Hip to be Square

Aging sucks, but as I’m frequently reminded it beats the hell out of the alternative. This past October I celebrated my 60th birthday. Six decades on this earth have taken a toll on my body. I’m no longer the svelte, lithesome broad I once was. And everything hurts.

My ankles hurt, my thighs hurt, and my hips seem to be stuck in neutral. I’m okay as long as I move forward, just don’t ask me to pivot or cha cha. Damn, I miss cha cha-ing. 

A Facebook pop up advertisement (amazing how they pick up on my personal needs) prompted me to check on exercises designed to ease those frozen hips. Apparently, if I could stretch my hip flexors, I might achieve full range of motion. I could once again cha cha.

I turned to Google, and this stretch was the first thing to appear under “hip flexor stretches.”


Honestly. I can’t cha cha and they expect me to do this? I tried. Lord knows I tried. Studly Doright walked in during my attempt and laughed so hard I would have slapped him if I could’ve gotten up off the floor.

I’ll be in the whirlpool tub if anyone needs me.

https://g.co/kgs/oXQ3m7
Peace, people.

Question for the Aged 

A friend posted this meme on his Facebook page today and jokingly quipped, “My wife.”  
But being the deep thinker that I am, instead of quickly responding with something like “my vintage Huey Lewis concert tshirt which doubles as my favorite nightgown” I thought I’d turn the question into a blog post.

 

Huey Lewis. I sleep with him, you know.
 
I have a lot of old stuff. Probably the oldest is a bedroom suite that I inherited from my maternal grandmother, my beloved Nannie Grace. It was an antique when she bought it, but she went one step further and antiqued the antique. Sigh. Apparently it was a popular thing to do in the 60’s and 70’s.

   
 I’ve considered having her antiquing process undone and the furniture restored to its original mahogany, but one restorer explained to me that the paint Nannie Grace applied is probably the only thing holding it together at this point.

It’s still a beautiful set, and I’d estimate it at possibly 145 years of age.

There’s also this piece from Nannie Grace

  
And this poor old clock that was my Daddy’s:

  
But my favorite old thing is my side saddle.

  
My maternal grandfather, Grandaddy Carl P., bought this saddle when I was very young. He promised it would be mine someday and here it is. Like Grandaddy, though, I really don’t have anywhere to display it. He kept it in his workshop and Studly always gives me space in the garage for this sentimental piece. It deserves better, so if anyone has a suggestion for how I might incorporate it into my decor I’m more than willing to listen. 

What’s the oldest thing in your house? Why do you have it and what does it mean to you? Inquiring minds want to know.

Peace, people!

Unintentional Dating 

Unintentional Dating 

My lonely life revolves around shopping, blogging, and Facebook, but at least I have a life of sorts. On Facebook I’m particularly vulnerable to clicking on tests–“How Smart are You?” “What Does Your Color Preference Indicate about You?” “Are  You a Sociopath? Find out in 10 Easy Steps.”

 

For the record, there’s a unicorn inside me, which explains the gastric distress.
 
Like most facebookers, I take the results of these tests with a grain of salt, meaning if I like the results it was a righteous test; if I don’t, it was a lame questionnaire with no legitimacy. I still maintain that I am not a sociopath. Stupid test.

Most of the time these little activities are straightforward and harmless: Click on the site, answer a few multiple choice questions, receive your results. But one day this week I took a quiz and was automatically transferred to the online dating site, FirstMet.

I didn’t answer a single question and left the page immediately. However, the site was linked to my Facebook profile so now I’ve been receiving dozens of emails from potential suitors. They include

Gary, a 55 year old male in Tallahassee who’d like to rock my world. His hobbies include listening to Rush Limbaugh and going to tractor pulls.

Mark, 58, is retired and enjoys television and Chinese take out.

Walt, 62, likes the Hunger Games and country music. Walt has a comb over (I saw his photo). 

I thought I could ignore these emails and they’d go away, but they keep coming. Either I’m much more desirable than I ever thought, or these men are slightly desperate. Let’s go with option #2.

Studly Doright really doesn’t want me to date. And honestly, unless Harrison Ford, Huey Lewis, or Adam Levine show up in an email I’m not all that interested. 

Finally a Facebook friend showed me how to stop receiving the emails from FirstMet, so maybe my suitors will fade away. Of course now I won’t have any way to know when Harrison tries to contact me. That’s the downside.

Ok, I’m going to go retake that sociopath assessment. Must be more careful this time around. Bwahaha.
Peace, people!

Musical Walk

thanks to you, Pandora
in the space of one brief walk
my life is infused
with sugar, and bad blood,
the beating heart of rock and roll,
happy! happy! happy!

adam levine lights me up
and my walk turns into a strut.
huey lewis holds my hand and
twirls me around.
imagine dragons and pharrel
got me singing along.

too happy not to dance
too old to care that
the neighbors all think
i’m crazy, crazy, crazy!
maybe i am, but life is
too short to waste on
pretending to be sane.

http://youtu.be/M7JVlpm0eRs
  
Peace, people!

Clone Wars

In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “Clone Wars.”

Best not to clone me,
Two me’s would be too many;
Three, ridiculous.

Clone instead two men:
Harrison Ford and Tom Cruise,
Then share their cloned selves.

I get Mister Ford
You get Tom Cruise for yourself.
Or we could switch out.

I really don’t care,
After all cloning ensures
There will be plenty.

And what shall I do
With my hunky cloned Harry?
That’s too personal.

By the way, Tom Cruise
Gained mention because his name
Has two syllables.

Instead of more, like
Huey Lewis, George Clooney
And Paul McCartney.

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No Bucket

There will be no bucket kicking for me when the time comes. Instead, I’ll be flinging a champagne flute and relishing the sound of breaking glass as I bid adieu to this life. All the same, I do have a list of things I’d like to do before my final day on earth. Thus…

My Champagne Flute List

1. Walk the runway in a fashion show. I’m not picky, either. Walmart, Kmart, I’m ready to strut in style.

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2. Score backstage passes for any of the following acts:
A) Huey Lewis and the News (yes, they’re old, but I still have a tremendous crush on Huey)
B) Katy Perry (she fascinates me)
C) The Rolling Stones (of course)
D) Sir Paul (duh)

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3. Sing in a rock and roll band. Preferably my own, but I’m open to suggestions.

4. Learn to play drums. Studly refuses to cooperate on this one. I can’t imagine why.

5. Tour Europe with a group of friends. None of those 10 countries in 11 days tours, either. I want a leisurely, relaxed tour with lots of wine and beer.

6. Take each of my grandchildren on individual, no holds barred expeditions to a destination of their choosing.

7. Spend a week at a spa with my daughter–one of those exclusive, all-inclusive places where we can relax and recover and talk.

8. Enjoy a drive through wine country with my son while listening to podcasts.

9. Corral my brothers and their families, my cousins and their families, and my children and grandchildren for a much needed family reunion.

10. Attend a Super Bowl with Studly, preferably with the Cowboys representing the NFC. Okay, any team. It doesn’t look like Jerry Jones plans on selling the team or hiring a real GM any time soon, and I’m not getting any younger.

11. Publish a novel and go on a major book tour.

I really need to start working on these. Cough. Cough. Another glass of wine, please.

Peace, People!

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