I seldom take selfies, but since I’ve been wearing a hat to hide my crazy hair for the past two weeks I thought I should celebrate when it behaved.
It’s not going to win me any beauty contests, but I can at least forego the baseball cap today.
Peace, people.
If you give a girl a lime, she’s going to need a knife to cut it into wedges.
After you give her a knife, she’ll cut her finger slicing the lime, and ask for a band-aid.
You’ll get her a band-aid, but the sight of blood will make her woozy, so she’ll ask for some gin.
And once she has some gin, she’s going to need some tonic water.
Of course, she’ll need a glass to put the gin and tonic in.
Since she has a band-aid on her finger, she’ll ask you to squeeze the lime into the glass for her.
Once the gin and tonic and lime are in the glass, obviously, she’ll feel the need to stir, so she’ll ask for a swizzle stick.
After she stirs the gin and tonic, she’s going to need an ice cube or two.
Now that her drink is mixed, she’ll ask for some privacy.
If she repeats these steps several times, the girl is going to need another lime.
Studly Doright brought home one lime a couple of days ago. What’s a girl to do?
Yesterday I shared a post about some advice one of Studly Doright’s old racquetball buddies gave me years ago. Here’s the link if you’re just dying to know the whole story: https://nananoyz5forme.com/2020/04/28/as-the-wise-man-sayeth/
I read the post to Studly last night, and he found it amusing, but inaccurate. The quote I’d attributed to his old friend, Alan (Allen?) had instead been spoken by one of his coaching mentors, Gabby Hays, who’d told him, “Boy, don’t ever get in too big a hurry to lose.”
I stand corrected. I still like the quote I misremember better.
Peace, people!
Years ago, back when Studly Doright was a competitive racquetball player, his primary nemesis on the courts was a guy named Alan (maybe spelled Allen, I don’t recall). Alan was an experienced racquetball player, and the best in our mid-sized Texas town, long before Studly began playing the game, and for years beating Alan at racquetball was Studly’s primary goal.
Now, Studly has always been a competitive soul, and at one time he was quite the athlete. Before long he and Alan were frequently in contention for the city championship. I forget which man ended up with the most first place trophies, but I do believe it was the love of my life. That would be Studly, not Alan.
Alan was, and likely still is, a hoot. He could psyche Studly out before, during, and after a racquetball match, and that was no easy feat. Of course, Studly could give as good as he got. Even when they weren’t on the court, the two played constant mind games on each other.
One day about a week before the city championship, Alan showed up at our home unexpectedly. Studly answered the door invited Alan back to the den where I was sitting on the sofa folding laundry. I had on my workout clothes, no makeup, and my hair was still wet from the shower. Immediately upon seeing me sitting there, Alan exclaimed, “Leslie, until this moment I never realized what a beauty you are!”
This declaration was definitely aimed at unnerving Studly before the big tournament, but for just a second I blushed like a teenager. Alan went on to praise my burgeoning skills in the racquetball court before leaving me with a few words of advice: “Never be in too big a hurry to win or to lose.”
I recalled Alan’s saying today when I realized that I’d been in such a hurry to finish my novel that I’d written a bunch of crap in the last two thousand words or so. What to do? I’ll chunk those words into my “slush” file and try again. It won’t be the first time I’ve had to take that action, but hopefully the last time. For this novel, anyway.
Peace, people.
I cut Studly’s hair
With attachment number three
He speaks to me still
My husband, Studly Doright, brought me a gift today.
He’s asked me to trim his hair. Me, the world’s greatest klutz. The woman who regularly makes a mess of her own bangs.
I’m trying to convince him that he looks quite handsome with his current hairstyle. Dashing. Young. Hip. I’m not having much luck.
Keep us both in your thoughts. And, if I botch the haircut does anyone know a good divorce attorney?
Peace, people
Normally Scout can be found acting as Studly Doright’s home office co-worker, and I have to work alone. We’ve decided she’s the head of Human Resources here at Doright Manor, and considers Studly to be more of an HR problem than I am.
Today, though, she’s been supervising my work. I’m not sure if it’s because she knows I’m coming to the end of the novel I’m writing and is trying to encourage me, or if she’s making sure I don’t slack off. Either way, she’s been sitting and staring at me for a good fifteen minutes. It’s kind of freaking me out.
Peace, people.
Yesterday I started writing around 7:30 a.m. Two of my main characters were in a tough spot. One was dealing with something her daughter had just confessed while the other was attempting to reassure her without offering platitudes.
I worked on their conversation for about an hour and still wasn’t happy with it. So, instead of continuing to pound my head against my keyboard, I went back and read the whole thing from the beginning in an effort to crawl inside their heads in a different way.
The effort paid off and I think I’ve handled the conversation in a thoughtful way. At least it doesn’t sound like I’ve strung a bunch of cliches together. In the end, I managed to write 1,023 words on Wednesday, and I fully expect to finish my book within the next seven days. Eek!
I’ll have a party on that day. Jump up and down, cry, turn cartwheels, drink a glass of wine, and probably write a post about the event. Okay, Studly says no cartwheels, but everything else is good to go.
Peace, people.
Georgia’s Republican governor, Brian Kemp, is opening up businesses in his state beginning Friday, I believe. Hair salons, barber shops, nail salons—will be considered essential.
Now, you might ask, “Why should that worry you? Don’t you live in Florida?”
Well, yes I do.
In the map above, locate Tallahassee. We live just north of there, and south of Quincy. Georgia is just a few miles north of Quincy. Lots of folks who live in my part of the state work in Georgia, and a bunch of Georgia residents work in Florida. So, you see why I’m concerned, right?
Florida’s Governor, Ron DeSantis is a Trump sycophant, so it won’t be long before he follows suit, opening our beaches and theme parks before the Corona virus has reached its peak.
At least DeSantis hasn’t yet said we should be happy to die if it means saving the economy as Texas lieutenant governor Dan Patrick has declared on more than one occasion. Florida has way too many elderly people in residence for DeSantis to say such a thing out loud. But you just know he’s thinking it.
I don’t know about you, but this 63-year-old isn’t sacrificing herself to make Trump’s economy look good. Pardon my language, but fuck that noise.
Peace, people.
Typically I’ve only worn hats while at the beach or when I’m suffering from a bad case of helmet head after riding my motorcycle. I look like a doofus in a hat. But finally my hair has completely gotten out of control, so today I donned a hat.
You have no idea how many pictures I had to take before I didn’t look like a crazy woman. Oh, and I couldn’t find my regular mask, so I had to take the souvenir Luckenbach, Texas bandana from its frame in my Texas bedroom for a face covering.
The ghost of Billy the Kid called. He thinks I’d make a fine outlaw.
Peace, people.
Praying for Eyebrowz 