Month: January 2018

Odds and Evens

Odds and Evens

I’m on a roll with the odd word, feeling lucky in this odd world, moreover,

Never tell me the odds, even if I plead, even if they favor me. Odd one out,

Even Steven, even playing field, even I can read the writing on the wall. After

All, I’m an odd duck, even on my best days, even when I try to fit in. By

The way, this isn’t even one of those days. Odd, don’t you think? Then we’re even.

This piece of nonsense came about when I realized my previous two posts had the word “Odd” in the titles. Since two is an even number I had to go for a third post using the word “odd”; because I believe in evening things out. Or something.

Additionally, I spent the day frittering away my time, getting my hair cut and colored. Holy cow, is my hair dark! I’m even odder looking now. See what I did there?

Peace, people!

Food Photography – Pulled Chicken Sliders

I’m going to do this!

Julz.......artist, blogger, photographer, graphic designer's avatarJulie Powell - Photographer & Graphic Artist

Back with another recipe with the help of my slow cooker, this time slow cooked pulled BBQ Chicken. The Pulled Chicken was actually cooked the night before and served with rice. I suppose you could easily make it pork, for tradition pulled pork. So you could use this as a main meal or something yummy for left-overs.

Ingredients:

  • 2 chicken breasts fillets
  • 1 bottle Brown Sugar Bourbon BBQ Sauce

Cooking Time: 4.5 hours

As there is really no prep, put a little BBQ Sauce on the bottom of the Slow Cooker and place in the trimmed chicken fillets, cover with the remaining sauce, I also put a little water in the sauce bottle to partially rinse and then add that to the cooker as well.

Cook on Slow for 4.5 hours and then remove chicken and shred it (not too difficult, as the chicken is falling apart), place the chicken…

View original post 131 more words

Odd Girl Out

Odd Girl Out

I’m well aware that social niceties aren’t always in my repertoire

My pinky doesn’t crook just right when I sip red wine through a plastic straw

My language isn’t ladylike, and I’m far too fond of bawdy humor

And any talk of my good graces are seldom more than just a rumor

Polite company eschews my presence

Seems I’ve never learned my lessons

I can’t behave, cannot sublimate all the crazy ideas running willy nilly through this brain.

Everything lost; nothing to gain.

I wrote this whilst listening to Freebird in a funky downtown pizza shop.

https://g.co/kgs/H3PWAF

Odds and Ends

1) Our younger cat, Patches, pooped on the rug in the guest bathroom this morning. This, in spite of having easy access to three litter boxes. We’re fairly sure it was done in spite. She and her “sister” Scout dislike each other immensely and are in constant competition for our attention. I scolded Patches and made her watch me clean up her mess. She seems somewhat chastened. We shall see.

An older photo of the cat in question.

2) The New England Patriots defeated the Jacksonville Jaguars 24-20 on Sunday. &$@#%!?!!!!.

3) Studly Doright and I met friends at the AMC movie theatre in Tallahassee on Sunday afternoon and watched Darkest Hour. Excellent film! Gary Oldman is superb as Winston Churchill. When I think of how close England came to negotiating with Hitler I get sick to my stomach. Also, I had difficulty understanding all of the dialogue. Too many years of loud rock and roll?

4) I got my days mixed up and missed a meeting of my book club on Saturday. I was so looking forward to discussing Kristen Hannah’s The Nightingale. It’s a fine book and the capitulation of France’s government to Hitler’s regime dovetailed nicely with the Churchill film.

5) I hope the Eagles prevail over the Vikings tonight, but I have yet to pick a winner this year.

6) Dinner on Sunday night was cheese, nuts, and red wine. Bohemian, right?

7) For two consecutive nights I enjoyed seven hours of sleep. Yay me!

That’s it. Another weekend in the books. Y’all have a great week.

Peace, people!

Wine Fueled

Saturday came with its easy vibe, cloaked in laziness and splendor.

A chaise lounge beckoned, and I reclined, the better to revel bodaciously.

A glass of red in hand, the radio on a slow, low, sexy jam, stretch out your hand

And touch me there, and here. Oh, the wine might fuel me, but it’s you who

Moves me, every time, every single time. Come closer, and kiss me.

Do I Look Like a Twinkle to You?

I’ve been called by a variety of names over the course of my 61 years on earth: Leslie, Sis, Mommy, Mom, Nana, Boobsie (don’t ask), and a few less flattering ones I’m not going to mention. But a couple of days ago I was offered a new moniker.

On Thursday afternoon I had volunteered to transport a meal to a group of young single moms in Tallahassee. The coordinator paired me with someone named Robin who would prepare a meal, and my task was to meet up with Robin and then deliver the meal to the meeting in a timely fashion.

In spite of numerous texts and emails between Robin and me, we managed to get our wires crossed and ended up at two different locations. I was at one truck stop and Robin was at another just down the road. Before we resolved the issue I was standing outside the Flying J restaurant looking for someone who might be Robin. Since we’d never met I scrutinized everyone.

A car pulled up beside me and a middle-aged man rolled down his window. I thought, “Hmmm, maybe Robin is a man.” I have a male cousin named Robin, so it was a possibility.

Before I could say anything the man asked, “Say, are you Twinkle?”

Briefly taken aback, I retorted, “Hell no. Do I look like a Twinkle to you?”

He quickly rolled up his window and sped away. I got the giggles. I believe he thought I was a prostitute! Me! In my mom jeans and Star Wars t-shirt. Then it occurred to me that the “Twinkle” he was looking for was likely to be a trans prostitute. Guess I fooled him all around. Studly doesn’t call me “Boobsie” for nothing!

Trumplewocky

Brilliant!

stephanielharper's avatarSLHARPERPOETRY

trumplewocky1‘Twas feckish, and the irkly grobes
Did fark and fistle in the slade;
All dingly were the rectiprobes
And the dampnuts updrade.

“Beware the Trumplewock, my friend!
The bigly mouth, those puny mitts!
Beware the Tweet bird, and off-fend
The cronious Perkletits!”

She packed her poisal voice and went:
Fat chance the vapid imp she’d spare—
So quivered he ‘neath his Cheato tree,
And feebly cried, “Unfair!”

And, as the greelish light grew pale,
The Trumplewock, with wits of wood,
Came grabbling through the femly vale
Because he thought he could!

Eins, zwei! Eins, zwei! And quick as pie
The poisal voice sliced fierce and true:
“Go flay yourself, you mawkish elf,
And burn the residue!”

The Trumplewock would rue the day
He left his diddlepot of lack.
The frankish words would haunt him ‘til
He went galumphing back.

‘Twas feckish, and the irkly grobes
Did fark and fistle in…

View original post 38 more words

A Lizardless Winter

We’ve been living at Doright Manor for four years now, and I believe this is the first winter we haven’t had a small lizard living in the mailbox. Every day I open the mailbox with anticipation and a bit of trepidation, and every day that there’s no lizard I feel a little let down, but also a bit relieved. Sometimes those guys scared the crap out of me.

The temperatures have been colder than usual this year, so I’m not sure if it’s simply too cold for the lizards or if they’ve moved to better digs. I can’t do a thing about the weather, but I can do something about the accommodations. Maybe I’ll redecorate the mailbox before next winter, put in a nice recliner and a rug.

Or perhaps I’ll knit a sweater and attach a note with care instructions.

It couldn’t hurt, right?

I do hope the lizards are somewhere safe and warm.

Peace, people.

Meme a Theme…me, me , me, me,

Take a moment and read this. Thanks.

r.Douglas's avatar1XPAD.COM

I’m close to full stop, come the news after sundown. But those fourth estate hounds, it being happy hour and all, are fed scrap after flap of Trump this or that, which spins my amateur poet pose on a damn D.C dime, and I’m forced to pirouette and sash shay some dilettantish political punditry.

Let me pour a bourbon.

Now if that first paragraph doesn’t clue you to the punishment inherent in thinking about politics then you be my kind of player.

Because, politics, in the main, is a bad play. A narrative offered without a theme. Because governance, the plot points of politics, is just one event after another. Grunt-work. The trash picked up. Timely public transportation. A nation’s defense staffed and paid for. Taxes collected. Disputes adjudicated, with property and civil rights protected. The free speech. That one person, one vote.

Now, I’m purposely mixing metaphors of making a…

View original post 361 more words