Floater or Flying Insect

Lately, when I dine al fresco, as I do often in Florida, much of my time is spent wondering if I’m watching a gnat buzz around my meal, or if it’s just a floater plaguing my vision.

Gnat

Floaters

Today I swatted at an insect only to realize it was literally all in my head. It’s almost as if I have a lame 3D movie playing continuously, and I keep reaching for the illusion.

I’m sure I’ll get used to the effect, but what if a real gnat lands on my meal? What if I swallow one? I have a bad feeling about this.

Peace, people!

We Have a Floater

Lately my health has been Rosanne Rosannadanna-ish. If it’s not one thing, it’s another.

Yesterday I was in the waiting room of a radiology clinic awaiting a CT scan of my digestive tract when my right eye went wonky. First there was a bright flash of light from the corner of that eye followed by what can only be described as a parade of ink blot animals à la Rorschach. Well, to me they appeared to be animals. Who knows what some of you degenerates might’ve seen. There was an elephant dragging a walrus, a hippo in a tutu, a lamb with a baton, among others.

I called the eye doctor’s office just before I was handed my first barium smoothie, and had an appointment scheduled after just a few sips. Yum, yum.

The second smoothie didn’t go down quite as easily, but it could’ve been worse. Some folks in the prep area had to drink three of the concoctions. The CT scan was kind of fascinating. I’m always amazed by, and a little leery of, the ways in which systems within the body can be manipulated:

Them: We can make you think you’re urinating.

Me: No, you can’t!

Me, two seconds later: Holy cow! I think I’m urinating.

After the test I grabbed a quick bite to eat and went directly to my eye doctor’s office. They took more pictures of the inside of my eyes than a helicopter mom takes of her offspring.

Not my eye, but still pretty cool, right?

I’d worried that my retina was detached, but apparently people in my age group are susceptible to such floaters.

Most eye floaters are caused by age-related changes that occur as the jelly-like substance (vitreous) inside your eyes becomes more liquid. Microscopic fibers within the vitreous tend to clump and can cast tiny shadows on your retina. The shadows you see are called floaters.

Diagnosis: I’m old.

I’m scheduled to see my gastroenterologist tomorrow, and if all goes well I’ll get a similar diagnosis from him: “Nothing to see here. Move along. You’re just old.”

Today though, I’m going for a facial. My insides might be old, but my outsides don’t have to advertise that.

Peace, people.

Saint Augustine Ghost?

I’ve been visiting family members who are vacationing in St. Augustine. I had such a great time hanging out with them, but I’ve neglected the blog for a bit.

We went to a lovely beach where I took the obligatory selfie:

I look a little (too much) like Maxine, right?!

We had an excellent dinner at Mojo’s Barbecue before heading out on a ghost hunting adventure. I might’ve gotten a couple of supernatural visitors in these photos. You be the judge:

This photo, while not exactly of the supernatural classification, certainly is out of the ordinary. That’s me as the tattooed lady, but baby Taylor deserves the spotlight.

I still have a bunch of pictures to go through. Who knows what other spirits will show up?

Peace, people!

Alexa, Not Now!

I’m fond of Alexa. With a simple command she does all sorts of wonderful things for me, including providing a weather forecast, defining words, telling jokes and giving sports updates. She’s like the kid in school who raised her hand at every question from the teacher, and always had the correct answer, without the accompanying smirk.

Early Friday morning I was doing some chores around the kitchen and decided to ask Alexa to play music without specifying an artist or genre.

She responded, “Here’s a station you might like. X-rated R and B Slow Sexy Jams.”

As the first song began I quickly realized she wasn’t kidding about the x-rated thing! I blushed at the graphic lyrics as I told Alexa to stop. There’s a time and place for x-rated slow sexy jams, but my kitchen at 7:30 a.m. didn’t fit the bill. I might’ve jotted down the station name, though, for future reference. You never know when a slow sexy jam might come in handy.

Under the Bus

A couple of days ago I shared my hurt feelings with my readers about a comment my husband made in regard to my new haircut, and in the process kind of threw Studly Doright under the bus. After all, on my blog it’s only my side of a story that gets told.

Studly Doright is a really good guy. He’s not perfect by any means, but he’s a decent man in every sense of the word (there’s a reason I call him Studly Doright). When I told him how I’d been hurt by his negative comment he was genuinely surprised that it had sounded so harsh to my ears, and apologized profusely.

He’d made the comment by phone after several long days of travel/work and I received the comment after several days of little sleep. That wasn’t a great communication construct. Once we were face to face the vibe was much better. A good night’s sleep didn’t hurt either.

I need to learn to recognize when my emotions are taking over my brain’s functioning. And I definitely need to resist throwing Studly under the bus. Thanks for all the advice, though. I gained some great insights through this process.

Peace, people.

Wigging Out

Several days ago I was at one of the local malls. I needed a new, smaller belt and a place to walk on a stormy day. After buying a belt (on sale, yay!) I strolled around looking at brightly colored Easter decor, waving at the mall Easter Bunny, and mentally eating all the mall foods that I can’t have right now. If mental calories counted. I’d need to buy a much differently sized belt.

On one pass of the lower level I noted all the pretty wigs on display in the Merle Norman store. I smiled at the lady seated behind the counter, passed on by, and then did an abrupt about face and turned into the store. The clerk did a double take and gave me a warm greeting before asking, “How can I help you?”

This was a couple of days before my most recent haircut, and I told her that I was sick of my hair and wondered if maybe I should just finally let it go gray.

She offered to help me try some different grays on just to see how I’d look. We tried a silver gray. Then a salt and pepper gray. A mushroom gray, and a blonde gray, among others.

After the fourth or fifth one the sweet lady looked at me earnestly and said, “I recommend that you keep coloring your hair as long as possible.”

And that’s why I’ll NEVER go gray.

Peace, people!

Underwhelming Response

This is a post I won’t share on Facebook. It’s just between you and me. My feelings are hurt, and I feel unreasonably angry, so help me know how to handle this situation.

Studly Doright has been working in Orlando all this week and is set to return home tonight. He called last evening to give me an update, and we chatted for a few minutes before he had to meet his coworkers for dinner.

I told him I’d gotten my haircut and jokingly said, “You might mistake me for a Bob or a Tom when you get home.”

Silence.

“Are you still there?” I asked.

“Yeah. I’m probably not going to like it.”

Just like that, my night felt ruined. I stammered something, trying to laugh it off, but it hurt and now I’m dreading seeing him when he arrives home tonight.

So, how would you have reacted? How do I handle his homecoming?

Just Okay

Yesterday I got my hair cut really short. It’s so short that even my meager styling skills are sufficient to keep my hair looking okay.

I’m good with just okay. If I had any thoughts of entering a beauty pageant in the future I’d need to have higher personal beauty standards, but that boat sailed, and sank, many years ago.

Studly Doright dated a beauty pageant winner before he started dating me. She dumped him, and for a long time I agonized about being just okay knowing his previous girlfriend was a beauty. I wore my inferiority complex like a consolation prize badge.

Studly and I even double dated with the beauty queen and her boyfriend, further complicating and elevating my complex. I was a mess.

I used to fantasize about being a great beauty, or failing that, that my sparkling personality might at least earn me a Miss Congeniality nod in a pageant. Sadly, my personality is just okay, as well.

Maybe I could’ve won the Miss Magic Marker pageant. My fine motor skills are decent, and I’d be fine with someone printing large M’s on my tatas. Alas, I was born too late.

Now, if there was a Miss Procrastination pageant, I’d be all over that.

I’ve excelled at procrastinating long enough to write this blog post. Time to go back to being just okay.

Peace, people!