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The Bang Bang Theories

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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Fingered

So. Much. Has happened, Reader, and I’ve had plans to tell you stories about it all because of course it’s fun to bring you along on my Misfit Life with me, but somewhere along the lines here I’ve dropped off the Interwebs, mostly because have I mentioned I’m living like a gypsy lately and/or driving a lot lot lot of my day? and then Trixie Bang Bang Stories just never get told.  I’m not sure I’m ever going to get to them, either.

Shewee, that was a long opener to tell you nothing.

So I’ve been living in Florida for pert near a month now, a little longer actually because it’s been another week of work since I’ve gone back home over the 4th of July.

Time. Flies. By.  I have worked 5 weeks already, and wow, I cannot even believe it.

I really like my job. It has had it’s hiccups, mostly tech-related and then the difficulty of not knowing what you don’t know, so I don’t know. Everything takes longer when you don’t know.

I’ve been looking at rentals on and off. The cute enough stuff costs more than my Ohio Mortgage.

What I want is this:

What I can afford is this:

Which frankly just looks like some place where I’m going to be on this episode of Forensic Files:  “Girl* Checks out Camper, Never Seen Again, Until Years Later a Break in the Case Fingers** Her Killer.”

*in my Missing Persons episode, I would like to be referred to as a Girl, please – very youthful and vibrant while we’re making things up here –  and not an elderly lady who should have known better than to 1/ think she could live in a beatdown camper and actually get a restful night of sleep on that mattress, the fluids left behind only the good lawd knows, and 2/ ….well, I don’t know what number 2 is, other than it might actually have left stains on that bed at some point.

**because someone found pieces of my fingers somewhere, like in the pooping container in this camper.

What the fuck is up with that bathroom? i’ve been in tiny bathrooms, I’ve cruise-shipped enough to know the poopers can be close to the sinks, but comeon. That “vanity” is where I’m going to be getting ready in the morning? Nope.

So I still haven’t figured it out, but I’m trying to Badass what I want into existence: The nice clean place, furnished, near the water, for $700/all-in per month. Work with me, Reader, and send those vibes out to the Universe on my behalf. Oh, p.s., must love cats. The rental people, not you to send the good juju for me. Except it’s preferred if you also love cats, too, because they are soft.

I started this two hours ago, and am bound and determined to have something posted to force myself into Stella, Get Your Groove Back, and now with the Florida Sweat running down my back I believe I am going to throw on my suit and throw myself into the pyoool.

 

 

Some Like It Hot

It’s beginning to sound like all I do is whine and complain about my sorry sorry lot in life, having to live in Florida, in a big house that I’m not paying for, and wah wah poor me.

It’s not all wah wah. Some. But not all.

Today I decided to harness the magic of Sunday and made my own happiness.

I took myself to the picture show down at the old CinemaWorld, which let me just say in more wah wah news, it’s not nearly as nice as my theater back home. However! I got a ticket and a popcorn and plopped myself down in a nice enough seat and watched the new release Yesterday, which made me tear up out of the sheer joy of that movie.

On the way home I sleuthed around this development until I located the damn pool.  I’ve been here since the 8th and enough is enough, find the damn pool already, Me. So I did, and it looked the the perfect place to park my ass for a few hours.

I drove home to throw my suit on and hop to, except I was tired, and I’m rightfully so blaming the heat, so instead I took a short forty winks.

Speaking of this heat, some nutball was out RUNNING in this heat at 1 o’clock in the heat of the god-forsaken day,

I mean, it was NINETY EIGHT DEGREES with oppressive humidity!!

It was so absurd I took a PHOTO while DRIVING sssshhhh don’t tell Johnny Law or my mom (ps she’s dead and isn’t there to listen, you tattle tale), it was just that absurd. And it was a somewhat safe maneuver – my photo, not nutzo’s running – because there was no traffic and it was one hot second only.

I feel the need to clarify; it is a very unusual circumstance for me to take a photo while driving. So don’t leave me any admonishing comments. Save it for my really bad behavior.

Anyway, where was I?

The day. Something something, happiness. I don’t know. I’ve lost my train of thought and all my wah wah brain can think of is I need to get to sleep, work is coming in short course.

Let me leave you with this. It was okay today. I saw a movie. I ate some really good cantaloupe. We made ribeyes for dinner which was the deal of the year at $13 for 2,  and we had fresh corn on the cob so hahah Ohio, who isn’t even knee-high yet. I did some other stuff, and nature was involved, but who cares.

Wait, I guess I care a little bit. Enough to raise the question, what kinda tree is this? Is it a fruit? Is it a tropical pine cone?? What?

Should I put it in my mouth is the question, Reader. And don’t say yes just because you want to poison me. That’s not very friendly or nice. And I will check it out for myself. Probably. Some days maybe death by kumquat would be okay. But not usually. Because there might be a movie, a meal and a little pool time right around the bend.

Eye On The Prize

I don’t know at all actually am almost certain that a Florida Bug bit me below my eye and somehow injected me with a sacfull of Baby Bugs right in the corner of my eyeball, where they are at this very moment incubating and will erupt and – in this order – 1/ blind me and 2/ it won’t matter if I’m blind because if that does actually happen I will be d.e.a.d from a heart attack directly after the babies start spilling from my face.

Current state of my peeper is that it is itchy and red and when I took a photo of it to see it up close for myself and to show you, Reader, because it’s time for some full frontal between us, well, let’s just say it’s the only illogical logical explanation.

A picture is worth 300 words, so see for yourself:

I have been EATEN. UP. with bug bites this past week or so.  In between all the very showoffy freckles on my face, I’ve got lumps that either need to be seen by Dr. Pimple Popper MD or I have been bitten by some assholie Florida-type no-see-ums-sandflee-mosquito-maybe-part-gecko-because-they-are-everywhere-and-have-probably-mated-with-a-biter type bugs.

Also, those lumpy lumps are all over my arms and legs, too, and a lot on my feet and ankles and what the fuck, Reader.  No one told me Florida was so bitey. Not one warning of this, Reader, and for that, I blame you, because one of you must have known.

 

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