The tickle factor
I do love to laugh – always have, and always will. At anything and everything… whenever appropriate, that is. I’ve never been the kind of person who will giggle at anothers expense, though; like when someone trips, falls out of a chair, etc. Guess I just never found humor in a situation that had the potential of embarrassing another individual.
Last night my guy and I found ourselves in a discussion on being ticklish. Not actually tickling, just discussing it. 🙂 So it seems that the older we’ve gotten, the less ticklish we’ve both become. Has anyone else run into this?
Even in my twenties, I was very ticklish in many many areas. But now… well you really have to catch me on a good day to implement the ole’ tickle factor. Unless, of course, it occurs during a romantic moment when I’m trying to remain serious. Yes, it does seem to only happen a ‘whim’ nowadays. This seriously saddens me!
There’s already a shortage of laughter in the world. But to see yourself losing that every-faithful ‘auto button’… well, let’s just say I’m taking that one pretty hard.
Searching
I’m still at a loss for words – for this I am sorry.
My nieces take my breath away with their beauty… both of them.
I see my own daughter, her father and family completely torn to pieces.
As am I.
My thoughts go every which way but loose. What set of problems could penetrate the mind so,
that this would become the only answer.
It has all become a mind game to me – of whether this really happened… or not.
There are far too many people depending on your strength for their own selves.
You are way too young to exit.
All the people who turned out tonight love you so… and the tears of tough men abound.
I wish you and I had talked before you left. I so wish for that.
A little bird sits on the window sill, watching me type… and still I think of you. I do believe you must be happy beyond words right now.
And at peace. Finally, at peace.
Dear Friday:
I love how very awesome you are. I realize you’re only celebrated on a weekly basis, but please know that tonight, my dear Friday… this is how I intend on celebrating your sweet array.
With a bit of this…
And this….
And afterwards, a little bit of this…
And finally, this…
TGIF, everyone.
If you really knew me…
Even recently, I’ve seen a few posts of this kind. I find them intriguing, and thought I’d take a stab at it myself. I’ll be the first to admit it really worked the ole’ brain a bit. If nothing else, it forced me to take a step back and take a good look at myself – which isn’t a bad idea to do from time to time…
If you really knew me, you would know: That every day I make a valiant effort to laugh heartily at least once. Laughing is my favorite thing in the world to do, and nothing else has ever matched the euphoric feeling it brings me.
And over here, in the darker corner… we have the times that I laugh in order to keep from crying.
If you really knew me, you would know: That I despise a blatant liar. Unless I believe the truth will really hurt your feelings, I’ll be completely honest with you. I know there are exceptions that run the gamut on this… with that said, I simply cannot justify not getting that same truth in return.
If you really knew me, you would know: That I’m really somewhat of a loner. I hate crowds and even large groups of people. I would be perfectly content to come home from work on a Friday afternoon and not leave my condo again until Monday morning.
If you really knew me, you would know: That as cliche as it may sound, all I’ve really ever wanted in life is to be loved. Totally, completely, wholly and without reserve. I believe this particular type of love to be easily recognizable by it’s recipient.
If you really knew me, you would know: That my tolerance for small children is marginal at best. Not just any small children… but the small children of today’s world. The children who are bribed, petted and spoiled by today’s parents in order to semi-behave.
If you really knew me, you would know: I love the ocean and it’s inhabitants so much so, that I can get really emotional just talking about it if I allow myself.
If you really knew me, you would know: That I abhor drama – in any way, shape or form. If you bring drama close to me and I see it for what it is, I will most certainly turn my back on you and walk away. Because I can.
If you really knew me, you would know: That the ability to write means everything to me. It doesn’t matter to me that I don’t write professionally. If I go one single day without writing something, anything – I feel like a huge part of me is missing.
If you really knew me, you would know: That I’m very opinionated on two subjects: politics and religion. It really doesn’t pay for me to argue the subject of either one, because I’ll stop at nothing to prove my point. By then, my blood pressure has usually skyrocketed past the safe zone.
If you really knew me, you would know: That I’m one of those dreaded perfectionists. I struggle daily with this debilitating trait that so often makes my life more difficult than it should be.
If you really knew me, you would know: That I strongly uphold marriage vows, and I believe that there are ZERO excuses for infidelity within a marriage. The pain that results from this type of cowardly betrayal may lessen with time, but the scars will remain forever.
If you really knew me, you would know: That I feel just as strongly about domestic violence. In fact, maybe even more so. I’ll have to get back with you on that one.
If you really knew me, you would know: That I worry way too much of what others think of me. I do know I’ve literally spent a lifetime trying to reroute this warped way of thinking. At this point, any improvement in this area is looking kinda shady.
And over here, in the lighter corner… I’ve come to realize that shade trees sometimes provide an incandescent lift…
Cat of the Day
I have the sweetest cat. Thank you, Lord. Don’t get me wrong, even if I’d had the misfortune of having a mean one I’d just deal with it, since I don’t believe in giving up the animals you made a commitment with unless something is really amiss. Of course I realize there are extreme instances that do warrant replacement, and by that I mean re-homing.
In any case, both of the past two cats I’ve owned are simply… well, female. My Sadie who passed in 2006, was a Queen. She never knew a stranger, and would come up to non-cat persons and make a spot on their lap – providing them with the added bonus of making biscuits. This always got a giggle out of me. Camille, my current babygirl, is a Princess. She however is an introvert, and takes much time to acquire the trust of any person. The two personalities couldn’t have been any further apart.
I’m quite aware that there are loads of cat-haters out there. I even read a post of a favorite blogger recently about how loathsome this person thought cats were… he wrote of how they ‘lurk in the shadows’ and ‘don’t ever show theirselves unless it’s to attack’. Sweet bejesus, nothing could be further from the truth. This person obviously neither a) never owned a cat, b) had a feral (wild) cat, or c) lived a party-like-its-1999 lifestyle where the animal was just plain afraid to come out.
How about this… my girl meets me at the door every day. If she’s not there yet, then she’s running (yes running) from the back bedroom to the front door to me – bleary-eyed as hell from her afternoon-long nap. It’s the same ritual every day… I scoop her up on my shoulder and start talking baybay talk to her. She, in turn, starts snuggling my neck as if wanting to almost crawl into me. I walk her around the condo bouncing her like a baybay (should I be embarrassed?) (have I mentioned how very vocal she is?). She is so vocal during the rest of the night that I’m beginning to realize I need a laptop BAD. The crying that goes on during my time behind the iMac is absolutely unreal. All the instances in-between this are… well, let’s just say that we never lack for conversation. The word spoiled pretty much sums it up! I need to add in the fact that she absolutely LOVES my guy. And that, ummm… she owns him. 😉
I entered Camille in the Cat for a Day contest on a local country station, Kat Country 96.9 (wkktfm.com). While I believe that most entries secure a spot on the calendar, I was surprised that my entry today made tomorrow’s calendar spot. So, therein lies Camille’s 15 minutes of Limelight.
I’m proud of my July 29, 2010 kitty…
Gripes©
No one likes a person that constantly complains. I like to refer to them as ‘downers’, because let’s face it – unless it’s done in humorous fashion, it does bring you down. Sometimes though, you just need to get things off your chest. Things you might normally let slide or roll off your back on a daily basis can mount up and come out in a very bad way if you don’t unload every once in a while.
So, gentle readers, be forewarned that today will be my bitch day. Hey… I’ve done a ‘things I love’ blog before. It’s only fitting that I have a ‘things I hate’ one…
- I hate running across people I call ‘provers’. These people basically need to have whatever you tell them proven right then in order to believe you.
- I hate when I say something about a restaurant that I went to the night before, and a downer is listening and informs me that they don’t have any food in their cabinets.
- I hate when I pay extra for a Marie Callendar’s frozen entree for lunch, and the contents ends up being smaller than that of a Lean Cuisine or Healthy Choice.
- I hate the fact that apparently I’m the only person at work that has the expertise of changing a toilet paper roll. I’ve tested this theory several different ways on many occasions.
- I hate when a stranger 20+ years your elder brazenly uses their age as an excuse to advance ahead of you – and I’m not just talking about lines.
- I hate when a guy believes certain chores are not made for them to do.
- I hate when a guy postpones vacationing, even a simple 2-day beach trip – then suggests tagging along with his mother for the weekend on her trip.
- (Red flag)
- I hate when a guy suggests hopping on your cellphone plan, and you blog about how much that bothered you – then the next night he tells you he’s hopping on his mother’s plan.
- (Dark red flag)
- I hate when normal grooming habits are forgotten or ignored. Everyone I mean everyone knows how I feel about this. Enough said.
- I hate when an otherwise enjoyable trip to a local Japanese steakhouse is thwarted by patrons who believe your space should include their conversations and children.
- I hate when my financial situation is prejudged by another, as in “you should be doing okay now that your car is paid off”.
- I hate when people have trouble addressing a problem and end up just letting it go without confronting and/or attempting to fix it.
- This list will most definitely be continued at a later date. Until then… thank you, dear readers, for the unload.
A Voice
I have a good friend that’s decided to bite the bullet and start blogging. Not only is she an extremely smart and beautiful lady, but well-versed. I’m willing to bet she will enjoy it – and I look forward to reading. I’ll be sure to cue you in on the page when she gets it up and running.
Many of us have been subjected to broken trust and loyalty throughout our lives – some more than others. The last thing you need is to keep it all to yourself… what you need is to be heard. An outlet, a source which you may unload on every once in a while. A while back I suggested that a blog might be the very venue my friend needed. It provides an opportunity to be heard, a chance to voice anything and/or everything you’ve wanted to say for a long time now. She asked me ‘do you think the word bitch in my title would be offensive and draw negative feedback?’ To which I replied chuckling, ‘ya know, there’s always going to be something that offends someone out there.’ And that’s true, no matter what.
It got me to thinking about life in general, and how it is we’ve arrived at the point of being a functioning adult human being… exactly what it is that has made up the mindset, emotions and character of who we are now. Do I believe that we continually change throughout life? Yes. Do I believe that what we’ve been through in the past actually shapes the person we are today, as well as the person we are to become? Absolutely. We will not be the exact same person a year from now as we are today. These changes will be determined by the events and occurrences within our lives, and how we choose to react or deal with them. Like my grandmother always told me… ‘bunny-rabbit…it ain’t always easy’.
To Mom
She said it herself about a week ago. ‘When she hurts, I hurt’. Well, my turn to say it now.
When she hurts, I hurt. My precious mother. I don’t want to get too technical on here for reason of privacy. But what I will say is that she’s been through way more than her share of hurt and heartache in her life. So much so, that I’m often amazed at the fact she hasn’t ever broken.
Yesterday was a birthdate of extreme significance to her. That in itself is always hard, when that time rolls around – as well as several other dates throughout the year.
Quite often I look at her strength, which she would probably argue the fact that she has, with much admiration. She has pushed through the hardest of times all while exuberating class and dignity. Not just part of the time… but all of the time.
She’s dedicated much time and patience in teaching her only child what it truly means to be a real southern lady. While I haven’t always been the best student, the old saying is true… you never stop learning.
So, Mom – know that you have an admirer out there. Though it’s for certain I’m not the only one – your baby girl will always be your number one fan.
BREATHE
I recently received an email entitled “Courage”. It got me to thinking. What exactly is courage? Furthermore, what about the courage to love?
Fairy tales? No such thing. Forever afters? Hac-tuiii. Pardonne moi….
I have to laugh to keep from crying, more. For the past couple of days my face has resembled something monstrous and I’m growing weary of it. Quite simply, my heart is breaking. Right now I just feel like retreating inside my cave for, well forever.
The Courage to Love. I’ve always been a firm believer of the old saying ‘If you love something, set it free – if it comes back to you, it’s yours. If it doesn’t, it never was.’ Well… up to a point, anyway. One should never go so far as to allow their selves to become a doormat for anyone else.
I guess I’m old fashioned, I’ll admit that. I am southern, after all. I’ve never been one of these feminists who mandate equality of the sexes, and never will. It’s my belief that women shouldn’t ‘chase’ men – it should be the other way around. I also believe that if a man loves a woman enough… I mean really loves them… they won’t let her go without a fight. They’ll do anything and everything to keep her – anything less than that simply isn’t real. Call it what you will – it’s an illusion. Don’t fool yourself. Life’s too short.
Hey, self – remember this: I Myself, will NOT… break. Already been through Hell and back once – and I ain’t planning a return trip anytime soon.
Tropical Storm Bon (nie)
I love looking at pictures of hotels and condos for rent at the beach. With all the online photo galleries and virtual tours they have now, it’s almost taking a little mini-vacation.
Almost.
K and I spent a good bit of last night checking out different places online. Our one-year anniversary is only a couple of weeks away, and we’ve talked about trying to head down to the coast for a couple of nights. I can hardly believe it’s been a year already…
Last night he took me out to a place called Logan’s not far from his house. They have the second-to-best ribs I’ve ever had in my life. Simply delectable… fall-off-the-bone-waste-not-a-bit-of-meat goodness. I’ve only experienced one place that beats Logan’s on ribs, and that would be TK Tripps at the beach.
For a four-day week, this sure has been a long one – I’m thankful for the Friday. The heat has been immeasurable this whole week, with highs around 98-100º. Thankfully, we’re getting a break starting tomorrow with hopefully some rain and definite lower temps.
K told me last night that the next-up tropical storm will take the name Bonnie. Well well well. I distinctly remember over a decade ago when Hurricane Bonnie ripped through Myrtle Beach. It’s hard to fathom the name has already made it’s way back around again. I never did score me one of those “I survived Bonnie” t-shirts back in ’98…
Happy weekend, everyone. ♥
Mellowing out
Although there have been multiple studies done that actually suggest the opposite – it’s my own experience that we get more emotional as we get older. I’m not talking about the more generalized emotions – being happy, angry, fearful, etc., but the more ‘philosophical’ ones. The types of emotions that tend to make a person ‘linger’ a bit more on the past, or ‘delve back’.
Is it true though? Do we get more emotional as we age? I can only comment on what I’ve seen personally, which is that I’ve seen more than a couple of mature men cry when reflecting back on certain times in their lives – in particular, times they wish they could go back and change. In each instance, the individuals appear different now than how I was told they used to be. Different how? It’s kind of hard to put into words. Softer-spoken, and rarely if ever angered – just to name a few.
What changes in us chemically as we get older that tends to make us more ’emotional’? And is it ever possible for a person to ‘change’? I don’t know the answer to the first question. As for the second one, I believe wholeheartedly the answer is yes. Maybe I’m wrong, but I consider being more emotional and ‘in-tune’ with yourself and others to be change. One thing I do know – the pill of regret is seldom swallowed. One of the saddest things you’ll ever see is a person reflecting back on losing the best thing they ever had in life.
She’s gone country
I love country music. It calms me… soothes me.
It amazes me how we all change with age. The fact is, we all do change – even if it’s only something others recognize in us. If you’d told me even a year ago that I would want to listen to nothing but country, I’d have slapped you then told you to go find your mama. Seriously though, I was a metalhead growing up, all the way through my twenties. Still love that era, and pretty much all the 80’s music. Once in my thirties, I increased my musical genre by adding in alternative to the mixture. As well, I’ll always love my alternative. None of this will ever fade or go away, I’ll always consider it my musical ‘roots’.
It amuses me to watch people’s reaction who haven’t seen me in a while when they hear me singing or listening to country music. ‘I can’t believe you listen to country now!? All the time?!’ (jaw dropping in succession). ‘What on earth made you change to country?’
Hmm. Good question…
Back to my theory that we all change in time. Well, sometimes that change comes about in unexpected venues. My most recent ‘growth’ just happened to manifest itself within my music selection.
I find myself craving it. There’s almost always something a song offers that I can relate with. The morals seem high, the love always radiates from them, at times they can be hilarious, and they’re not shy about their love for our Lord. So many of the songs actually mean something personal to me, or signify a person or time in my life. There’s too many instances like this to even start listing, so don’t worry, I’ll spare you the boredom.
The sweet melodic tones of country music seems to soften, or at least take the edge off of life. For me, anyway. 🙂
Six legs too many
It’s spider season again. Time to break out my double-wammy industrial-strength pow-wow… ummmmm, concoction.
Spiders??? Oh Bon, surely you can’t be talking about now… it’s June!!!… simply can’t be. In any case, I’m sure the problem is minutely miniscule…
Ahem. Never mind the Fall season when you see all the Wolf ‘writing’ spiders. Ole Bon’s spiders say the time is now. Every morning I go down two sets of stairs looking like a zombie – left arm filled with my workbag, purse, lunch and sometimes trash, and right arm waving back and forth in front of me like a freaking moron. If I try to throw in a glance around myself to make sure no one’s watching, I lose balance and almost fall down the steps – it must be hilarious to watch. As recently as this morning, I was clotheslined by yet another invisible web on the second floor. I promptly **dropped** everything and completed two full 360’s all while appearing to have a seizure, all done in order to entertain the average viewer. You are welcome.
This takes me back to when I first moved in my current residence. It was May of ’08, and the first thing I noticed was a spider infestation. The couple that resided here for ten years prior to me were elderly, and it didn’t seem to bother them. Enter Bon. Believe me when I say it did bother me. Apparently my predecessors either a) didn’t care about the spiders or b) literally couldn’t see them. I’m shooting for the latter. I mean, these people were in their 90’s…
I was absolutely horrified. Here I was, finally, in my own little condo – perfect in every way except for a spider infestation. The balcony seemed to be the worst, so that’s where I picked to start. I made a trip to the local hardware store and bought a gallon-sized industrial strength pesticide which even came equipped with a strong pump-stream system. Just pull back on the external trigger nozzle until completely loaded, and that baby’ll spray for a full 20 seconds at warp speed. Once I positioned myself on the stepladder and started spraying through the rafters, I completed the first two walls rather quickly. All the sudden the damn things started coming out by the dozens, spinning their long silk and swinging towards me. I immediately felt like a character out of a Stephen King book, already visualizing myself taking that accidental fall from a ladder over a third story ledge. I’m not talking small spiders – the littlest ones were about the size of my thumbprint, and that doesn’t include legs. These ‘things’ had been allowed to infest the place for so long that they had ‘morphed’ into some sort of amazon gargantuan thing not from this planet. A mega-spider, if you will. I panicked screamed. Ducked left, ducked right, and finally ducked inside – all while cursing myself for spraying more than one wall at a time, in turn pretty much barricading myself out of my home. Finally, after a couple of days of exterminating (one wall at a time from here on out, thank you) the porch was wiped clean of spiders.
Ahhhh… I am victorious!! And so was born the quest for a huge superhero applique for the front of my t-shirt. SB, for SuperBon. Or maybe even SpiderBon.
What I neglected to address in my extermination efforts was the fact that I may well have pushed some most of them indoors. Maybe they existed beforehand, I honestly don’t know. What I do know is that within those couple of days, more and more spiders began making their glorious appearing indoors – and that didn’t work for me. One night, I pulled back the comforter and sheets to get in bed – unveiling two very large black spiders smack-dab* in the middle of my bed. Realizing their newfound exposure, one shoots off to the right and the other to the left (again, like something fresh out of a nightmare). To this very day I maintain those things were mating in my bed. I managed to kill one, but never found the other. As for me, I remained in a light-filled room sitting upright in the fetal position for the rest of the night. Tucking my knees under my chin, I balled my eyes out. And come morning, I was completely unrecognizable by the people closest to me – although by this point it was questionable as to whether I had actually been bit by spiders and might be having a bad allergic reaction that swelled my entire face up.
I can laugh about all of this now. It wasn’t at all long after the ‘bed incident’ that I was completely spider-free… thanks once again to the heroic efforts of SuperBon/SpiderBon.
(But I wouldn’t want to do it all again.)
*Southern Slang definition of the day: Smack-dab: squarely, and directly.
Visit from beyond
I was ushered in through the foyer, past the living room and down the hallway. The doorknob to the right was turned, and the door opened for me to enter the room.
Their room.
The room itself was bigger than I remember, and had a radiant, almost heavenly look about it. I immediately noticed that it was cleaner, whiter, and less congested. It was almost pristine – with much extra room to move around. Just as quickly as the door closed behind me, they appeared.
The dogs.
My dogs. The dogs I had to leave behind through a marriage separation, now well over two years ago. And they were smiling. C’mon now, no bashing… any dog-lover out there knows what I’m talking about. They DO smile.
I don’t remember actually getting down on the floor, but in the next moment that’s exactly where I was, and where I remained. Chance and Rebel were all over me, and I was all over them. They were both clean as a whistle and smelled so good. There also was no gray in them whatsoever. The dogs weren’t pups, but they certainly weren’t old men, either! Along the empty sides and corners of the room, there were lots of clean blankets and sheets, all neatly folded – there must have been 8-10 of them scattered throughout the room. As time went on I kept grabbing them, unfolding each one and spreading them out for us, all while continuing to love on them. I remember thinking, ‘boy is someone gonna be mad at me for unfolding and messing up all these linens…’, but the dogs were loving it, and loving me. All three of us were so happy and comfortable, in that room.
The tears continue to fall as I write this. This particular visit occurred in a dream I had last night, on Tuesday night.
I believe it all started when I asked my daughter to take a picture so I could see them. I was at work Monday when I received them, and it immediately made me cry. My girlfriends at work saw this and were very sweet and caring – they are good friends and fellow animal-lovers to boot, so they understood without even saying anything. Just to see how gray the little and big guy’s faces had both gotten in two years was shocking – in particular Rebel’s, the boxer.
I’ve tried to force them out of my mind for a long time now because it’s just been too painful to think about. That still remains the case. I guess somehow, unfortunately, love really is associated with pain. Whatever the case is, I do still miss them greatly.
It was a good visit. No, it was better than good. The visit was awesome, even perfect. I hope they visit me again soon. Or should I say… allow me to visit them.
One of the pictures my daughter sent me
Wednesday isn’t a fish
My stylist cancelled out on me yesterday. I was disappointed, but understood. Her son had not completed the necessary credits to graduate high school, and come graduation day (yesterday) it hit her hard – she was just crushed. I can only imagine how she felt. So, I will go Friday instead to get the ‘hair did’.
Here’s a little Wednesday humor (thanks Christen)…
An illegal immigrant picks up a hooker.
“Hey, how much you charge by da hour, sister?” he asks.
“$100,” she replies.
In broken English, he says, “Do you do immigrant style?”
“No” she says.
“I pay you $200 to do immigrant style.”
“No,” she says, not knowing what immigrant style is.
“I pay you $300.”
“No,” she says.
“I pay you $400.”
“No,” she says.
So finally he says, “OK, I pay $1,000 to do immigrant style.”
She thinks to herself – well, I’ve been in the game for over 10 years now. I’ve had every kind of request from weirdo’s from every part of the world. How bad could immigrant style be?
So she agrees and has sex with him. Finally, after several hours, they finish. Exhausted, the hooker turns to him and says, “Hey, I was expecting something perverted and disgusting. But that was good. So, what exactly is immigrant style?”
The illegal immigrant replies, “You send bill to Government.”
My way
It’s beautiful out today – true summertime in every since of the word. Honestly it seems like the first day of summer was over a month ago, never mind the fact it’s still a week away. Back to the days of leaving your windows cracked two inches and placing that anti-seat/steeringwheel-burner-device-thingy in your windshield.
I get a treat today, going to ‘get my hair did’ after work. I consider it a treat because I haven’t been for a haircut since January, and haven’t had it colored since last summer. I ought to just shock the hell out of everybody and go short and red. Being that my stylist knows me personally, I don’t think she’d do it even if I asked her.
Cooked a big old pot of s’ghetti last night. I really enjoy cooking it ‘my way’ (great, now I’ll have Sinatra in my head all day). For 20+ years, all I was ‘allowed’ to have in it was the meat and sauce, and that sauce better not have any visible onions in it or said meal would be ruined. Oh, I could add some garlic salt, forgot about that. Even too many tomatoes in the sauce would constitute a 10-minute period of ‘picking them out’, one by one, until a nice little pile was accumulated beside the now lukewarm/cool plate of spaghetti.
I now put fresh minced garlic in it, and cut up a vidalia onion and green pepper. Add a can of mushrooms to the sauce, throw in a large can of diced & spiced tomatoes, and my little array of spices don’t forget the cayenne pepper. Let that puppy sit in the fridge for a day and have it for dinner that next night… simply delectable. And I’m not the only one who thinks so. 🙂
Birdland…
Yet another family of birds have ‘flown the coop’. It was the sweetest thing. We got up this morning and I notice K veering off to the right to open the front door. All the sudden I hear “I knew it, I knew it!! They’re gone.” Sure enough, his last family of birds nested under his porch had finally all spread their wings and left. We were wondering how much bigger the babies could get… it was comical to still refer to them as ‘babies’. They had gotten so big that only about two of the four could fit in the nest at one time. They sat up there looking like big lugs – baby birds on steriods. K could barely get out the front door anymore for anything since the mama and daddy birds were in instant protect mode of their ready-to-fly-at-any-given-moment babies.
We’ve stood here and watched bird after bird go for a drink in the birdbath. He decided it needed some clean water – the birds are now having a bird field day. 🙂
Nature is so cool… yet often sad, and always unforgiving. We were talking about it last night and he told me a story of how he recently witnessed a hawk swoop down and score a dove, carrying it off in it’s huge beak. Many birds of different species tried to come to it’s rescue, in vain. The Hawk only needs one split second to complete it’s task. In this case and most others, it got it’s prey. I was told there are still a bunch of feathers were the ‘incident’ happened.
Here’s a link I’d like to share on yet another woe of Nature. This is a bit graphic at the end, and throughout the 4 minutes can really get your heart pumping, but I promise you won’t be sorry you watched it. 🙂
Peace.
Beam me to the Beach?
Saturday morning is finally here. What to do, what to do. There’s a whole list of things, actually.
Yesterday after work I splurged on myself and indulged in a pedicure. I’ve been doing them myself for many months now, and it felt so nice to be pampered that way, especially on a Friday. Last night we went to a local diner/club that had a band playing. Had a couple beers, ate some fried pickles and quesadillas, and listened to some good music. Definitely a nice ending to the work week!
Got up on a low-key morning (couldn’t sleep late, up at 0730 drat) and had the celebratory weekend bagel. I’m gonna meet up with a friend after lunch and go in on a a Sam’s membership with her. Hoping I’ll get a lot of use outta that – there’s a location that’s very convenient in my guy’s town that I think we’ll use a lot. Maybe they’ll even be cheaper on some pool supplies, who knows.
It’s amazing that it seems like everyone on Facebook is at or going to the beach. I’ve got such beach fever that I’m literally on fire. Good thing I have my favorite beach cams for an (albeit temporary) fix.
Back to the weekend, peace!!
Friday yet?
No material today, so thought I’d throw in a laugh or two. Hopefully.
Poor fella. Wish I were him.
Mind your manners.
You GO, studmuffin.
Caption already noted.
This guy gets my vote for ‘funniest face of the year’.
The last end-result of the catastrophic Gulf oil spill.
To thine own self be true
It doesn’t do me good to sit and ponder life too often, because when I do so it usually makes me want to cry. And anyone who knows me knows how much I hate to cry. The massive headache and swollen frog eyes afterward always make me regret it. Psshh, like I could’ve done anything to prevent it, anyway.
The things in life I have no control over. Okay, I can’t do anything to improve our economic crisis. I can’t prevent the massive amount of crime in the world. I’m not able to do a damn thing about that oilspill disaster that appears to have no end in sight. But what seems to be the hardest pill to swallow is hearing of someone you know and care about sit back and ruin their own self. And of how it’s affecting the ones who love them most.
A countdown to self-destruct. And I cannot do or say a thing about it. I cannot interfere.
Life of Bon 
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