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W(h)ining About Monday

Who me? Drink wine?

I thought I would open with a picture. In fact, it has not been a particularly heinous Monday. However, I am tired and disinclined to make anything but a Monstrous Monday Post. Can I find any good monsters to share? We shall see.

She’s so fine!

This, of course, is Bonita, our year-round skeleton who lives in our living room. This was her October outfit. I found the hat at a rummage sale. I think it is for a small dog. The black tulips, which I’m afraid do not show up very well, were made by my clever theatre friend, Jerry, for a murder mystery called Spring into Murder.

Another friend.

This is Harold Ghoul (get it?). I got him at a neighbor’s yard sale. I don’t know what they used to call him.

That says it all.

This is not turning out to be much of a blog post. I guess my bottom line is, I don’t like Mondays. I am embarrassed to admit it, because it is such a cliche. I hate to follow the crowd! Unless the crowd is drinking wine. Teehee.

What It Is, Is Lame

Bad habits are much easier to stick with than good habits. That is a bit of half-baked philosophy for a late Lame Post Friday post. I have no excuse. I had a bad headache all day yesterday, but it was gone by bedtime. I suddenly found myself in an extremely foul mood, for no particular reason, but that is no excuse. EVERYBODY knows you cannot write only when you feel “in the mood” to do so (ooh, goody, now I have Glenn Miller playing in my head). I guess sometimes some things just are, and never mind why.

That last sentence smacks of my husband Steven’s most hated expression: “It is what it is.” Really, kind of a silly thing to say. How many things are what they are not? If you can think of any, please comment with them, because I am blank. Personally, I think a much better expression is, “That’s just the way it is” or even “That’s the way it is,” because in these situations, it is often not “just” in the meaning that it is not justice.

So, me not making a post yesterday is just the way it is.

Now, the other thing about “it is what it is” is that people often use it to justify the way it is. The unspoken but implied clause is “and you can’t do anything about it,” or more accurately, “I’m not going to do anything about it.” This certainly applies today, because I do not have a time machine. No post can ever be made on Friday, Dec. 4 by Mohawk Valley Girl. To use another cliche, and mix metaphors (a favorite hobby of mine), that ship has sailed.

For many things that, forgive me, are what they are, we can do something about them. We can’t fix everything, but we can do what we can do. This is why we give to food banks, donate to animal rescue organizations, clean our houses. OK, some of your houses may be perfect someday; mine never will.

This is why I make late blog posts. I cannot be perfect about posting every day, but I do the best I can. And in this respect, I can improve. Fewer late posts. Can I have no late posts at all? It is a goal to strive for.

In the meantime, I have rattled on for over 350 words. I find that quite respectable for Lame Post Friday. I can’t wait to see what kind of a Saturday post I make later. As always, I hope you’ll stay tuned.

Has Wrist to Forehead Sunday Become a Cliche?

A winter storm, or at least winter weather started hitting the Mohawk Valley this morning.  I went running well before the precipitation, although it was frightfully cold.  It turns out I don’t mind running in cold weather. If I had gotten on here earlier and made a Sunday Running Commentary post,  I would be all set right now.  Oh well, that ship sailed, as they say (I have many times observed that one can often get away with using a cliche, if one adds “as they say” or “the proverbial”).

Where was I?  Ah yes, indulging in cliche and trying to make a blog post. I think we can legitimately call this a Wrist to Forehead Sunday. I am feeling a bit swoony on the sofa and I don’t care who knows it.

Clearly this is not me, but I know just how she feels.

I really am sorry to be making yet another post about not being able to make a decent blog post.  I’m afraid it has become the rule rather than the  exception.  On the other hand, I am making my Sunday post on Sunday. That has to count for something, doesn’t it?

Oh dear, is “has to count for something” another cliche?  I would hang my head in shame, but I am pretty sure that IS a cliche.  I bet it is also a cliche to promise to try to do better tomorrow.  How embarrassing!  I’ll have to sprinkle “the proverbial” over this post out of a salt shaker!

But Happy Sunday, everyone.


“Shapewear” Is So A Word, Computer!

Breathing is not overrated.  That is what I tell myself at times like this.  You see, when I get stressed, I forget to breathe.  Then I take a deep breath and it’s like, “Oh yeah, oxygen.”

When I was in the army learning how to run, and I ran into difficulties (see what I did there?), I would tell myself, “Breathing is overrated.”  Eventually I learned how to run and breathe, but first I learned how far I can actually run while gasping and choking in a most unbecoming fashion.  However, this is not a post about running.  I would probably feel a good deal less stressed if I had taken the time for a short run or walk.  However, that ship sailed, to resort to cliche (it is less of a cliche if you point out that you are using a cliche; another technique is to add the word “proverbial,”as in “that proverbial ship has sailed.  Then you sound all self-aware and post-ironic) (but I digress).

Another deep breath, which I need after that last paragraph.  I am working through my last-minute fluster attack before leaving for dress rehearsal for Morning’s at Seven, the play I am in at Ilion Little Theatre.  I believe I have mentioned it once or twice.

After work, and a convoluted drive back to Herkimer, due to congestion and construction, I stopped at the store to get the pantyhose and underwear I mentioned earlier.  I am a little worried, because the only pantyhose (they are, in fact, tights, but let us not quibble over semantics) in the color I wanted (off-white) were control top. YES, I have a top to control.  However, when I attempt to do so, I experience extreme torture for very little result.  What a cruel hoax shapewear is!

And look at me, 300 words and I’m not late.  Yet.  Happy Thursday, everyone.

I wonder if wine is overrated.



Well! It’s Another Monstrous Monday!

I think Monstrous Monday is going to be a regular thing here, and I think many people can identify with the sentiment.

A common sentiment, am I right?

I know, I KNOW, I must plan ahead and write blog posts in advance.  Well, some readers enjoy my silly posts about not being able to write a post, so there.  Still, you can get too much of a good thing. Isn’t there some saying about going to the well too many times? I try to avoid such cliches, but I do say “well” a lot.

Be that as it may, on with the blog post.  I wrote a very little on the next murder mystery, Spring into Murder, but am not making much progress in finding a complete cast. I thought everybody wanted to act!  Oh well, I guess not everybody (see, there I go with “well” again).

I act, with gestures!

Speaking of everybody wanting to act, here is a picture of me acting up a storm in last summer’s The Tempest with LiFT Theatre Company.  That was one of my big, dramatic scenes. OK, I am big and dramatic in all of my scenes, in real life as well as on stage.  I always say, go with your strengths (I suppose that is a cliche.  Oh well!).

A graphic depiction of how I feel about my continued inability to write a decent blog post.

I swerve into non-sequitur territory with a picture of fake poo.  These were props from one of last year’s murder mysteries, He Laughed Himself to Death.  I have long been an aficionado of fake poo.

And now I am over 250 words, which as regular readers (if any remain) know, I consider respectable.  I return to my Monstrous Monday and, as always, hope for a better blog post tomorrow.


I Have No Control

Please Note: The following post was written on breaks at work and is now being typed into the computer by me. This is often the case with my posts, but I felt the need to specifically point it out because of my first sentence. Is that silly? Oh, hell, when am I not?

I am eating a few peanuts. Not too many, because I want to save most of them for my next break. But a few, because I am hungry. I make a note of this because it occurred to me that I could eat just one peanut and thus disprove the truism that nobody can eat just one peanut.

Then I thought, “Surely somebody has eaten just one peanut for precisely that reason.” There are many people who just have to be that way. For example, I know of at least two people who have purposefully sat and watched a pot boil. Come to think of it, I’ve watched a pot boil myself. Not to disprove the adage but because I did not have anything better to do while I waited for it to boil.

I wrote the preceding during my first break at work. I spent the next couple of hours trying to think of other cliches to disprove. Of course I have written about Cliches Revisited before; it is one of my favorite topics. I thought this time I could approach it from the angle of practical experiments to prove or disprove cliches.

I did not come up with any but in writing that paragraph I suddenly realized that the so-called experiments I mentioned before are not true scientific experiments. They lack a control.

I remember when I was in 8th grade (or was it 9th?), we learned about experiments. Our assignment was to pick a saying and devise an experiment to prove or disprove it. I picked, “If you kill a ladybug it will rain.” My experiment was to get seven ladybugs, kill one a day for a week and see if it rained. Kind of hard on the ladybugs, but I didn’t intend to actually carry out the experiment.

The teacher said my experiment lacked a control. At first I thought, “What for? The control is The rest of the time when I’m not doing the experiment.” Eventually the lesson sank in. You have to compare the ladybug-killing week to a specific non-ladybug-killing week. That is how you obtain scientific evidence.

So how do you do a control for the experiments I mentioned earlier? Would you eat a whole lot of peanuts or not eat any peanuts? Perhaps I need to consult an actual scientist about that one. The boiling water thing seems pretty straightforward. Just don’t watch a pot and see if it boils. I know: how can you see if it boils if you don’t watch it at least a little? Obviously this scientific stuff is not as easy as it may at first appear.

Full disclosure: I only started writing this because I had absolutely no idea of what to write about so just jotted down my immediate thoughts to get my pen moving. I kind of like what I ended up with. I am a little regretful that I only mentioned two cliches, though. After all, three’s the charm. Or is it?

Just an Expression

For today’s Friday Lame Post, I offer another edition of Cliches Revisited.

“It’s like living in a fishbowl.”

People usually say this about places with large windows and no curtains. My first response is, you’ve probably never lived in a fishbowl, so how would you know? It seems to me that living in a fishbowl would be a whole lot more boring, even if it had one of those little castles or sunken ships. In your average living room, picture window or not, there is usually at least a television set. All a fish can do is swim around. They can’t even run out for a loaf of bread as many of us can. The fish don’t seem to mind, but then I don’t know what a fish thinks.

I know, it’s Just an Expression. I realize it means, “I feel as if everybody can watch my every move!” Oh, get over yourself. Most of us are not that interested.

Next cliche: “Kissing a smoker is like licking an ashtray.”

I have never personally licked an ashtray, but I would think that the consistency is probably much different from the mouth of a smoker. Hello! Glass, metal or plastic covered with ashes… the mouth of somebody you presumably like well enough to kiss.

I know! Just an Expression. Look, people can feel free to kiss or not whoever they want, as far as I’m concerned (as long as the other person wants to be kissed). But just say, “I don’t want to kiss a smoker.” You do not need to engage in inaccurate hyperbole (or is hyperbole inherently inaccurate and I am guilty of redundancy?).

Oh dear, those were the only two cliches I thought about while I was running this morning. I think three would make a better post. Ooh, there’s a cliche, “Third time’s the charm.”

What is it about the number three? Three wishes. Three Little Pigs. Hobbes, Locke and Rousseau. This is not a cliche I can argue with. Three is, apparently, a very good number. The best I can do is buck the system and not deconstruct three cliches. Thank you for playing. And have a nice Friday.

How Lame of Me

It is Lame Post Friday, and I am indeed lame. I did not write anything at work today (except for a paragraph or two on my novel)(in the interests of accuracy). I did not think of anything I could write about. I did not come home and run or walk so as to write about that. True, I could still do one of those, but I want to get this post written NOW.

Oh, just a brief update on my computer tribulations of Wednesday. The tablet is working now. I don’t know why or how but am not looking a gift horse in the mouth.

Ah, that gives me a lame topic to write about: another Cliche Revisited (I love to pick apart a cliche). Never look a gift horse in the mouth. Why not? If you have a horse, wouldn’t you like to know how old it is? Or if it needs dental work? The Trojan Horse should definitely have been looked in the mouth, or I guess the stomach, where the soldiers were hiding. Um, I’m not clear on if the Trojans were inside the horse or the ones who received it as a gift. And I do not care enough to look it up.

Hmmm, can’t think of another cliche to refute. How lame of me.

Well, how long does a Lame Friday Post have to be to count? Usually if I go over 200 words, I am content. Ooh, and I did. Happy Friday, everybody.