Bottoms Up

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Well I SUPPOSE it’s about time for a REAL post.  Said the pre-retiring mess-making cartoon-drawing officially old lady trying to make sense of this new not-classic mode of creation on Word Press.

So just ignore that, I’m not here to complain about insignificant things, because what I really want to talk about is my signature beverage.  It was a WP prompt awhile ago that made me laugh, because, really, who do we think we are, famous people with images or something?  And without even knowing me all that well you might suspect my drink du jour would be a tall glass of red wine (good guess) but it wasn’t always so.

It used to be chocolate milk.  I thought I would never outgrow it, and maybe I still haven’t completely, because that stuff is good.  Not the kind you mix with a powdered concoction into actual milk, but the kind you buy in little brown bottles or cartons which may or may not contain any real milk.  Smooth and thick and chocolate-y with coma inducing amounts of sugar.  This was such a rare treat when I was a kid that whenever we ate out (another once in a blue moon treat) that’s what I would order to drink.  Who cares about the food.  Chocolate milk goes with absolutely everything.

Then when I was a teenager trying to put chocolate behind me, Coca Cola was the next best thing.  Until it became cool to prefer Pepsi although if you did a blind taste test you’d probably have to cheat if you really wanted people to think you could tell the difference.

In my twenties and beyond, when I became extremely world-weary and sophisticated, my go-to beverage was a Harvey Wallbanger.  Because what could possibly be more sophisticated than that.  Not cheap draft beer, that’s for sure, although I admit I drank my fair share of that too, depending entirely on the money situation of the moment.   Vodka, orange juice, Galliano, a slice of orange and a maraschino cherry.  And lots of ice.  Umbrella purely optional.  But a nice touch.

W is the one who got me drinking amber rum.  Probably because the umbrellas were an embarrassment for him.  And it had to be with real Pepsi, no substitutions.  And a twist of lemon or lime.  I’m the one who switched myself to spiced rum.  He hates it.  All the more for me then.

Raising children changes everything of course, and drinking something like coffee to keep yourself alert replaces drinking anything that might cause you to pass out and miss seeing whatever it is they’re up to now.  And coffee seems harmless enough until you clue in to how addicted you are to it.  Even then, it’s not easy to give it up.  Mostly because you can’t possibly convince yourself that there’s any good reason to do so.  And besides, you spent a lot of money on that stupid Tassimo.

But pop and diet pop are SO incredibly bad for you.  I’ve had enough of them to last several life times and now I’m ready to quit.  Wine seems like a viable alternative.  I used to like white, but not much.  Then my daughter started raving about Malbec and I’ve been hopelessly hooked ever since.  It’s like store-bought chocolate milk for adults.  Plus you look way more worldly and refined sipping on something that’s not in a plastic cup or a travel mug, right?

Well I hope so.  I have a friend who won’t drink red wine because it makes her teeth and lips red.  I say, who cares?  I also say, drink whatever you want, teeth and lips be damned.  That’s the first time I’ve ever said that really, and probably the last time now that I look at it critically and while completely sober.

Damn, I should have said water.  We should ALL be saying water.  And being thankful that we have access to the clean and drinkable kind. That would be commendable, but also boring.  So red wine it is.  Until I’m at the stage in my life where they switch me to Metamucil through a plastic bendy straw.  May the wine preserve me until then.

Chuck It Baby

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The night before last I had a very restless sleep and spent yesterday powered up on caffeine.  This is never a good idea, because eventually my body does a sudden power down and crashes for many hours.  Hours in which the house could burn down around me and I wouldn’t notice or care.  Happily that didn’t happen, and here I am, up and once again pretending to be normal and on my second cup of coffee already.

One of the reasons I couldn’t sleep was because some time in the afternoon I thoughtlessly tossed a black opti-flow ink pen on to my couch without putting the cap on it.  The light mushroom brown material absorbed the black ink as it flowed until there was a nice round inky black spot staring at me when I finally happened to notice it.  Even for completely unobservant me it was relatively easy to notice.  So when I should have been in bed sleeping I was instead pouring out caps of rubbing alcohol and dabbing up incredible amounts of ink.  On to white (of course they were white) terry cloth dish towels.  It was like a tie-dye experiment gone horribly wrong.  Then I used up three tide pens to get out the last of it.  All night I fretted about what it would look like dry and in the daylight, and there were also a few thoughts flitting around in my head having to do with carelessness and being a moron.

It’s not too bad, all things considered.  A very faint bluish splotch which I will now make sure I sit on whenever we have guests.  I think another tide pen should take care of it once I work up the ambition to mess about with it again.  This is the same piece of furniture which has been broken since Christmas, 2012.  W is going to get it fixed.  You know that joke where you’re told not to worry,  your husband is going to get it done, there’s no need to remind him about it every six months?  Yeah, that one.

There should have been a center support on the front cross-piece of this couch, (who thinks about these things when you see it new) especially for people like us who load it up with the entire family for a memorable photo.  We’ve had it propped up front and center with wooden blocks (complete with duct tape) for almost two years.

So my very first thought when I discovered the ink was to just throw the whole damned thing out and get a new one.   Chuck it.  Start over.  Piece of crap.

But I’ve been doing that all my life, and it’s so wrong.  Wasteful, extravagant, bad for the environment.  Can you recycle a couch?  I got a new coffee pot because the old one was leaking a bit and it annoyed me to have to clean up after it.  It was still working and probably could have done with a good cleaning, but instead of trying that, I chucked it out.  I’ve thrown out microwaves rather than bother to see if they can be repaired.  When I decide I don’t like something anymore I get rid of it and replace it with something new.  I hope you’re reading this W.  You could be next.

Nope, turning over a new leaf here.  Going to recycle and re-purpose and maintain.  Make my mother proud.

Except maybe for this gawd-awful carpet in my bedroom which originated on the ark and looks like total shit.  No point in getting completely carried away.

Slow Down You Move Too Fast

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Tuesdays at work wear me out.  We have a doctor seeing patients and I’m there until 8 p.m.  Then I come home and sit at the end of the couch where there is a stupid lamp with such a thick shade that the light hardly comes through it and that’s where I stare like a zombie at my I-Pad for a couple of hours.  That little bit of light is very relaxing, and because of it I can say I’m not sitting alone in the dark.

Because I’m not.  There’s my I-Pad.  I catch up on Words With Friends and e-mails and Facebook and check out that there’s nothing new on Netflix and as a last resort play some Candy Crush.  I drink decaf coffee. I read my current e-book. I am a barrel of fun.

Wednesdays when I’m off work, I always think I’m going to get a zillion things done, because, hey, it’s a whole day, and I’m off.  So I sleep in late, mess around doing nothing for the entire morning (because seriously, I have the WHOLE DAY), do a repeat of Tuesday night with electronic time wasters, drink my smoothie, consume a lot of coffee, wonder what I should make for dinner….  Suddenly it’s evening.  There are three days of work ahead of me, laundry becomes a priority, there’s no time for those projects I’ve been putting off until my day off.  I am lazy and I like to procrastinate, and I excel at relaxing.  You’re supposed to do whatever you’re really good at, right?

Yesterday, like most Thursdays, I worked early and got off at five. There are a lot of hectic people out there running around getting things done in a huge hurry with places to go and people to see and deadlines to meet and WHY IS THAT?  Our contact lens student is one of them.  She got her glasses dispensing licence, went straight into the contact lens course, accepted the position of teaching the glasses course at the same time, is getting married, buying a new house, looking after her son from a previous relationship and her future husbands son from his previous relationship, constantly doing nice things (like baking) for other people, and now she has accepted the position of manager at another store (the store is a ridiculously busy one and she has no managerial experience) and she will start that before any of all the other stuff is finished.  She is twenty-six.  And probably insane.

Someone asked me if I didn’t remember being young and ambitious and I had to admit I’ve never been that ambitious in my entire life.  I want to tell her to slow down, don’t be so impatient, stop being so hard on yourself, get some sleep.  I’m afraid she’s going to burn out before she’s thirty.  And wonder where her life went.

And now it’s Friday and another full day looming, filled with trying to sell stuff to justify my pay cheque.  I’m tired.  And I haven’t even done anything, comparatively speaking.  But I’m not twenty-six either.  I drummed up enough energy to go and get my hair cut last night.  That was pretty exhausting, sitting there listening to another twenty something pink haired girl tell me about her social life.

Yeah.  I’m old and boring.  And ready to pack in this working for a living crap and actually get on with living and doing whatever I want.  And whatever that is, I want to do it very, very slowly.  Because now I know life rushes by while we’re busy thinking about all the things we have to do to get to a place where we can do something else.

And now I have to rush off to work so I can get that over with and then I’ll be able to come home and NOT work.  We’re all running around in circles.  Sit down and let people lap you.  It’s okay.  That’s really all I’m saying.