March Minimalist Challenge, Days 12, 13, 14, 15, 16, 17, 18, 19, and Perhaps 20.

Confession: I’m probably cheating a bit for the next few days.

For those of you who have been breathlessly awaiting my next minimalist challenge post, for heaven’s sake, breathe. I’ll not be responsible for any injuries incurred on my behalf.

Currently I’m far away from Doright Manor, visiting my daughter and her family in the great state of Illinois. My goal before departing on my cross-country trip was to sort through enough items at home to carry me through the eleven days I’d be away. I was going to snap photos, write some alliterative prose to accompany each photo, and schedule the posts for publication. I didn’t come even close to my goal.

But, in the back of my mind I thought that this item might suffice for the entire trip, as a backup plan in case I didn’t do my due diligence:

Inside the jar (1 item), underneath the lid (1 more item), are 174 pretzel nuggets that I discovered while cleaning out the trunk area of my car, for a total of 176 items.

12+13+14+15+16+17+18+19=124 items! Even if I don’t arrive home until the 20th, I’m covered!

Plus, I’m pretty sure I have something scheduled to post for the challenge on the 16th, so I’m not a complete loser.

Quick story about why I even had the long-expired pretzel nuggets in my car: Every now and again I decide I need snacks in my vehicle just in case of a zombie apocalypse or an EMP (electro magnetic pulse) attack by North Korea. Pretzel nuggets would keep me going for a few days, at least, as I made my way to a safe location. I might even be able to use them to barter with others along the way.



Kim Jong Un

Kim Jong Un

Okay, I’m lying, but that explanation is way more interesting than the truth.

Peace, people.

Kind of a Big Deal

Several years ago during spring break a friend and I were visiting Nashville, Tennessee, for the first time. We’d gone on a bus tour of the city and sung karaoke in a downtown bar. We’d even checked out Coyote Ugly, which was a bit disappointing. Maybe if we’d been a couple of guys it would’ve been more fun.

One of the oddest occurrences from the trip was when an obviously drunk guy in a well-tailored grey suit stumbled across a crowded bar, weaving between tables as a singer belted out a Charlie Daniels cover from the stage. To our shock, the drunk approached our table, pulled out a chair and sat down.

With no preamble the first words out of his mouth were, “I’m kind of a big fu**ing deal.”

My friend and I exchanged looks, rose from our seats, and left the bar. Neither of us needed this guy’s line of b.s.

I feel like Donald Trump is the drunk at my table. He keeps telling me what a big deal he is, and I keep walking away. He keeps spewing b.s., but no one holds him accountable. When will the GOP controlled Congress say, “Enough!” and walk away from the table? Once Kim Jong Un hits the nuclear button, it’s gonna be way too late.

Sign of the Apocalypse?

Our cats never, and I mean NEVER, come this close to snuggling. I guess the early morning snow in Tallahassee, or perhaps the “My button is bigger than your button” tweet from trump to Kim Jung Un, has them believing it’s the end of the world as we know it. On the plus side, in either case, I don’t have to make my bed.

And I think we all know trump’s button isn’t bigger than anyone’s.

Peace, people.