let him out on the patio with me and #1/ the owner won’t like it and tell me non, and then he’ll never be allowed out with me and he will be sad.

I don’t want him to be sad.

I just will be happy when these worries are my worries three worries ago.

Since I had such fraught-filled sleep last night, I’m hitting the hay.  And hoping that getting these darn fears out of my head and down on the computer will keep them from keeping me awake tonight.

It’s hard sometimes to be a girl who moves to Florida all by herself, Reader. But she’s learning and trying to flow with the go.

And oh, PS, in other news, I’ve been listening obsessively to T-Swifts new album and I’m in Lover with it, so there. Because I’m a young girl.  Ahem.

We Only Need One Boss

Hi From the Sunshine State, Reader!  I have So. Many. Things. To tell you! And yet here I am, instead of writing I choose to Pool this morning, and yes, it’s a verb because I pooled the hell out of the better part of the high afternoon and it was delicious.

I’m getting ready to head to Melbourne to visit my dad’s lady, and I’m going to be late at this point, but hey, guess what, life will keep moving along.

I’m learning how to finally relax a little in life.

Kenny pointed out, “You hardly even yell at me anymore on the phone.”

My jaw is less tense, I wasn’t even aware how clenched it was as a natural state of being, until now when I notice it feeling clentched up. Before it was just always all clutched up on itself, I didn’t know there was another way for it to be.

Well, there is. It’s being relaxed most of the time.

I’m stretching and doing my own version of yoga for the stiff and un-agile, sometimes in the pool, sometimes in my Minute House, but always some form of it every single day.  I’m trying to find a benchmark to see if I’m getting more bendy, but so far it feels all the same, maybe – but maybe it’s better. It’s not worse, so I’ll take that for a win.

In my head this week I’ve heard The Hoff’s words, “be as good to your insides as you are to your outsides,” so I’ve been drinking my green smoothies and now my poops are actually greenish from all the greens I’m ingesting, you’re welcome for that, and also I’m sorry, but hey, blame The Hoff.  She instructs, I listen.  And then I tell.  It’s a vicious cycle of what’s in my brain and now is in yours.

Did you know I live in the country, Reader? I didn’t even know there was the “country” in Florida, I thought it was all oceans and beaches and lake and alligators, but nope. There’s the country and I’m in it.

It’s so country, I left for work one day this week and there was a pack of turkeys strutting down the driveway.

Apparently there was a BEAR in our backyard, too, and there is a pack of baby coyotes that I hear practice howling as dusk falls on the evening.  And believe me when I say they are not in the comfortable distance, they are c-l-o-s-e.

Which leads right into my next story, but I don’t have time to tell it right now as I need to get on the road, so now you have a cliff hanger, but I promise it will be told tomorrow, pinkie swearsies, so come back, I also pinkie swearsies no more info about my poops. That promise is just for tomorrow, not for good, because if something super-interesting starts to happen down there, I know ima gonna wanna tell you about it.  Because we’re thisclose at least in my mind, and that’s what we share with each other. Except you’re falling down on your end of the stick, so feel free to leave a sharing comment if you’d like.  But no pressure, because you do you, Reader.

I’m not the boss of you.

That does lead me to think of something my dad’s lady told me once and that is, “The only thing that’s the boss of me is my ass. I do whatever it tells me to do, and when it tells me.”

So there.

 

 

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What’s Doin’

Yooouuuu Guyzzzz!!

I’m practicing writing from my new desk/computer area at my little Minute Florida House.  I finally got around to organizing most of my things, well, 80% of my things, and now I’m trying to use the various locations in my room so it feels like a great big house.

I need a trip to the dollar store next weekend to buy a few baskets to organize the rest of my things. That’s a project for then, not this weekend, because I’m minding my p’s and q’s (pennies and quarters? is that what it really stands for??) until payday. So no unnecessary spending until then. Most things can wait, unless if I were out of toilet paper or coffee – neither of those things can wait. Luckily I’m stocked for a week or so on both, unless some disaster happens on my insides.

My steps have really fallen behind since living here. And being employed where I sit much of my time. I’m talking about the steps that my Apple watch bothers me about, Reader, not like I’ve fallen behind on building a staircase. Don’t be ridiculous, I can’t build a staircase.  I’ve really stopped closing those exercise rings on my watch, which is basically just a really pushy and pricey Fitbit, and I’m not quite sure why I’ve fallen behind, because I got in the pool not once, but TWICE today, Reader, for my HEALTH, and not because I was procrastinating cleaning up my minute house. Yes, it’s my Minute House, as in it takes one minute to walk the whole entire perimeter of it, so don’t pronounce it “my-nute” or then our brains aren’t talking the same way and we should always try to be in sync, Reader, because that’s how energy in the universe works, or maybe I’m thinking of girls and their menstrual cycles, but either way, it’s MIN-ITE house, and shew, that was a long way to go.

The morning views in my Minute House are still spectacular.  I mean, it’s not a beach view, but it’s not a shame on the eyes.

That was when I woke up this morning and peeped outside to see how it was looking. It was looking like I needed to slip on my swimsuit and grab my orange float, which is exactly what happened.

Then I came in and worked on the putting away of my stuff, and cooking not just one, but two damn meals for the upcoming week in that teensy tinesy kitchen.

Friday night’s dinner was a Cowboy Ribeye steak dinner, so I haven’t been exactly inconvenienced in the cooking arena by my smaller surroundings. I’ve made due.

I promise I’ll post pictures of my cutie little minute house next weekend, because I know you’re all clamoring to see where I rest my head at night.  Go with me on this, Reader, make me feel the love down here.

I’ll have more stuff to say, now that I have my computer out of the bag and set up on her desk, and believe me, it’s going to be way way way more boring exciting than posting pictures of what I’ve cooked on my 2-burner stove. Just you wait, Reader.  But remember this:

You Get What You Need

If you’re here with me now, know that we made it into August. With the state of things in the country right now, we shall acknowledge that we are here, and that in itself is an accomplishment.

If you are my friendie on FB, you know that I am insufferably posting photos of me in various stages of relax in my may-as-well-be-private pool. Sorry not sorry, Reader.

I’m working on getting settled in to mah new digs. I’m heading back to Melbourne today to do more packing up of mah stuff and then I’ll be able to really settle and get a true read on if I’m happy or not in Florida. With so much back and forthing, it’s an unknown.

I’ve struggled in the new place with the size of the kitchen. I don’t even have a full-sized sink, just a little wet-bar type sink, and a working counter big enough for a single-server Keurig.

This dumb thing has caused me angst, as I have to be able to cook some meals or I’ll go broke eating out.  So I need to re-adjust my cooking strategy, and figure out what I actually need to do in the kitchen.

I know what I cannot do:

1/ Make a cake

2/ Make Thanksgiving Dinner

3/ Toast stuff in a toaster

4/ Microwave anything

The microwave got moved, and an outlet was supposed to be installed, but that hasn’t happened yet. I can run a power cord, but am trying to avoid junking up my little area with unnecessary stuff.

But instead of focusing on the limiters of my Teensy Kitchen, I’ve decided to focus on what I can do with that space.

1/ Make coffee naked. Because it’s my own place and I can do all of my cooking naked should I choose to do so.

2/ Poor wine into my glass and drink it. Naked.

3/ Make a mushroom and cheese omelet and make “toast” in a frying pan, which is frankly delicious because it’s just soaked in butter. Naked.

4/ Make a spaghetti dinner, which is what I did on my first night there. Not naked, but I could if I wanted.

Now, I didn’t get all crafty with my Italiano meal-ie-o, and in fact my dinner cost me a whopping $4 because all the ingredients came from the Dollar Tree.

A can of Prego (which is awful, btw), thin spaghetti, a bag of frozen veggies for some added vitamins (which was mostly a bag of frozen pea pods and very little anything else, but luckily I like pea pods), a bag of what I thought would be questionable meatballs, but they were actually quite tasty.

I made that, and then fried toast into garlic bread which was delicious and also probably not healthy.

 

Yes, I know you’re jealous that my whole dinner came from Dollar Tree. If you would have asked me a year ago if that were even a possibility, I would have looked at you with chicken eyes.

Yet here we are.

I had no way of knowing in January what this year held for me. How many of us really do know that, though. Life just changes, it’s a fluid and breathing thing and we have to learn to match our own breaths to the new rhythms or we’ll suffocate.

I’m working on it. Every single day, I work on some aspect of adapting to my changing environment, pushing myself into leaning in to it, to see where it goes vs. resisting and belaboring the hard things.  And there are a lot of hard things.  I miss my People.  My cats. My house. My movie theater. My wing-night-and-drinks with friends. My patterns and habits and creature comforts, literally and figuratively. Watching our “shows” together – My Mister has zoomed through Stranger Things and now I’m left to catch up.  All those things.

But I’m forcing myself to lean in to the changes, Reader. Because eventually this will be my past, and I want to look back on it as the most epic time I moved to Florida, got an apartment two steps from the pool, did a great job at my new job, made new friends, and created a life I didn’t even know was on my horizon.  I insist this is going to be a past I’m proud of as I move into the future.

Traveled In & Out Your Door

Helloooo, Reader!  Myohmy, How I’ve missed you!

I understand it may seem as if I’m effing off down here in Heaven’s Waiting Room. There is my fair share of this:

Because as my new Pool Friend Rita points out, it’s not that we are just floinking around in the water because it’s oh-my-fuck-hot for fun and games, “IT’S FOR OUR HEALTH!!”

We do our exercises in there.  We stretch and pedal and arm twirl and lunge and backwards walk and splay-leg and squat-but-not-too-low-because-water-up-the-nose.

Rita taught me the tricks of using a pool noodle as a water bicycle, and as a support for breast stroking all over the place, and yes I just typed BREAST STROKE so haha tee-hee twelve-year-old-schoolboys.

Give me a moment while I’m done snickering.

Okay. Now back to it.

 

While it may seem as if I’m just frolicking around, my weeks are actually a whole lot more stressful than appearances may lead one miles and miles away to believe.

My week goes something like this:

Sunday night:  Begin fretting about the long-ass drive I have in the morning.  Stay up on my phone long after I’m supposed to be sleeping willing a $10-a-night-on-the-beach near work into existence on Airbnb.

I actually sometimes think I’ll just luck into a place that’s normally $100 because I wish it so hard, and surely don’t they know who I am already for chrissake.  Give it to me cheap, People.

Finally, around 2 a.m., turn off my airbnb app and go to sleep, figuring I’ll figure it out on Monday.

Monday: Pissed I don’t have a bed close to work lined up, what the fuck, Me.

Later Monday: Realize the beach cottages are not going to come down into my budget, because these foolish owners would rather have their places sit empty than have me fart in their bed for $20 a night. Imagine.

Monday Night: Get home from work around 7ish p.m., book a place for Tues-Wed-Thurs-check-out-Friday-and-Go-To-Work.  Now I have to hurriedly*** pack four work-days worth of clothing, girl products and the like, but wait, that’s not all!

***as an asside, how the hell do you spell hurry-id-ly?? wait, i just looked it up.. is it pronounced HURRY-ID-LEE?? Well, who knew. I thought it was HURR-ED-LY. Hm. The things we learn when blogging.  I really should get my honorary teaching degree because I just taught you this, Reader, so you’re welcome and I’ll take an apple on my desk in the morning.***

I also have to gather up FOOD for the week. Because I’ve shopped for the household down here, and have purchased $300** groceries and I’m not leaving it all behind so I have to pack up and then sherpa groceries into my workplace so I have lunches and then something to cobble together for dinner while I’m Willie Nelson****

**I wish that were an exaggeration, but it is not

****come on, work with me, Reader. I’m Willie Nelson because……..come’on, you’ve got it….I’m ON THE ROAD AGAIN.

Luckily, I was fortunate to get a free collapsable little red wagon and it has been handy in hauling my crap in and out of this house and then into whatever flop house I’m frequenting that week.

In some good news, I’ve gotten to sleep around A LOT of this Upper East Coast of Florida in the past couple of months, so feather in my cap, and that sounds a lot more dirty than what’s actually happening, which is mostly my eating crackers and drinking wine alone in some foreign room in someone else’s bed, which also sounds a lot more exotically exciting that what’s actually going on. Because I’m literally eating crackers and drinking wine alone most nights during the week.

But then last week, my circumstances changed. I woke up from a hot-as-fuck sleep at 2 a.m. and got fucking serious about manifesting my living arrangements.

1/ Must have a/c that I control

2/ Must have a pool

3/ Must have a small kitchen with a burner and not just a microwave

4/ Must have a private entrance

5/ Must have a good bed

6/ Must love cats

7/ Must have laundry facility

8/ Must not cost one dime more than $CheapOhDollars all-in, including wifi and cable.

REE. DER.

I wrote it down.

On my 1.5 hour drive into work.I thought about it and said it out loud and believed in my whole heart it existed, and I just needed to find it.

And I willed it into my world.

On Tuesday night, that was delivered into my lap.

I checked in to my Airbnb that night – which was a private entrance, ten steps from the pool:

And it has a kitchenette.

And the outside has a bar area with swings and a grill and tables and amenities…

…and the room is nice and the bed is comfy and no one committed a Forensic Files type crime against me in the middle of the night.

And the owner asked if I’d like to live here once I explained my plight of weekly bed-hopping and she said my $CheapOhNumber out loud as her fee, and oh she offered me her washer and dryer included, and she said, “Sure, bring your cat,” and now Kitty Purry doesn’t even know it, but she’s moving to Florida in a month and won’t she be excited!!

She probably won’t be excited.

Until she gets here and sleeps in her mama’s loving arms once again.

While I’ve shown the pictures above of where I stayed, that won’t actually be my room. She wants me to have the NICER room, with more “beachy” colors and updates, so I’ll be one room over, and yay oh yay oh yay me!

I still may be eating crackers and drinking wine in bed alone for dinner most nights. But Evening Girl is already making a lot of plans for Morning Girl’s ass to get up early and do her leg squats and pool sprints before she even gets to work. Because 10 steps and a heated pool, and if I fail me on this, I will never forgive myself.

So while we may have not had as much together time as I would have liked, Reader, please hold tight. It’s going to get better. For me, oh so much easier. I willed this into my existence. Now I’ve gotta go, I’ve got a million dollar payday I’m hard at work thinking about next.

Hm. Maybe I should have started with that wish.

And I just realized that I was giving you my weekly blow-by-blow but only made it until Tuesday, but who cares, just know that come Friday, I’ve been hauling stuff out of wherever I was staying, dragging whatever was perishable into work, hauling it back into the house in Melbourne at 8 p.m. at night, just to start it all over again on Sunday. It’s been .. well. Let’s just say I’ve deserved those few hours in the pool as my consolation prize for my disheveled life. Now take back all the mean things you were thinking about me.

 

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She Paints Her Nails Instead of Writing. But dang, her nails look nice.

Oh My Word, Reader! And good day to you! This whole Trixie Moves to The Sunshine State thing has taken a toll on my story telling, because even RIGHT THIS MINUTE I’m thinking how I should be in my swimsuit lounging around in the pool instead of sitting on the porch with my fingers buried in ‘lectronics.

Except I’m still only on Cuppa Coffee #2, so while I get myself fueled up, we might as well have a chat.

So we both know by now that during this Life Adventure Chapter, I’ve been very much the vagabond, laying my head on my different beds.

It’s not as glamorous as it sounds, Reader.

***** Many hours later *****

I can’t seem to get my groove back here. It’s now 11:37 PM AT NIGHT and I was tired four hours ago and why am I not sleeping?? Because I wanted to have one post this weekend because I like to write, but apparently not as much as I like to pool, because that’s what I did for two hours this afternoon, and lemme jusssay, it was glorious and I heart Florida even though there is much about it that I do not understand. Like how the pool isn’t full of people swimming around on each and every glorious day.

In some news, Reader, I ***fingers crossed and sphincter tight for the wishing*** MAY have a close-to-work living solution on the near horizon and it’s not in a camper where my future death will be perpetrated, which is a plus in my books.  Maybe not in your books, but mine for sure. I’m not ready to be murdered yet. I still have too much to do here. Grace and Frankie isn’t going to watch itself and I will frankly be p-o’d if I die before I’m all caught up on that show. It’s making me realize there’s still time for me to be awesome, maybe.

That is all. Because I didn’t give you the time and attention you deserved this afternoon, you’re getting a buncha nothing and still not the answers to why I have two skinned elbows and am missing two that I know of pair of pants. There’s a mystery and/or a sordid tale here, Reader, and that is your cliffhanger.

You’re welcome.

 

 

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