These are from The Idealist page on Facebook. There’s a lot of seriously inspirational stuff there. There’s also this.
These are from The Idealist page on Facebook. There’s a lot of seriously inspirational stuff there. There’s also this.
Yeah, not really. Sorry to get you all excited for no reason. It’s just that I’ve been watching many episodes of the tv show Suits on Netflix and the theme song is now solidly embedded in my brain. The lyrics are great. I think it’s all about working all your life for money, and more money, and never enough money. And while you’re making all that money you never have time to enjoy all the things you’re making the money to enjoy. This could be all wrong, but it’s a show about lawyers who deal with millions of dollars in suits while wearing suits, and I must think it’s good because I’m halfway through season three.
Anyway, good song for a Monday morning for all you people out there doing the greenback boogie.
Greenback Boogie by Ima Robot
See the money wanna stay, for your meal
Get another piece of pie, for your wife
Everybody wanna know, how it feel
Everybody wanna see, what it’s like
Baby wanna be a queen, well alright
We all deserve the finer things, in this life … …
So working on a little job, in the night
It’s forty dollars an hour when I, see the light
The boss say you got a little time, and oh my
He’ll be working in a small box, till he die
Me, I gotta be free, all my life
I want a little cream cheese, in my pie
Yeah! I’ll step back, while you go dance
The greenback boogie Mother f*ing boogie
Now I’m putting on a big wig, walking hard
Hanging with them big pigs, all them dogs
Got me a couple ideas, straight from God
I want a bean pie Order me a bean pie
I’ll even eat a bean pie, I don’t mind
Me and Missy is so very busy busy making money
All step back, I’m ’bout to dance The greenback boogie
The greenback boogie Boogie now for me … … …
Say, it’s far better, when you give it away
It’s called the greenback boogie What people don’t say,
I say It’s better, when you give it away It’s called the greenback boogie
Don’t give it away now, I say It’s better, when you give it away
It’s called the greenback boogie Don’t give it away now, I say
See the money wanna stay, for your meal
I’ll say it’s gonna put some love, in your life
Don’t you really wanna know, how it feel?
Everybody wanna see, what it’s like
Babe you wanna be inside, it ain’t lies
We all know there’s better things in this life
Yes I’ll step out, on your expense
Doin’ the greenback boogie Mother f*ing boogie
Boogie oogie oogie Greenback Boogie
Come on back to paradise Come on back to paradise Come on back to paradise Come on back to… Come on back to… Come on back to paradise Come on back to paradise Come on back to paradise Come on back to… Come on back to…
It’s the greenback boogie It’s the greenback boogie Don’t give it away now Don’t give it away now, I say
It’s better, when you greenback boogie Well don’t give it away Well don’t give it away, I say
It’s better… It’s the greenback boogie Don’t give it away…
It’s been a long morning for me, thanks to Lacie, the amazing alarm clock dog. The neighbours next door let her out in the early morning to do her business and she barks her fool little head off at….I don’t know….snowflakes, fence posts, air. I wonder why she can’t just go for a quiet pee like a normal dog and let me sleep. But this morning was better than yesterday morning, so I have forgiven her.
Today is a good day because it’s Friday, it’s snowing, and I have nowhere to go! And no gigantic four litre jug of vile laxative to consume! I’m going to tell you my colonoscopy story, so if you’d like to skip on to whatever you were going to do next, now’s your chance.
For the three of you who have decided to stick around because you love old people medical stories, here we go. I have a family history of bowel cancer, and a colonoscopy is something doctors have strongly advised me to have done to detect any potential problems. The day before the procedure is spent cleaning out the colon, eating nothing, drinking clear fluids, feeling sorry for yourself and staying close to the bathroom. Black coffee is allowed. Thank God for small mercies. For the last eight hours you can have nothing by mouth, not even water.
The first colonoscopy I had was done in 2003 and I was instructed to come back for another one in ten years. But because of my superior procrastination skills, I was able to stretch that to twelve. If the results are fine for this one, I may set a fifteen year goal for the next one.
The procedure was scheduled for 11:45 a.m. yesterday. I like to be insanely early for things and W likes to be a minimum of five minutes late. The morning started off with a dead battery in my car. This was all my fault for not driving it enough. And we could not take the truck because W was having way too much fun making a big production of recharging the battery and slicing a finger open in the process. This required much swearing and a bandaid. Then we took a long convoluted route to our destination, slowing down for green lights in the hope that they would turn red before we got to them. There is no parking at the hospital. Well, there is, but every parking lot is always full and we know this, but drive around through all of them just to make sure. There’s lots of parking spaces at the mall nearby, because it’s better to inconvenience sick people than to piss off shoppers.
W dropped me off at admitting 80 minutes instead of the required 90 minutes ahead of time so that I could check in and fill out a form and sit on my ass for a bit thinking about all the things that could possibly go wrong and wondering if he would make it back from wherever he finally managed to park. I also thought a lot about food and being incredibly thirsty and how much my head was aching. Eventually I was taken to a prep room where I signed a consent form and donned one of those beautiful back-open hospital gowns I’m so fond of. The nurse told me to leave my socks on, because just the gown by itself isn’t funny enough. Then they inserted the IV paraphernalia and told me to lie down and wait. W had shown up and taken off and come back again while I studied the ceiling tiles. He told me he went to the hospital cafeteria for soup and a sandwich. I was going to say “I hate you” but I didn’t because, although that is a perfectly acceptable thing to say when you’re in labour, in this case I was faint from hunger and simply didn’t have the energy.
The procedure itself took about fifteen minutes. The IV is for sedation. They don’t like to give you too much because it’s a busy place and no one wants you hanging around too long afterwards waking up. So I was sort of aware of what was going on. Trust me when I say passing out completely would have been my preferred option. I was then wheeled to a recovery area where I studied some different ceiling tiles until they removed the tubes and tape and let me get dressed. Then the doctor popped by to tell me it all went well and although there were a couple of polyps discovered, he wasn’t anticipating they were anything to worry about.
Because you are not allowed to leave on your own, the nurse pointed across the room at W and asked me if that was my ride. Normally this would not be a funny thing to say, but when you’re coming out of sedation all bets are off. I imagined introducing him to strangers as “my ride” and thinking that was the most freaking hilarious thing I’d ever heard. She quickly told me I was free to go.
On the way home “my ride” stopped at Swiss Chalet and watched me eat a huge plate of chicken and ribs and sweet potato fries, washed down with two cups of coffee and three glasses of water. Then of course I felt sick, but also happy. It’s hard to explain.
And here you thought nothing interesting or exciting ever happened in my life as a retired person who never starts her car. I am so glad that today is another day exactly like that. Even Lacie the yappy wonder dog can’t ruin it.
Yes, I do. Ask me anything and I will undoubtedly tell you something which may or may not be helpful, or even relevant. Like posting this random picture of an odd thing I have hanging in my kitchen.
Here are 15 questions of questionable origin (to me) and I am too lazy to figure out where they came from in the first place. But they are good questions, and these three awesome blogging people answered them and now I will be a copy cat and do it too. Thank you to –
What do you think you can do but can’t?
I think I can save everybody. I think I know how every person in trouble or distress should think and act and feel and what needs to happen to have everything turn out right. Too bad nobody will listen or cooperate. I’m not even very good at listening to myself, so why am I surprised.
What’s a difficult word for you to pronounce?
There is more than one.
deterioration (because of that middle syllable),
barbiturate (because of that middle “r”)
and remuneration (because there’s no numeration involved)
I also sometimes used to stumble over initial phone greetings at work (good afternoon, blah blah blah, how may I direct your call), but usually nobody listens to those either.
What are your favorite TV shows from your childhood?
We didn’t own a television set until I was nine years old. Half my childhood was already over. I remember watching Howdy Doody, I Love Lucy, Bonanza, Ed Sullivan, Father Knows Best, Dragnet, Gunsmoke, and Red Skelton. We also got only one channel. But look at that. They broadcast some high quality TV.
What are your virtues and vices?
Most of the time I am kind and generous and patient. However, I can also be an unforgiving snob. I’m a work in progress.
What’s more important: love, fame, power, or money?
If you are famous and powerful and rich but don’t have love, too bad for you. Love isn’t something you can demand or buy. And without it, where’s the happiness? Having never been famous, rich or powerful myself I’m making assumptions, of course. But, as usual, I still think I’m right.
If you could live in any era/time period, when would it be and why?
According to my psychic, I’m a very old soul and I’ve lived in all of them. This would explain why I’m so smart and know so much. Or maybe it was all that great TV I used to watch as a kid.
If you had to redo your entire wardrobe with 2 stores, what would they be and why?
I honestly have no idea. Where do they sell yoga pants and sweat shirts?
Can you recall what you were doing a year ago on this day?
No, but I looked in my blog archives and discovered that on February 21st, 2014, I was looking through an old journal and laughing at some of the strange things I had on my ‘grateful’ list. The last half of the book is blank. I don’t believe I suddenly stopped being grateful. Probably lost my pen.
Do you have recurring dreams? If so, explain?
There’s a house I dream about a lot, in which I am being pursued by something (or someone) bad. It has many staircases and hallways and doors and rooms. I’m afraid, but I’m also very confident that I know lots of good hiding places. Wow. A psychiatrist would have a heyday with that one.
What’s your horoscope?
I am Taurus. Generous, dependable, patient, pleasant and down to earth. Also stubborn, self-indulgent, materialistic and lazy. Well, nobody’s perfect.
What does your dream bedroom look like?
I don’t care as long as it’s warm and the bed is comfortable. A large percentage of the time I will have my eyes shut in there.
What position do you sleep in?
I have a queen sized bed and I sleep on my side on the edge with my feet hanging out. Hot feet are the worst.
What are your all time favorite films?
There’s only a handful of films that I’ve watched more than once. Probably for the same reason that I don’t want to go back and relive any of my past lifetimes. Been there, done that, on to the next adventure. W, on the other hand, can watch a movie a dozen times and never get tired of it. I watched Bridesmaids three times. I don’t know what that says about me, but I’m sure it’s probably something good.
What makeup are you currently wearing?
Foundation to even my skin tones (a nice way of saying cover up the blotches and age spots), eye shadow because I feel naked without it (although it’s hard to see it under those over the eye bags) and lip gloss because chapped lips are just marginally worse than hot feet. If I’m going somewhere I will add eyeliner and mascara. But it would have to be somewhere pretty damned important these days.
Do you have neat handwriting? Show us!
This is a large sample in case you want to submit it to an expert for analysis. To see if the results are in harmony with my Taurian traits. I think it’s rather sad that cursive writing is going the way of the dinosaur and Ed Sullivan.
Well, that’s enough enlightening crap for this February Saturday. Hope you’re having a wonderful weekend. If not, you can always answer these questions yourself to liven things up. But if you’re busy watching I Love Lucy re-runs, I understand.
This is my contribution to the unique global movement called 1000 Voices for Compassion. Today, the 20th February 2015, over 1000 bloggers worldwide are publishing posts about compassion. It is an effort to spread goodness and compassion in a world torn by strife and violence. Spread the love using the hashtag #1000Speak. Join the 1000 Voices Speak for Compassion group on Facebook.
Here I am, all bleary-eyed, hooked on yet another television series on Netflix. Do you have any idea how long it takes to watch 26 episodes which were originally spaced out over two seasons? I don’t either, because I forget when I started watching this. I do know that partway through my fascination with the show, Netflix experienced streaming problems and apologized for the inconvenience of almost two days of inability to load. That was brutal. Almost made me want to demand my eight dollars back for the month. But they got it fixed and I forgave them.
The Killing is an American crime show based on the Danish television series Forbrydelsen (The Crime.)
This is a little two season synopsis from Wikipedia, where there’s lots more info if you’re curious –
Season 1 (2011)
The first season covers the first two weeks of the investigation of the murder of local teenager Rosie Larsen and has three main storylines: the police investigation into Rosie’s murder, the Larsen family’s attempts to deal with their grief, and the fluctuating electoral fortunes of a political campaign that becomes embroiled in the case.
Season 2 (2012)
The season resumes the investigation into the murder and reveals secrets about the Larsen family as well as a possible conspiracy within the campaign race and the Seattle police department. The Larsen murder case gets closed with the discovery of those involved in it.
And when they say ‘those’ involved in it, they really do mean more than one bad guy. The two detectives assigned to the case take two whole seasons to get to the bottom of this mess. Just when they think they’ve got it narrowed down, new information sends them in a different direction with suspects all over the place. Everybody has a secret or is withholding information or is basically clueless or simply an idiot. Over all it’s a good story and well acted and I didn’t need much encouragement to start watching season three.
But there were some pretty hard to believe scenarios. For instance, when a candidate for mayor gets shot, almost dies, is paralyzed from the waist down, weeps about it a couple of times and then hops into a wheel chair and continues on with his campaign. Come on. I know politicians are a bizarre bunch, but that bit was a real eye-roller. Sorry to give that away if you haven’t watched it.
Nowhere in the first two seasons was there any mention of bok choi. And I don’t believe anyone could actually die from an overdose. However, if you could, W is the guilty party here. He doesn’t eat it, but he keeps buying bags of it, every time he goes shopping. And I keep trying to figure out ways to use it up before it goes soft and mushy and its leaves shrivel up. I put it in soups and salads and smoothies and sometimes even eat it raw like you would celery. Some of it unfortunately ends up in the compost bin. And then he notices there’s only one bag left and off he goes to buy another one. And the cycle continues. This is not a long or interesting enough story to dedicate an entire blog post to, so I’m adding it to the end to explain the weird title. So far it is unclear which one of us is going to die.
We drank our coffee, we drunk our coffee. We did not get drunk on coffee, and that is why, although it is acceptable to ask who drunk all the coffee, we don’t because of the association of the word ‘drunk’ with intoxication. It just sounds better to say ‘drank’.
I would also like to say think, thank, thunk. Because English. It thunks.
Thanks to Electronic Bag Lady and her bag of bits, I now know the meaning of this excellent word: QUAFFTIDE Go there for the definition of the word, and stay for many good reads. I think you will thank me later.
Now if you had asked me yesterday if I was done with homework for the rest of my life, I would have told you yes. But then EBL also said this.
Although it wasn’t written in that exact annoying colour or font, still I have decided to take it seriously. Never having outgrown my nerdy tendency to complete all homework assignments ever given to me, I will now ramble off all the phrases I know or have used personally to describe what happens to you when you participate to an unhealthy degree in quafftidling events.
There are probably more I’ve forgotten (and most of these are no doubt no longer popular in 2015) but that’s all I’ve got, likely because of what all that booze supposedly does to your brain cells. Contrary to what you might have been lead to believe (because I often talk about wine and like to put words into wine glass shapes) I don’t drink much at all anymore. My doctor asked me how much alcohol I consume on a daily or weekly basis, and I said “Just the occasional bottle of wine. Shit! I mean GLASS. Glass of wine. Gawd.”
I drink more when I’m on a holiday or with people of like mind who are also drinking of course. And I certainly did my share of partying in high school and university, and socially whenever we could get away with it while our kids were young, until we decided we should set a better example for them.
I remember how impressed W’s university friends were on a couple of occasions when I was able to keep up with them consuming draft beer. Some guys are just so easily dazzled. I don’t remember ever seeing any Pan-Galactic Gargleblasters though. When I’ve had enough to drink and can no longer feel my feet, I say goodnight and go to bed. So it’s entirely possible I passed out before they joined the party.
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