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The Bang Bang Theories

Things I Like and You Might, Too.

Reader, I have to get in a second post today so I can test out my new subscribe-via-email thingamajig, it deploys again tonight at 10 p.m., but only if I have something new.

So I’ve decided to share some things I’ve liked in 2017 with you.

But before I do that, I just want to complain for a minute, about how come I’m often on the tail-end of learning about things that other people know for a long time and knowledge-hoard?? For instance, NO ONE – until recently – told me that to combat massive tangles in my hair, to put a Wet Brush in my shower and brush my conditioner through my wet hair, which is much easier than trying to drag a brush through the birds nest that seems to evolve after I get out of the shower. Plus, it keeps it smoother, it dries easier and is overall much much better.

Not a one of you told me to do that, Reader, and for this I blame you.  It took a random trip to a Best Cuts for a blowout for the stylist to tell me it would probably help my tangle-y hair. And she was correct, despite my almost not taking her advice because she smelled like cigarette smoke. Yes, that was almost my deciding factor to trust in her or to not. I never said anything here makes sense, Reader.

In addition to that step, Part Two that I’ve added to the shampooing/conditioning routine was investing in a $6 microfiber hair towel, which I wrap my hairs up in after showering, and it gets a lot of the extra damp out and contributes to a much shorter drying time.

And now I’m officially a Beauty Blogger. BOOM!

Since  I have a newly found status, I may as well share another beauty tip with you.

This is great info for my man reader. You’re welcome.

I learned this from my super-cool Gen Y co-worker at my last company, who shared an inexpensive makeup website which has basically saved me hundreds of dollars, because I haven’t walked into Sephora since.  The makeup website is ColorPop and they have makeup for $5 – nice stuff – and also it’s what all the cool beauty bloggers of Instagram use so you’ll feel like part of the kool kid klub and that? Is priceless. Or at least worth ten bucks.

I’m not a huge fan of their lip stuff, it’s all really matte, and maybe that’s cool when you’re twenty, but my lips like moisture. It’s better for cat-kissing.

So now you’ve learned three good tips from me, and you were thinking that this wasn’t worthy of your time. Now don’t you feel silly.

To Recap:

1/ Trouble with tangles? Stick a wet brush in the shower, brush your conditioner through.

2/ Cut down on the lengthy drying time after shampoo by wrapping your head up in a microfiber drying towel. Use those minutes you save for either more sleep, an extra cuppa morning coffee, or additional cat smooching to start the day.

3/ Wanna try some new makeup without breaking the bank? Go where the kool kids hang out.

And of course I’m not getting any throwback for the reccos. I’m just a giver of info of free, of things I like. Because you might, too, and I may be a lot of things, Reader, but I am not a knowledge hoarder.

I had originally intended to tell you all about the books I enjoyed in 2017, but we never made it there, did we.  Well, there’s still time, it’s a super-short list. I’m no book critic. Just a critic.

Books I read and got something out of in 2017:

1/ You are a Badass. This book? Easy to read, and just a good message to keep yourself grounded in your greatness. If you haven’t heard of the app Overdrive, I also recommend signing up for that – it lets you sign out books from the library to read on your Kindle for free.  I use it all. the time. Because I’m a badass.  And a cheapass. Who uses free library services.

Now, the Badass book needs to come with a companion workbook. So I’ve decided to create my own, as a place to keep working through the lessons. The worst part of reading “better me” books is keeping the momentum going once its over. I need a cliffs notes thing to stay on track with the messages.

2/The Subtle Art of Not Giving a Fuck. First, of course I loved it because it has my favorite profanity in the title – it’s like it was written expressly for me. Second, it had really good messages in there. Again, it could use a companion workbook because frankly once I’m done reading a book it’s very hard for me to remember all the little tidbits and lessons. Because I’m old and have a short attention span.

Basically, when I write my book it’ll have a companion workbook with it. Even if it’s just a book about cats, I’ll have a companion book of cats to accompany you, and it may even come with a live cat if you’re lucky.

Speaking of cats, what’s up with all these cities getting “pop up cat cafes” – I totally figured that would be a short-lived fad, but it seems to be growing in popularity. I’d call them ‘catfes’ however, because more accurate. I basically have a cat cafe – you can stop in, get free wi-fi, have a cuppa coffee and pet one of my three cats. No one seems to be clamoring to do that, however, which is why you can understand my surprise that these seem to be a thing people want to do.

Alrightie, I think that’s all the recommendations we can handle in one post. Plus, I can’t remember anything else I read or tips I’ve learned. So there’s that.

What did you love in 2017, Reader? Other than me, that is.

Share! Don’t be accused of being a knowledge hoarder, which Kenny has been called on more than one occasion, mostly when he just grabs and does all the remote things with the tv and then I can’t watch it without him because he hoards all the knowledge on how to turn everything on.

I’m a-moving on up. Just like the Jeffersons.

We’re getting hi-tech over here at Chez Bang Bang, Reader.

I’m working on adding a “subscribe via email” section so you never have to miss a word. Because that? Would be totally tragic, no hyperbole there.

Sign up.  You won’t need to wait on Facebook to find out What’s Happening.

You’ll only get an email when there’s a new post. No spam-sies.

The first time I went to add the code for this I crashed the entire website. It was a good time. Especially for her Website Genius who received a frantic message, but he was able to reboot her back into business. Because his last name is Genius.

And then he told the non-tech girl, “Give me a heads up if you’re going to touch your stuff again.”

But I didn’t this time because I think I’ve grown smarter overnight. I read a tutorial and everything.

I’ve got a test email going to myself. I needed a new post for it to engage. So that’s why we have this buncha nothing. But for realz, subscribe if you’d like. Who knows how long I’ll be around Facebook in the New Year.  I’ve got Big Creative Plans I’m working on and need to cut the fat somewhere. And I’m not starting with the butter I smeared on my Storm-Warning Nutroll.

What in the world is a Storm-Warning Nutroll, you ask? Well, I’ll tell you. When we got the word yesterday that an ice storm was descending upon us and we were dismissed from the Card Mines early, my first emergency-preparedness stop was at the bakery, and then the convenience store for coffee creamer. If I’m going to be snowed in, I’m going to be snowed in with better-than-homemade nutroll and copious cuppsa joe.

And that’s exactly what’s happening here today.

 

Won’t Take Nothing but a Memory…

I’ve been a-thinking, Reader, and there seems to be a pattern: I get the woe-is-me-bluesies after the holidays, probably every year. I know I’ve been here before, same timeframe, same sads. I had a whole 365 days and haven’t done anything noteworthy. I get all reminiscent like an old sailor*

*that was the actual “use it in a sentence” sentence on the interwebs. 

and then I get the bluesies. Reader, did you know my mama died 12/26 – the day after Christmas?

No, not THIS year, way back in the olden days of the 1990’s.  Maybe that’s one of the reasons I liken to an old sailor this timeah year.

She just died right in my arms, the day after Christmas. Her dying words to me were aggravated-sounding, as if I were bothering her from getting where she needed to go. Because I was, shaking her back to the NOW, or at least trying to.

But it was not to be, she only got 59 years on this planet, which isn’t all that old, because while I’m not going to name names here because I’ll get punched in the tits tomorrow because a lady** never tells another lady’s** age, let’s just say that someone I know just turned that very same age, and I only point that out so we can all feel how young 59 actually is.  It’s YOUNG. If that’s my same fate, I only get 8 more years to fuck off be a super-productive member of society. Now don’t you feel a little bit assholie, for ever thinking a bad thought about me? I’ve been dealt HARD HANDS, Reader. I should be treated with kid gloves.  At least from Nov-Feb.  The rest of the time you can think I’m an assholie.

**that I’m referring to either one of us as a “lady” is a spectacular liberty I’m taking with language!

So anyway, that’s probably one of the contributing factors for me getting the sads, and it’s been sticking around and making me put on my pjs and just go to bed when I get in the door at night. Last night being a prime example, where I was in bed at 7 p.m. and barely budged except for water, pee and more pee.  And I still struggled to get outta bed this morning, so this sad is being extra aggressive.

Except! This morning I decided Fuck You, Sads, and I made a decision to do something productive tonight so that I’ll feel like I’m in control and getting my chaotic personal life under control. I’m much better with things once I make a list. Life is do-able once a list is in place.

Instead of doing the one actual less-fun thing on my list that I really need to be doing, here I sit, writing you a love letter. A really badly written love letter, because it’s not even about you at all. It’s about me and my life things. So maybe it’s just a love letter ABOUT me, to you.

One of the things I old-sailor reminiscent-ed up about was thinking about some of my past homes.  Places I’ve lived at different times in my life, and thanks to zillow, it’s easier than ever to stroll through the houses that built me.

This was the first house I ever lived in. It was a tinyish house, tiny for a family of five by today’s standards. House Hunters wouldn’t be able to wipe their asses in this size house.

The window in the front, between the huge giant overgrown bushes was my bedroom window.

I think this is the correct shot of the room.

My bed was in the same spot, but sirriously, it was MUCH BIGGER than this. I mean, there was just tons of space for a girl to build a Barbie Dream House out of shoe boxes, and have a little table set up for playing school, and a little cardboard kitchen and a record player once I got a little older. It was big enough to hold all that, and a skating rink.

The floors were hardwood, and I remember one time, because I had a minor obsession with skating, I used furniture polish to turn the floors into my personal rink.

And then my younger, unsuspecting brother came running in with socks on, and slid from the doorway to underneath a small blue table I had there next to the bed. I think I might have gotten spanked after that and told never to spray furniture polish on the floors again.

The big window opposite of my bedroom window was the formal living room area. It had the same oakhardwood floors that were in my bedroom, and housed the “nice” furniture which was a nubby scratchy nylon purple-ish grey formal sectional thing that nobody ever sat on. Probably because it was super-scratchy feeling. The hardwood gleamed underneath it, because my mama waxed it about once a week (hell, it could have been once a year for all I truly know, my old-sailor memory seems to think it was part of the routine).

The room is crowded with awful artwork and carpeted over.

I would loved to have done a side-by-side, room-by-room age-gap analysis (because that sounds so fun, huh, Reader!) of “then and now” but I have very few pictures.  But! I did happen to jog my old-sailor memory and recalled I had this one photo upstairs, so I got up and exercised ran quickly lumbered upstairs and it was right where I thought.

This is that same room from above, the stereo is the wall with the couch underneath the picture.  You can see the hardwood, but that’s about all. Of the room, anyway.You can also see Adorable Me, with my bikini body and my same stance. And my pudgy little legs and knees. Still have those, too. You are who you are, am-i-right, Reader.

That little room jutting off on the side of the house was the “tv” room. It had a green leather sofa and a recliner and a rabbit-earred tv that we’d all gather round and watch as a family. There was a screened in porch off the back, where I’d camp sometimes in the summer on an old army cot with an extra-horrible wool army blanket my dad gathered up for me. I know he didn’t do that with malice – at least I sure hope not because that’s awful to do to a seven year old – but fuck-to-this-day, I hate wool! I would toss and turn on that awful cot with that even more awful blanket, sweltering in the summer heat but damned if I was going to give up and come in and admit I didn’t have what it took to rough it.

My my my, how times have changed, huh, Reader. Because that is the same girl that CRIED that one time when I booked an interior stateroom on a cruise ship and would have sold Kenny’s left nut for an upgrade, had one been available.

So I spent a little bit of time scruitinizing the pictures on zillow, down to the room layouts, paint colors and decorating choices, and tried to remember how it looked when it was home to Lil’ BangBang.

I looked at the indoors and the out. What happened to  my mama’s rose garden (gone), the pool (gone), the four pear trees that did nothing but attract bees (gone), the crooked stones of the walkways (about the same), the basement shower (gone), the scary-ass preserves room in the basement, which was always several degrees colder and spider-webby and there was a curtain I think over the doorway that you’d have to push into and hope a web wasn’t on it, and I hated it when I was asked to go down and get some green beans or whatever was needed for that night’s supper, but I went anyway because back in my day, kids did what their parents told ’em to do, even it the scary-ass nightmares of that room stayed with her for the next one hundred years.

I didn’t see any pictures of that on the web. Because no one wants to advertise their scary-ass rooms as a selling feature.

The house is for-sale, if I were to purchase it my zestimate for a monthly payment would be $263/month. Which seems pricey by comparison of when I went next to look up the last house I lived, when I lived in Cleveland.

That? Broke my heart a little, because all the love and elbow grease that went into restoring it and fixing it up? Gone. A shabby, unloved, broken down version of the house I sold.

A shutter is missing from the upstairs window. That whole upstairs span of windows is the master bedroom, it was really big for an old city house.

Of course we put up the little decorative fence. Because I wanted to cute it up at the holidays.

Now? It’s missing spindle tops. No one cares.

That garage?? I can’t. even. The backyard was tiny, but cute.  I remember spending a few days one summer painting that garage. Wild mint grew behind it and we’d pick it and make mint iced tea throughout the summer.

Two trash cans tucked neatly inside the garage, never just shambled up all over the yard.

It recently sold for $18,000.  I sold it in 2005 or 2006 for just under $100,000. Right before the housing market burst, which was one of the perfect-timing moments in my life.

I don’t think I have any photos of it when I lived there, which is odd, but I can’t even think of where they could be if I had any. That’s one more difference between then and now – life didn’t have to be daily documented. Now? I have plenty of interior photos of my current house, just from photographing cats, myself and various shenanigans.

That’s the story of some of the nostalgia I had intended to post last month, but I just couldn’t seem to get around to it. Maybe Christmastime isn’t the time to spend waking memories. Memories can either be friend or foe, and while it seems innocent enough to look up houses you’ve lived in before, a lot of memories come with it.

My mama for one.

Playing and dreaming and singing out the bedroom window, chasing fireflies up and down that uneven walkway.

Working and planning and loving and moving on and letting go and finding yourself along the way. Even when you sometimes have to look underneath that heap of sad, you’re still there because you were built on unshakable solid ground.

 

 

Blast From The Past, a.k.a., Lazy Blogging

Rather than leave a little bit of a bummer of a post up there to greet your week, I’ve decided that in the spirit of New Years Resolutions, we’re going to have a toss-back (it’s a little more gentle than a throw-back) to 2012, when I tried and reviewed The Easiest Diet in the World.

Now, fast-forward 5ish years, and I’m tackling a new diet once again, The F-Factor diet. We’ve only quasi-adhered to it for four days, so no official results yet, although it does seem relatively easy. Maybe because I’ve only quasi-adhered, and the quasi allowed movie-theater popcorn, drinks, mexican food, brownies, etc. I’m having a soft start, to ease into it.

Because I do care about you, Reader, and if you’re looking for a little Health & Fitness jumpstart, here’s a little diet plan you may want to try yourself. It was a popular ‘Cleanse’ diet, with bananas and other stuff.

Here are the results:

Easiest Diet In The World

About that Cleanse. “How’d it go?”, you may be wondering. Firstly, let me acknowledge that this probably has a whole lot of wrong punctuation going on right there in that last sentence. Whatevs.
Here’s the breakdown.
Monday- Fruit Day
Starting strong. It’s an all-fruit day (sort of like an all-skate at the roller rink, but not really like that at all). Except for bananas. Banana’s apparently don’t know how to skate.
I prepped for the day the night before (good job, Me! I’m normally not an advance-planning person, but I Meant Business). Strawberries hulled and washed, blackberries cleaned (they were cheap and good from Sam’s Club), a couple of tangelos/cuties as they are now called, and a couple of apples packed up in my to-go bag. I also made a fruit smoothie in the morning with all my Juice+ vitamins added in for extra kapow. The smoothie was an apple and a couple of handfuls of frozen berry mix (blue/black/straw/rasp), add water and blend-blend-blend. It was good, albeit a little tart. I would have added a packet of Truvia but ran out and really don’t love grocery shopping so it wasn’t worth a trip. It’s the Juice+ that makes it a little tart, but palatable nonetheless.
And then I got to work and discovered that I had a lunch engagement with some friendies. Eh boy. Trouble.
After lunch I sent Kenny the following text: “If fried fish and pierogies count as a fruit, than I’m tracking to plan today.”
Dinner was an apple and a cutie. Not a person, a tangelo. My lunchtime “fruits” really kept me filled up, so it was pee-lenty.
In the evening I cleaned and packed my food for the next day. Veggie Day.
Tuesday – Veggie Day
Sliced up carrots, browned up some canned diced potatoes with an onion and a bit of Mrs. Dash seasoning, canned beets, and a can of green beans. Sounds questionable, but I figured I could supplement it with a salad from the cafe if needed. And it was a Toastmasters-during-lunchtime day, so I figured I’d have no troubles staying on track. No lunch dates to foil my attempts, just an innocent Toastmasters meeting, whereas I have my lunch quickly at my desk afterwards as the meetings are from 11:30-12:45. No time to fail with that schedule.
Except.
Toastmasters was a “special event day” and there were a lot of snackie-snacks brought in for the celebration. I had forgotten about that.
After lunch I sent Kenny the following text: “If crushed up Oreos mixed with cream cheese, rolled into balls and dipped in chocolate count as a vegetable, then I am on track today.”
Because 2 of those balls leaped from the plate and were between my lips faster than Ryan Gosling’s …. er… nevermind, sidetracking. But anyway, they were in my mouth and having a party.
Dinnertime was something vegetable-y for me. More carrots, and I think some of the potatoes, but really the potatoes weren’t that good – they do require oil to make ’em crispy and delicious. I would have loved to have had a baked potato, but I didn’t have any of those on hand. Remember, I’m a pretty lazy shopper.
Kenny’s response to my text message: “If red velvet cake counts as a meat, you’ll be good to go on meat day.”
Wednesday
This day is supposed to be fruits and vegetables all the live-long day. No problem-o. I have plenty of strawberries, carrots, blackberries and whatnot. I opened up some canned pineapple for variety.
Hell, I don’t even remember what we ate/did that day. I remember getting home around 9 p.m. That’s about all I know. Maybe I ate on track. All I know for sure is that by now I’m watching the bananas (16 of ’em, I bought in anticipation of Kenny eating 1/2 of ’em) ripen and hoping that they slow it down until I get to potato & banana day.
And then I re-read the plan and realized there is no potato & banana day, just a banana and milk day.
Sonofabitch.
I don’t have any milk (or any more potatoes for that matter. Thanks, Bad-Grocery-Shopper Me).
I start off the morning with a banana. It’s good. We’re on track. Starting strong again. Cleaning the insides out.
After that? Some salad for lunch (lunch option was out of my control that day, it was pre-ordered for me by someone else). And then I had a long day and came home tired and wanted Mexican food.
So I had tortilla soup and it was good. Rice. Which is sort of like a potato, but since it wasn’t even potato day, I guess I can’t even grandfather that in. But the plan did call for that diet vegetable soup on that day, and so I just counted the chicken tortilla soup as a creative substitution. And glossed over the chips & salsa I ate (but really, the salsa could have been for the 6-tomato day plan, I was just a little out of order).
Friday
Weighed myself.
SHOCKED. SHOCKED, I SAY. To report I had lost 4 lbs. I don’t even know.
Friday I ate something, I’m sure. I did have a salad for lunch (a healthy salad, one I made myself from the cafe with no bullshit added to it, the 4 lb. weight-loss spurred me on to a good decision), and some vegan corn soup. Not on the plan, but a good choice anyway.
Then we went to the movies and I ingested a bucket of popcorn. We saw Project X. It was fun and the popcorn was good and a stand-in for dinner. I like to focus on the aspect of the fiber the popcorn provided.
Saturday
Watching the bunch of bananas turn brown. Getting nervous about ’em going to waste.
Re-weighed myself to see if the 4 lb. loss stuck, or if it was just a fluke.
It stuck.
I’m shocked.
Celebrated a week of the healthy cleansing by getting the Colonial Slam breakfast at our favorite breakfast restaurant: 2 eggs, corned beef hash, rye toast, and homemade potato pancake with applesauce. See, the applesauce is still helping with the cleansing. Right?
Dinner was leftover pizza. Which I just remembered, is what we had for dinner Friday night after our movie-n-popcorn appetizer. We had gone to the early movie. We were ready for pizza afterward, at 8:00. And we capped off the pizza with their dessert of the day, Red Velvet Cake, so it was almost like they were trying to help me with the Cleanse since that could possibly count as a meat for meat day, according to Kenny, and I still wanted to achieve success so I had a piece. It was just so-so. Dieting is hard.
Which brings us to Sunday.
 
I woke up concerned about the imminent demise of the bananas. They were not going to be long for this world.
 
 
So I did what any good, cleanse-type person would do, and re-purposed them. Into a healthy Juice+ shake. Or a cake. You pick.
I added the leftover pineapple to it on a whim, and also some coconut oil since I didn’t have butter (again, finger points to me for bad grocery shopping), so this could really count on all-fruit day.
So there you have it. The Cleanse.
I should market this little plan to The Cleveland Clinic, Dr. Oz, the Biggest Losers, and everyone else who thinks they know how to clean out a body. Because this, Reader, is a diet that is really pretty easy to follow. And isn’t that what we all want – a diet that doesn’t feel like a diet, something that can become a lifestyle change?
You’re welcome.

Blue Ain’t My Color. Except this one time, when it is.

Reader, I don’t know about you, but I’m having a rocky start to 2018.  I don’t know why we believe in this notion, that a tick mark of a clock chiming to midnight into the start of a new year holds some sort of magic-ry, but the reality is, it doesn’t.

At least not for me.

Not now.

Not so far anyway.

I usually do a retrospective of the the prior year, to see how I’ve done. I only did a short mental checklist of the ups & downs of 2017. The downs definitely outweighed the ups, as we’ve had death that took the wind out of our sails.

The Good-ish:

  • I did change jobs. Again.
  • We cruised. Again and again and again.
  • We Elvis’ed.
  • We didn’t get any additional cats. Thank the Lawd.

There were good things, really fun things. But then there was just a pallor of “eh, not so great” hanging over.

Not Good:

  • Deaths
  • Relationships got capsized and still haven’t gotten all the way back upright
  • Money was a thing I worried about. A lot. You’d never know it from some of my lavish vacations, but it’s a thing
  • My house had a bad-guy trying to rob my stuff
  • Kenny had a bad business situation that hung over him for a while, because he was in business with cheating, lying a-holes which led me to say really loudly, numerous times I TOLD YOU THEY WERE BAD APPLES!!! Only I didn’t say Apples.
  • Girlie Cat died all of a sudden one night
  • Kenny’s mom was very irrational for much of the year, and somehow got ME involved as the bad influence. I don’t mind being a bad influence, but mostly as it pertains to drinking, swearing and gambling. She just thought I was a bad influence for being the kind of human being I am.
  • My dad had some health woes that gave me several grey hairs
  • I almost forgot to mention my stupid health sitch, which took 7 months and thousands of dollars to heal. But at least it healed. I’m trying to brightside it.
  • Other things, but you get the drift

Really, I think I’m in a space of disillusionment that I’m not even going into 2018 all Pollyanna. Which is sad, because generally I can fake-it-til-I-feel-it just fine. But not so, so far anyway. I am just not having any expectations. That doesn’t mean I’m giving up, I’m just not expecting great things. Yet. Maybe soon. Maybe not.

Back in my Olden Life, my exhusband and I used to take New Years Eve and write down our goals for the upcoming year, and then we’d read them to each other, see where we aligned, and seal them up. On New Years Eve of the following year, we’d read back our plans, see where we hit it or missed it, and make new goals for the future year. I’ve maintained that tradition, except now I just do it myself, because Kenny has zero.point-zero interest in doing this, but I always liked it, and so I do it alone. Except this year I couldn’t find my last year’s plans to read back to myself, so I don’t know if maybe I just didn’t have dreams and hopes for 2017 or if they’re just misplaced like so many things around here.

I’ve mostly been agitated and anxious so far this year. I know, this isn’t our agreement of why you come here.  You come for the nonsense, stay for the cute cat pictures (well, that’s what I tell them, anyway, ssshhhh, don’t hurt their feelings, Reader!). I mostly deliver on the nonsense. I guess just not this time. We’ll get back to shenanigans sooner rather than later. Pinky swearsies.

But for now, for today, for this post? We’ve gone in a different direction than what I had planned out in my head, but we’re just going to let it roll as-is.  I’ve thought about deleting this whole thing and not dragging you down by a “I feel meh” post, except I’m sure this little blog doesn’t have that much power, and deleting the real feels just didn’t feel like the right thing to do.  Because sometimes meh it is.

So far 2018 has delivered:

  • An unexpected visit from our little family member, which was throughly enjoyed albeit, too short – that’s the Good!
  • A really good batch of brownies last night – Also good!
  • A really good batch of rice krispie treats from my friendie – Exceptionally good!
  • A broken fireplace remote and now I can’t just turn it on without it being a take-the-fireplace-apart production
  • A broken refrigerator water filter line thing
  • A broken car battery
  • A super-noisy furnace last night which has me fretting a future Major Expense

This afternoon it’s going to deliver a movie. Because when all else fails, buttered popcorn may hold the answer.

New Year-Palooza. because everything’s more fun if it’s a palooza…

Hi, Reader, Hey, hAppY nEwYEAR!!!!!!

We’re so happy over here at Chez Bang Bang that the happy is dancing up there in that first last sentence.

I cannut even believe it’s days, days I say! into the New Year already and I’ve left you with nothing but a bad post since before Christmas.  PS., “cannut” is not a typo, that’s an intentional, just because I felt like typing with an accent for a moment. You’re going to have to read that in your own head with an accent, Reader. It’s your part in this relationship. Also, I don’t know what sort of accent “cannut” would have the predilection towards, again, that’s on you. In my mind it reads in the voice of Koothrappali from Big Bang. You’re welcome to use that, too. I’m not stingy with the accents in my head, Reader.

Shwew-ie I need to take a moment.

~pause~

~pause~

~pause~

Alrightie. Back to the story. Yep, there is a story, or something trying to come out of my head to you tonight.

I don’t believe we’ve touched on any holiday shenanigans, except I told you that I was out sailing around for the holidays. Things were good, good enough.

Everything has sort of gone by in a giant rush, and now it’s the 4th of the first month of the New Year already and I’m feeling like I need to deliver on my end of our relationship here. Because I’m the giver, and how can I expect you to hang around if I’m not giving you new words from my head?? It’s unfair of me, actually, to keep my thoughts from you.

But before we get into any meat-n-potatoes sort of posts, it’s time to share a lotta photos from the cat’s favorite time of the year: Cat’s In New Year’s Hats!

I had a heckovatime trying to find a cat-head sized Santa hat, and gave up on that this year since we were travelling, but then I felt the pressure to produce for New Years, and I had no hat for that, either. Except Kenny was DJing at an event and for reasons we won’t get into here his stupid Lexus battery died in the cold and I had to drive Miss Daisy at 2 a.m. I used that opportunity to find party hats left behind by drunks and they did not disappoint me.

With hat in hand, the only thing missing was a buncha cat heads. Luckily, I have seven three adoring cats awaiting their opportunity to shine in the new year.

We got to it, myself going all “brave*” in the new year with a bare face, unbra-ed titties and bedhead. Because I like to keep it real for you, and also make you feel better by comparison.

Toby was the first to get his opportunity, and he looked thrilled:

Gussy was awoken from a really had nap for a chance to wear the crown, and he only kicked me in the face a couple of times:

Spoiled Purry was not too happy as a clam.

See how happy she is??

My second cat, DJ is amish and wouldn’t even look at the camera:

My first cat Sami wore her crown like a lopsided unicorn. Hey, I’m not here to judge. I let her do her.

Then there was Nose Dots, or Nosey or Dottie – he ignores us to either name – had a chance to show us his 22-lbs-and-counting belly:

And then our third cat, Wally, had his chance to look festive and happy:

Finally, our first cat, Toby, took another turn while he was lying down, and seemed to enjoy the experience a little more. 

And that, Reader, was our New Year’s Day My Three Cats-In-Hats Photo Tour.

Also, we’ve revealed why I’m not allowed to have a toaster. Because they exact their revenge in the form of no toast for me.

 

 

*there are actual published articles which refer to celebrities not wearing makeup as “brave” because that’s exactly the correct use of the word.  So I’d like to be heralded for bravery, too. And also I’d like a medal, in which I really mean a tiara because it goes with my outfit better and also distracts from my bouncing-around titties and bedhead. Or would a tiara actually draw more attention to my bedhead?? Hm. This bravery comes with conundrums.

 

Top Knot

It’s Sunday afternoon, Wednesday night at 9:39 p.m., and I should be packing but here we sit, Reader.  Because all good intentions on Sunday blew by the wayside. But regardless of what happened then, and what I should be doing now, it’s a few o’holy nights before Christmas so it’s time to get our feels on.

How do I have twelve months to prepare for Christmas and it always seems to spring up on me?  Although, since I’m preparing for a holiday trip, and knew I needed to speed up the festivity preparations I will say that cards have been mailed, all gifts have been ordered and are out for delivery to my out-of-state family, cookies were made and shared, what little amount of gifts I have here are all wrapped and ready.

Oh, you’re not letting me blow by the holiday trip comment?  I can’t slip one by you, Reader, can I.  Yes, we leave for a trip in the morn. So once again, instead of packing, I’m here for you. I mean, right here at my kitchen table and not necessarily there for you. ATTN Robbers & Thieves: STAY AWAY. OF COURSE I have a house sitter and cat-pee-cleaner-upper, and he’s prepared to kill you if needed.* He will be here the entire time we are gone, so don’t try any funny business.

So I’ll be having a brown Christmas this year, right there on the beach.

I keep meaning to get back to posting about all the nostalgia, so why not now. Let’s do it, Reader.  I’m not prepared to make it as entertaining of a story as it was originally in my head, but we’re drinking  little wine and let’s see what happens here. Usually what I write is as much of a surprise to me as it is to you.

But before we get into the nostalgia, let’s talk about one little thing.  After I got out of the nail salon this evening I popped into Dollar Tree to try and find a cat-head size Santa hat, because I had one and then I lost it and I had hoped to fuck off be productive just a little more tonight and take some Cats in Santa Hats 2017 Pictures since I’ll be gone on our traditional night of shenanigans.

I couldn’t find one, but did browse around for a minute and found one of those bun makers for the top of your head. Well, not necessarily YOUR head, but a head with hair long enough to put up in a bun.

I thought maybe I’d glam up my look, ala this:

The reality?

So yeah, don’t fret, Reader, thinking I’m going to run away and become a beauty blogger and give up shelling out a buncha nonsense to you.

High fashion just maybe isn’t for me, unless we mean “high” fashion and then maybe I’d look pretty and we’d enjoy a pizza, chips and some donuts together.

And YES, I know I look awful and tired and have messy smeared make up. Because I don’t like to hide behind my image of total perfection for you. I keep it realz. For YOU, Reader, so if nothing else you can feel better about yourself.

Alright, so once again we didn’t get to the nostalgia. I don’t think we ever will at this rate, Reader. Assume it would be something good.

 

*I’m not totally sure if he’s ready to kill you, but just assume he is. Because he might. Don’t risk it, Bad Guys. We’re jumpy around here. 

Wax Off

As I left off on that last post, Reader, we were engaged in a one-sided convo, chatting about how I sometimes like to wax things, and also take a stroll down memory lane.

Sometimes I’m curious about the past and I like to sit back, drink a cuppa fresh-brewed  with my NEW favorite coffee creamer and see what lives out there on the interwebs.  It’s the waxing. Of the nostalgia. Maybe especially more so this time of the year.

But before we get involved in the waxing, let’s circle back to the sentence about my new favorite coffee creamer.  Because this? Is Big News. At least Big News in the World According to Bang Bang.*

You may or probably may not recall that I have a love of flavored coffee creamers, in particular Almond Joy. It brings my mouth mucho joy in the early hours of the morn when I’m trying to convince mah body it’s time to participate in the day.

I’ve tried to quit the flavored creamers. And then my mouth was sad, and my body was sad, and I heard an ex-friend, who’s an “ex” because she turned into an a-hole, lament that she would never sacrifice coffee because, “Sometimes that cuppa coffee is the best part of my day!”

So I stopped trying to love my coffee without my Almond Joy creamer. Because why have a less than stellar start to the day?!

But for some reason I don’t even know why, I picked up an unflavored coffee creamer when I was shopping recently.  I think they didn’t have any flavors that appealed to me – I’m quite picky with my flavors, actually, and do not like the ones you would think I would love. I guess I figured what the eff, which is often what I think nowadays about many things.

So I am coffee-creamer picky.  For instance, I happily and eagerly tossed in a large bottle of the new Reeses Peanut Butter cup flavored creamer. That sounded like a party in my mouf.

Except it wasn’t, and I thought it was awful, and took it to work for someone else to enjoy. One mouf’s trash and all that.

Recently, in deference to trying to have less sugary blood, I even tried out the sugar-free vanilla version of coffee creamer, because trying for better health. I don’t really want a buncha sugars hitting my bloodstream first thing in the morning. If I do, I’ll save that for donut’s job.

But that sugar free creamer? Blech! I hated the aftertaste, therefore hated my coffee, therefore hated my start to the day, and kept hearing “And what if this was the best part??”

So back to sugars. Until I was shopping, and decided to put this in my cart:

 

Now, I do not know WHAT is in this – it has 15 calories, is lactose free yet contains milk, contains zero grams of sugar, yet it has corn syrup listed as an ingredient, so super-confusing. How can something have corn syrup but zero grams of sugar? I think it’s a labeling trick.

Well, regardless, these trickers have made a coffee creamer that I PREFER now over my beloved Almond Joy.  So despite it containing corn syrup, I figure it has to be somewhat more of the healthy option vs. a flavored creamer. Now, I know, Healthy Readers, it’s not ideal, and I should Cowboy Up and drink it black, or with milk squooze from a nut.

That’s not going to happen. Because see above, what if this cuppa coffee is the best part of my day, and I’ve now taken away this little bit of deliciousness. So save your preachin’. I’ve got enough other bad habits you can focus on.

READER. We are now close to 700 words. Again. So I can’t get back – again – to the original intent of this, which was to share my waxing nostalgia.

You now have even more to look forward to this weekend. You’re welcome.

 

 

*I hold firmly in my belief that the World According to Bang Bang is way more interesting and important than Garp. Who is Garp, anyway??  

***Woah! I just read a synopsis of The World According to Garp, and I think I stand corrected – that is slightly more interesting than TBB’s World! That is, if you’re interested in best-selling novels that are based around perpetual autonomic sexual arousal.  

Little Drummer Girl

Every now and then I wax nostalgic, Reader.  Well, I’m not sure “nostalgic” is the right term, but something is getting waxed and it isn’t my floors. Ba-dum-dump-chsh!

That’s the sound of my drum set, in case you couldn’t figure that out, Reader. I don’t wanna stress you this early in the morning with hard-to-make-out typing….stop judging! I know it’s not EARLY morning, it’s already closer to noon than “early morning” but in our pretend world where I play the drums, it’s also very early morning. So early, I fed the squirrels breakfast outside today to help them start the day off right.

I actually DID feed the squirrels a breakfast of vanilla wafer cookies, peanut M&M’s and some actual nuts from My Misters nut mix from Costco. Because I saw a really cute thing on Facebook or the news – somewhere where I get all life’s important updates – where a family was leaving out snacks on their porch for random hobos walking by, and then they got upset when all their chocolates were gone  – the very chocolates they were leaving out for someone to take! – and so they sleuthed it and discovered it was a squirrel coming up for a Hershey’s with Almonds nugget and then they were MAD and put a lid on the candy, which is frankly RUDE because they had a BASKET OF SNACKS on their PORCH for someone to take! So they are basically very discriminatory and probably voted for Trump. Ba-dum-dump-chsh!

See what I did there, I made a non-political story political! and also Trump hates nature, which he’s proven over and over again, so troof.

But anyway, back to the squirrel story – the part where they tried to shut the squirrel out of the snack jar wasn’t the cute part of the story – that’s actually the VERY MEAN part of the story – but the part of the story where the squirrel wanted a daily chocolate was cute to me, and now I want to have a Daily Squirrel that comes for a snack that I leave on the porch.

So I started with cookies, candies and nuts. But p.s., some of my boy cats are out there lurking around and so the squirrel is going to have to wait to get his snackie, or he will end up a snackie.  I would be worried for the safety of the squirrel, however my cats aren’t exactly the fleetest of feet, their girth slows them down, plus they have very limited tree climbing skillz. They can make it knee-high up the trunk at best. The squirrel clearly has the advantage.

Speaking of girthy cats, due to my unexpected plumbing event yesterday, when the plumbing guy was on his way out he saw Nosey wobbling down to the basement and couldn’t help from exclaiming, “Wow! That is one fat cat!” and then Nosey was fat-shamed and his mama didn’t defend him.

He’s going to need therapy. And also his mama (aka, ME) needs to bathe him now, because the plumber wasn’t wrong at all, Nosey is my 600-lb-life cat version,  and I’ve been having to wash his back for him because he just can’t reach it any longer and it was not feeling like good cat hair. It was feeling the opposite of nice, and also dirty and gritty.  He hates it when I tend to him with warm cloth baths and brushing, but like a good Mama Cat, I do it anyway.

Poor Nosey. But he’s finally starting to look & feel a little bit better.

Sheew, that was a long way to get a story started, but nothing compared to the recap of a movie I watched the other evening, that I relayed ad nauseam to MM last night while I was making a rustic pear tart for our after-supper dessert, wherein by the end of the story he was dizzy and parched and he wasn’t even the one doing all that talking.

PS, during the creating of the rustic pear tart, My Mister leaned on the counter and looked at me and said, ‘Oh, by the way, something you should probably know, the next time you think about buying or making anything with pears, know that I HATE pears. I HATE pear everything. Just so you know.”

The 12-year relationship reveal came AS I WAS MAKING A HOMEMADE PEAR TART.

PPS – My Mister went to check on it as it was cooking, and quickly proclaimed this was the worst looking dessert item he’d ever seen. Funnily enough, I had said when I put it together, “I think this is going to leak out,” and he – being the amazing chef that he is – proclaimed, ‘It’s not going to leak!” I gave him the ‘u crazy’ look because I KNEW it would but by the time it was on the baking sheet it couldn’t be moved.

PPPS, once the tart came out of the oven, My Pear-Hating-Mister was the first to pull out the carton of cool whip and shove a great big slice of this into his tart-hole and proclaimed it delish. Because it was. So he needed to eat his words, along with that slice of rustic pear tart.

Well, Reader. Here we are at 889 & counting words, and I just read an article that said posts shouldn’t be more than 500 words. So I guess this is where I leave you? And you don’t get to hear what nostalgia was getting waxed. Sorry. I don’t make the blogging rules. Well, I guess I do in fact make them for this’chere nonsense, but I can feel you getting weary, and the nostalgia story is too good to start when you’re already tired. At least it’s good in my head. Maybe it’ll be less good when it makes it to here.

Time will tell.

We’ll try again laters, baby.

983 words…now 985…drat. Consider this double the fun of the “ideal” post size. You’re welcome.

 

Bossa Nova

Saturday morning is bringing it like a Boss today, Reader.

I’m talking the kinda assholie boss that makes you hate your job and your life and small babies and flowers and sunsets and long walks on the beach. This Boss sucks so hard you begin running a mental tick on your finances to see if you’ve got enough to make the Great Escape to your secluded island where you live off of coconuts and salty air.

That’s the Boss that Saturday is bringing me today.

I jumped outta bed at the break of dawn, meaning 10:00 a.m. at Chez Bang Bang, and as is my wont sometimes on the weekends, I made a cuppa coffee and started assembling dinner. I sometimes enjoy that process as soon as I get up. It’s quiet and I’m undisturbed and enjoy the creating process.

This morning I was working on assembling a meatloaf, because I had all the ingredients and figured I would give it a try in my Instant Pot Wife.  So that’s ready to go for this evening, because supposedly it takes twenty minutes til done. Potatoes layer the bottom of the pot, they’ll be ready for a quick mash. Throw in some sort of vegetable and voilà, dinner.

While working on that, I put a sheet pan of bacon in the oven to cook, for quick & easy BLT’s for breakfast.

And filled and ran the dishwasher. Because, Accomplishing Things.

Except.

I went to put my Instant Pot Wife meal in the fridge for later cooking, and noticed something red and gooey all over the bottoms of the beers on the top shelf. So I unloaded that and began the task of cleaning that sticky mess.

I still have no idea what the red and gooey explosion could have been.  But I did find a package of ground meet that had fallen behind the beer bottles and has gone undetected for who knows how long, and the only saving grace in that the top of the fridge gets super cold and partially freezes things because of the stupid design of the side-by-side.  So that got tossed.

Next as I started to clean the glass shelving in the sink, I noticed the disposer was backing up. I knew it was going to be a whole buncha No Bueno going on, but I held out hope it would all just magically go down the drain.

It did not.

Potato peels and water started pouring out of the cabinet.

Now I’ve got a plumber friend coming at 2:00 to assess the damage.

Next, My Mister inquired as to what was smoking in the oven, thinking that it just went on the fritz and was billowing out smoke.

Um, nope, no fritzing of the oven. Just the breakfast bacon.

Twenty minutes on 400 is too long to cook bacon. Apparently.

MM is dealing with some sort of Karaoke Drama today in addition to all this, which is giving him another set of problems.

This isn’t how I anticipated the day shaking out. We rarely anticipate a day filled with problems, though, do we Reader? We are optimists, and spring forth usually thinking that things will go according to the plans set in our brains.

My plan was coffee, writing nonsense to you about a whole ‘nother entirely better story, more coffee, some bacon, some light cleaning, maybe some shopping, and later some dinner and working on some of my personal growth things that I’ve been reading to make me a better Trixie Bang Bang.

I think that personal growth shit must be working, because all these problems? Rolling right off my back. Minor inconveniences. I’m still coffee-ing. I’m still writing a story. I’m still cleaning. I’ll still be shopping, just probably for a new garbage disposer instead of new clothes. And this is providing me with real-life experience is dealing with the unplanned unfun little quirks of life.

It’s all about the adjustment, Reader. Adjust your sails when the wind blows the other way. Maybe you’ll end up on that island beach anyway.

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