Leap

Leap Day is now.  For about another hour and a half. Which also signals the end of February, the month in which I made some plans, and while they weren't all played out as I had laid out at the beginning of the month, more things were accomplished than if I had made no plans at all. And that, Reader, is a check in the "win" column.

I had planned on writing some witty (humor me, it's only polite) little post to end this leap day month, however I follow a blog about real life stuff and it was sad and has me bawling and anything flippant and nonsense-y I had planned just isn't there,  because first of all, I'm crying over here, and second, just. no. Not now. I'm not a newscaster who can tell a horrific story and then leap with a smile and a haha into a story about a cute puppy. I mean, I like cute puppy stories, but not in the same breath as a horrific news event. A little space, that's all. 

In some other news, just to keep you up-to-date with Bang Bang Homefront News, I've been working on a big presentation for My Mister for an appointment that he has tomorrow afternoon. Could be a Big Deal, so fingers crossed.  A little bit of luck to pair up with the hard work would sure be welcomed. But really, we have no problems to speak of so whatever the outcome, we'll be okay. 

Keep perspective, Reader, and faith in another good day for you and those you love. Sending it out to all of you from Chez Bang Bang.

xo

Ketchup

To blame New York for my not reaching my goal of a blog-a-day seems fair, Reader. I couldn't keep up, I was working and then tired, and then we were delayed a whole entire day coming home due to weather, then some other stuff happened once I got home and the next thing ya know,  it's now. 

So here we sit.  

I figure I'll give you some highlights, one for each of the days since the last day I posted. I think that's maybe 11 days ago, but I really don't know without checking and frankly that's just more effort than I am interested in putting forth right now so let's just go with 11 and call it fair.  None of these items are in anyway related to each other, unless they are, and they might not even make sense out of context, but hey I never said I owed you 11 good highlights, did I? No, I did not. 

1. I spent hours and hours on Sunday cleaning my hardwood floors. They are a 4-stage process and a lot-lot-lot of work. The phases are: Sweeping. Vacuuming. Mopping. Polishing.  I was exhausted by the end of all that, but the floors looked ah.mazing. And then I got up this morning and the cat had thrown up right on the shiny cleaned floor, as if to say "screw-you, Mama, that's where this goes, gaaak." I felt it was a little rude, quite frankly. Cats are assholes. 

2.  It was so cold in New York City during Valentine's weekend that my iPhone just shut the eff off right there in the middle of Times Square when I tried to take a picture. But we did manage to get this cold picture at some point, I had to cut my co-worker out of it because permissions and line-crossings, but yeah, it was cold. 

3. I'm sort of surprised at how long my hair has gotten, all of a sudden. It's like a teenage boy who just had an overnight growth spurt and now he's all long and lanky and his voice is crackly.  Even my hairdresser/friendie commented on the whole all-of-a-sudden-long-hairedness.  All I can attribute it to is that I've been on a morning green smoothie binge and adding in my Juice Plus nutritional capsules along with adding in my Jobees bee pollen.   No, Reader, I'm not compensated in any way for that crap, it's just stuff I've had in my cabinets for a while because I go through intermittent healthy living spurts that never seem to stick long enough to become a habit, but we're trying again anyway. I'm merely point out, it's the only thing that I've been doing differently and suddenly my hair seems longer.  I should be a Breck Girl. 

4. Hm...what else has happened?

5. Yes, I'm counting that. And this. 

6. While in New York, we had dessert from Carlo's Bake Shop, which was disappointing, but we were going back for seconds anyway, when I noticed a Crumbs cupcakery across the street. I bought 10 of them to take home and share with my coworkers (we were on our way to the airport at the time) but then our flight was cancelled so the cupcakes ended coming home with me the next day and never made it in to my coworkers. So basically I ate anywhere from 7 to 8 cupcakes (who's counting, really) myself, all while I'm trying to get ship-shape prior to my cruise in April.  Substitute the word "trying" in that last sentence with "thinking about." Apparently. Very little trying is happening, unless eating cupcakes is a form of trying. Then I am trying very very hard. 

7. Far too many of my friendies - possibly including yourself, Reader - have been waylaid by some sort of malady this year. I mean, a lot. I spent a couple hours Saturday in the hospital visiting someone, and let me tell you, I was quite impressed at the hospital room. They've come a long way, Baby. It was spacious, private, and hi-tech. But enough already with the illnesses, Reader! You're going to turn my long hairs grey. I'm worried about all of you!!  All of you lucky enough to not be afflicted with anything too woeful, practice a Gratitude Moment right now.  You could have brain fluid leaking out of your nose (yes, that's a real thing that someone I love is going through). 

8. I'm revamping this blog! It's big news, Reader, and deserves more than #8, but consider this just a teaser, if you've made it this far. The Big Reveal and Redirect will be happing in the next couple of weeks. So yeah, I'm not just sitting around eating cupcakes as you may be led to believe. I'm TCB*ing over here. 

9. I haven't managed to get up early to work out at all. Not even one day. Not even early enough to sit and enjoy a cuppa coffee at the kitchen table before starting my day. Nothing extra has happened except for a few stretches as I'm getting dressed.  Even I can't count that as a win, unless "win" gets redefined as not getting any worse. Hm. Maybe that IS a win after all. 

10. Speaking of my longer hair, which has been prone to tangling up like a knotted hot mess underneath, to the point that my friendie had to cut a giant hunk out of the back of my head a couple of weeks ago, my hairdresser/friendie mentioned above gifted me with this brush, which has saved me from turning into a dreadlocked hipster with a big bald patch in the back of my head. Yep, that was a run-on sentence. Take a breath now. In your mind, because you're just silently reading this and I hope that doesn't leave you out of breath, or wow, we've got problems.  

11. I should have not made such a big commitment here with 11 things. Which sort of reminds me of a time when my exhusband challenged me to measure a spot on the wall for a new entertainment unit, so I grabbed the tape measure and got all cocky about it and took the measurement because he didn't think I knew how to measure. I mean, come on. Who can't measure?? But then we got to the store to buy one, and he asked me "So how big is the space?" and I said, "Eleven."  "Eleven what?" "Just...Eleven. The tape measure stopped at the eleven." Needless to say, we didn't buy an entertainment unit that day. So yeah. Eleven.  

*It's an Elvis thing. Taking Care of Business. In a Flash. Catch up, Reader. 

 

Cracked Under Pressure

So we're not going to meet the goal of an entry a day. Guess what other goal we're not going to meet this month, Reader? I'll give you a hint, sounds like ~pulls on earlobe~  "shit gup ferly and twerk shout." 

Yeah. So that apparently isn't going to happen while it's 62 cold degrees in my house at 6 a.m. That's the reason. The only thing stopping me from success. 

Of course, I could program the thermostat to kick in around 5:30 a.m., but it's tricky and would require me to read small print and stuff, so I'll just wait til it warms up outside.  Or something.

I say "or something" because my friendie and I finally officially booked our yearly trip, and I have a scant few weeks to get bikini-ready*. 

I'd been doing suck-ins like crazy, but between you and me, I don't think they were really doing much good. 

I know, I'm surprised, too! 

I really thought we were on to something, Reader, and had stumbled upon the next fitness craze.  

The only thing that happened for sure was my jeans were tighter in the waist, and I think I gained two pounds, but I attributed that to "muscle weighs more than fat" but I'm starting to think it was just too many cakes.  I mean, I had baked a cake from scratch during Cakecrastination Sunday a couple of weeks back, and while I ate almost the entire thing over the course of several days ... ahem.... I mean, those calories were spaced out.  You'd think that the careful spacing would make them airier and lighter and almost like they weren't even there, like they'd float up into the atmosphere or something. 

That's what I thought might happen. 

Instead my pants were just a tich uncomfortably snug.  And by a tich I mean, "for the love of cake, I can't wait to get these off!" and when I finally did get the blessed relief of de-pantsing myself at home, I noticed the seams in the butt were a little on the "pulled thin" side and were just about one big suck-in away from splitting wide open. It's a good thing I had stopped exercising by then, Reader. It's a good thing. 

All that pants tightness went at the same place as The Most Embarrassing Story in the History of Stories, of which still only a select few know about, and of which I am of the belief that I may have a Superbowl Peyton Manning Curse on me, so it's a good thing he's retiring. 

If you're wondering just how good this story could be,  it's so damn good I almost killed someone, that's how good. With laughter, Reader. And I thought you could only kill someone with kindness. To quote: 

"I laughed so hard, I was out of control, to the point that it was a little scary actually, In 

terms of breathing. I think it may be the funniest thing I ever heard."



So I'm officially saving that for Trixie Bang Bang: The Awkward Years (aka her whole entire life. so far.), my ebook which has a slim likelihood of ever becoming a reality because frankly I just can't seem to make the time for it,  and by the way that's just a made-up-right-now title, so keep your suggestions to yourself unless they are super-good, then send them over. But they had better be really good, Reader. Don't half-ass it for me. 

Whew. Okay. I got this one out right before midnight, so I have to wrap this up and hit publish or it will look like I didn't post. And I am, so suck it, Time Stamp.

*bikini-ready really comes down to drinking a lot while I'm in my bathing suit so I end up giving very little fucks what anyone thinks about things. 

Got Milk?

We had a baby today, Reader. By "we" I mean someone else's vagina and my heart.  The way it should be, because let's face facts, I've always been a sleeper. Sometimes after a hard day, looking at my bed can make me as happy as looking at this face.  Like in about 15 minutes. 

I have a rather small family, so any time another member is added is a good day.  Great-Auntie Trixie Bang Bang is excited to have you here, and only wishes she was where you are right now. I'd like to smooch that face, but alas he is out of state on an Air Force base. 

Instead I'm eating sopapilla cheesecake, hot out of the oven, and it's a bowl of cinnamony goodness.  

After our little boy was born I asked the Mama what else she still needed. So I ordered it on Amazon, because it'll be there in 2 days.  I was recounting the story that I had just bought Mama a "milker thing."  So yeah. A milker thing, said the Childless Aunt.

The milker thing was almost $300 for a decent one, which just felt wrong, but in the name of boobies and babies, I bought it. I mean, that's a plane ticket, which is much more fun to have than a milker, as long as it's going some place exciting and not to someplace where you'd be getting milked against your will, like maybe Tijuana. I image all sorts of bad things happening there, with donkeys and such. 

That's the Tuesday Night news. Welcome to the world, Little Fella. 

Crooked Boundaries Are Still Boundaries

It's not always me, Reader. It's usually me, but we can't just jump to that conclusion all the time. It would be impolite, and we are all about manners here. Right? Right. Now excuse me, I have to adjust my vagina. (see how polite that was? because l.a.d.y.) 

I started off February and really wanted to have words every day. But then some days just get away from me due to excessive napping a busy to do list. Superbowl Sunday was one of those days. So here we are a day behind again. 

I got up at the god-awful-early hour of 11 a.m. It was still MORNING, Judgy McJudgerPants. Made a very unfortunate breakfast, where nothing really lived up to the word "good" except the scrambled eggs, which were nice, but certainly didn't justify the ridiculous amount of dirty dishes that breakfast created.  

After all that wasted effort, I needed a nap. 

The cats agreed. They're good that way. 

So we laid back down, still in my new, warm and fuzzy pajammies and canoodled with mah kittehs for a few more hours.  Yes, HOURS. Because all the cooking made us tired. 

Then we had a Superbowl party to attend.

The stage was completely reset for a repeat performance of the Superbowl Party of 2014 at the same residence, in which Peyton Manning was also playing.

That was the Superbowl Party that shall forever go down in Bang Bang History as the Most Awkwardly Embarrassing Party Ever in the History of Parties. That is the official title of the Superbowl Party of 2014.  

A few very fortunate Readers have heard the story. And they beg for it again and again when we're sitting around campfires, making s'mores and telling tales. This is the one they all want to hear: Trixie's Most Awkwardly Embarrassing Party Ever in the History of Parties.

You'd probably like to hear it, too, huh Reader.  

Well, this is going to come as a shock to you - take a seat - but there are some stories that just haven't been shared here yet and are not teed up to do it anytime soon, either.  

Because see the top of this post (l.a.d.y.) 

When this story comes out it'll be something you need to pay for Reader. Trust me, it'll be worth your 99cents.  I mean, I might as well make $12 off this story, am-i-right?

Humiliation has to have some value. 

You've Got a Friend

I can't make this shit up, Reader.   Just when my original Nose Dot was a whisper of a shadow of it's former self, a new dot popped up to replace it.  Not in the exact same spot, it moved a little more towards the center so there's a better chance everyone will notice. It didn't want to accidentally be overlooked. 

Reader. For two weeks now I've been drinking kale smoothies or fruit smoothies with a whole ka-bam's worth of anti-oxidents, as well as added Juice Plus vitamins AND a dose of Jobees Bee Pollen for good measure.  With all that coursing through my system how could I possibly have any thing bad in my dermis that needs to rise to the top?? How?? 

I'm officially a middle-aged crazy with the skin of a pubescent teen. 



Lucky me. I curse you, Nose-Cancer Karma. 

Will cursing Karma actually net you more bad karma? Or will it cancel it out, like in math, where two negatives make a positive? 

I guess these are the things I should find out about Karma before I go around cursing it. 

Pretend It's Yesterday.

This is Walter. Walter WhiteEars.  

Big fluffy belly on Wally = Cute.
Big fluffy belly on Mama = Not Cute.

I've been doing suck-in's like crazy, Reader. 

This working out is hard stuff.

I sucked it in when I was eating tiramisu last night with my friendie late into the evening.  A fitness freak like myself never stops, ya know. 



So that was last night. Now you know.

Fitness Crazy

Enjoying a late dinner with My Mister tonight, I was trying to eat a rice dish with chopsticks. Which is frankly a ridiculous feat, Reader. 

I was trying to be fancy.

Instead, my rice dish was tasting like wood. 

That is, the teensy small mouthfuls I could shovel into my cakehole. 

Me: "Ya know, the Chinese are awfully smart."

Him: "Yep."

Me: "So why couldn't they invent chopscoops?? Why work so hard to grasp a teensy piece of rice? I've got things to do, I can't sit here and drink eat all night."

I mean, it would have been nice to be able to sit there all night, I was enjoying my Butterfinger Martini, but I had to get home and finish up my job, which is in progress right now on another screen.

I'm a true multi-tasker, Reader. I'm petting a cat with my foot, too. So now don't you feel one-dimensional? 

You probably don't, and actually shouldn't, because this is really nothing to brag about.  But I did commit to writing every dern night here and I'll be dag-nabbed if I fail so soon into the month. 

Hey, I never said it was going to be quality, Reader. Quantity is all I promised. 

A wholelotta me. You're welcome.

In other news, I booked my yearly girlie-friendie trip yesterday and so I began my workout routine last night. 

I did some suck-ins.  

It's a new routine I am going to patent, which I'm certain will evolve into an entire franchise complete with my starring in fitness videos and designing workout clothing, which will all basically double as pajamas.  Watch out, Lululemon. MooMooTrixie is fast on your heals. I just need to find a few more routines to add to the suck-ins and it will be set for launch. 

If you want to begin trying them at home yourself, it goes a little something like this:

Basically, you suck in your stomach to the count of ten (or three, whatever you can do, we are a safe zone, no judging) while you're brushing your teeth or laying in bed watching t.v., and count it as exercise. Do a few reps. Count and hold. 

This morning I stepped up my suck-in routine since last night's was so successful and I actually sucked in, held to a count of ten (or something, I sort of lost count, it was BC*) while bending over to feed the cats. So it's practically like I did a Crossfit workout right here at home. 

In fact, I'm doing my suck-ins RIGHT NOW, so add that to my multi-tasking routine.  Whew! 

I'll keep you posted as I add additional routines to the mix. We may need to start a workout cycle together, and we can motivate each other with YOU SUCK badges, with the more YOU SUCK badges you collect earning you a slice of cake at the end of the week.  

I haven't worked out the specifics, because frankly I'm making up the rules RIGHT NOW (more multi-tasking!), but you had better believe when I really sit down and drink think, this is going to be EPIC. 

Or I will suck myself into a herniated something in my innards. 

That's a clear possibility. I think. I'm not an official doctor, unless you count self-diagnosing Web MD. I mean, I almost diagnosed my skin cancer that was just a rash. I'm practically certified (crazy). 

And on that note, my day here is done. Sleep tight. And by tight, I mean from doing your suck-ins. Get started or you'll be envying my bikini body this summer and wishing you had sucked along with me. 

*Before Coffee

It's Not Just About Glass

In my job, which I don't talk about here in any length because boundaries, I get to do some cool-to-me stuff. I get to find products and offer them up to my customers and sometimes I make really cool connections with things that I love. 

Basically anything that does a little good in the world gets to me. Because there is so so much that can be bad (ISIS, anyone?), that I love the daily reminders that there is good things and good people around every corner, and not just bad people who want to chop you up. Thanks for all the mistrust, Forensic Files. 

In my Dream Life, I'd love to create something that gave back to people/the world/the earth/the animals.  I'd love to be the founder of something awesome. 

But the reality is I can barely keep up with keeping my clowder of cats in check and poop off the floor (from said clowder, not from me), so I think this is part of the Dream Life in which I am also an early riser, a healthy eater who can say, "No, thank you" to cake, and someone who just loves to exercise and can't wait to get out of bed to do it.  You know, that Dream Me which just doesn't exist at all, but likes to think about it a lot because it's aspirational, but not probable. 

All those ideals are things I embrace wholeheartedly. In my mind. Then I have another bite of cake, settle in for reruns of tv, and cuddle up with my kittehs thinking about the good we might do one day. 

So basically, you have to recognize your limits, Reader. Know what you're good at and do more of that, instead of trying to always change your weaker points.  

I'm good at finding some cool stuff. And sharing that cool stuff. And talking about that cool stuff. And getting excited about that cool stuff. And telling my friends about that cool stuff, where my voice gets high-pitched and even squeakier because I'm so excited, and then they catch my excitement, too. And hopefully that is how I contribute, by getting others excited about it, and we all support the programs and it's basically a win-win-win and I didn't have to get up at 5 a.m. to do sit-ups, like in that ridiculous Dream Life. 

Here's what I'm sharing with you tonight, Reader. I'm launching this product on my work website, to bring awareness to this cool product, inspire people to gift it for themselves or someone they heart, people get happy and say, "That Trixie, she's something else!" and not in the bad way,  with the shameful, embarrassed headshake that I'm accustomed to.

This is what I love today:

Maybe you will, too. 

Some Things Change

So February. 

I created some goals for myself and ol' February.  

Hung a calendar on the pantry door so my progress was in my face from where I sit at the table and eff off on the computer, aka writing nonsense here, checking Facebook incessantly, checking email incessantly, reading news, reading non-news....just generally entertaining myself instead of doing active things. 

Now the calendar's in my face, reminding me that I said a goal out loud to go to the gym sometimes this month. I wasn't more specific than that, so I'm not falling behind at all, and it did inspire me to consider it after eating dinner tonight (which just ended). Instead I sit here meeting my other February goal of blogging every single day this month, to get my rusty brain some exercise since the rest of me is falling to shit. 

I thought maybe just maybe I could do the "get up early" thing, but so far that has not been met with success. FYI, Reader, it's cold at Chez Bang Bang in the morning, because the homeowner keeps the house at 62 degrees throughout the night. Because she she has a clowder to keep her warm. And possibly the beginning stages of hot flashes, but that really seems ridiculously early at 39. Ahem.

Anyway, I've got some other goals on my to-do list this month, and one of it includes a little revamp of this site.  Big-a things are a-happening.  Maybe. If I can get it together. And make time to learn some stuff. And regain some creativity. It's touch-and-go sometimes. What I'm saying is, I'm not making any guarantees. But I do have a big creative brain on my side, so there's a strong possibility something will take place here. 

So Reader, while this is a rather blah entry, I still get to count it and I'll leave you with this smooch, since it's Valentine's Day month.  

Love is Love, after all. 

I

Shame on Me.

Pinterest is, once again, a lying asshole.  

When will I learn, Reader? Overlooking the bajillion other times I've tried and failed at an easy-peasy Pinterest project, the most recent one is still fresh enough in my memory that one would think I would steer clear. One would think. 

Just a month or so ago I had Big Plans to create this for a baby shower I was hosting for my nephew's little bambino that's due to arrive this month:

Pretty, huh? 

Yes, it is. 

Really pretty.

I had no doubt I could achieve this very same effect at Chez Bang Bang with enough tissue paper and elevated food stands. 

I spent don't-even-ask-how-much, as well as hours off of my lifespan from trips to Walmart, for tissue paper to create these little hanging poms of festive.  

And then I worked til the WEE HOURS of the morn, Reader, accordion-folding and cutting and taping string, to the point that it was just flat-out ridiculous and I finally wised up and realized I was going to have to supplement my pom's with some pre-mades from Amazon if I was going to get these made before the babies tenth birthday.

So yeah. More money spent. Thanks again, Pinterest.  

All that effort and several blisters later, and tah-dah! 

Chez Bang Bang looked EXACTLY LIKE the Pinterest photo.  

So when something as simple as taco night presented the opportunity to show off yet another little life hack learned on Pinterest, it's no wonder I latched right on. 

I had recalled the most easy, makes-sense-outta-the-world way to fill your taco shell, a little tip I'd seen on my friend Pinterest. 

Ya just take a fork, and hold the shell with the tines, like so, and fill your taco like a pro:

Of course I tried this. Or course I did! Because I'm Pinterest's bitch.

Guess what actually happens with this little method, Reader?  Hard crunchy shell being forced between some tines? 

Taco Shell Sandwich is what happens, Reader. 

Because it breaks right in two, pretty quickly in fact, and actually made the taco easier to eat in sandwich format. 

But the important part of this whole question is this: Why? Why would 

#1/ Anyone think that filling a taco is so difficult that a "hack" had to be created for the process and 

#2/ Why would a mediumly-educated grown woman (ahem. Me.) feel the need to improve on the taco filling process to the extent that I a.) read about it, b.) took up space in my brain remembering it and c:) actually put it into practice?  

These are the questions that will haunt me at night.  

And oh, by the way, Pinterest, but NOBODY wants to color with them. No one is excited about their box of broken crayons. Everyone wants the new 152 piece set, perfectly sharpened tips in their little box - we're all reaching for unbroken Cerulean Blue.  So if you're going to try to motivate me, try a little harder. 

Fucker. 

Code Word: Trampoline

The following conversation took place yesterday on the way to the mall, where I was headed to buy my very first grown-up set of cookware. 

One would think that with a couple of marriages under my belt I, at some point, would have owned nice pots & pans, but you'd be wrong, Reader.  My first brief marriage netted me very little other than a nice picture of my parents and some general mistrust. Not enough mistrust, apparently, because see marriage two. 

Marriage two netted me even less, since we eloped to Vegas, and the only thing I really have left of that is a set of 20-year old Corelle dinnerware that just won't break no matter how badly I'd like to have a reason to get rid of it and a heaping dose of "never again." And the sad collection of mish-mash cookware that I've been using for those same twenty-plus years.

Part of my sad set began burning everything on the bottom of the pot and I was getting the reputation of Bad Cook, and I don't need any more reputations, Reader.  I recently threw it right in the garbage rather than try to scour out the shame of bad cooking one more time. 

That left me with a couple of fry pans with hooped-up middles, to which all the food in the pan would fall to the edges, and a second pot that I'm sure has been leaching cancers into my boobies because of the scratched up Teflon bottom. 

So for the sake of my boobies and my reputation, it was time to own the fact that I'm not going to have an occasion to create a fancy gift registry any time soon, wherein YOU could be buying my fancy cookware for me, Reader, and instead I saved myself. 

I considered creating a Go Fund Me page*, because that seems to be what everyone does nowadays. It's apparently the polite way to be a panhandler, without the shame associated with asking other people for their money to fund your wants and needs. It's sort of magical, and I wish I had thought of it when I needed gutters to wick away excessive moisture from Chez Bang Bang, but I did that the old fashioned way and bought them myself on a credit card. Silly Trixie.

I have bigger dreams, though, and I'm going to save my Go Fund Me ask for a backyard makeover, I believe, and ask everyone I know and complete strangers to donate for a pool and a hot tub because I suffer from arthritis, so I need both for medical reasons, not just so I have some place to float around while I swig Jack & Cokes and generate more freckles. Feel free to send me twenties whenever you wish, Reader, and I will happily stash them in my Arthritis Fun. d. 

But that's not the point of this. I can't keep me on track some days, Reader. But maybe that is the point of this, because the whole question I pondered with My Mister was sort of driven from my aching knees, both of which were really acting like assholes yesterday and made me say "ouchie" a few times, so send your checks to Chez Bang Bang stat. They still hurt today, by the way, if that hastens your check sending at all. 

Okay, Reader,  I've jump tracked enough already. Sheesh. 

So the conversation started like this:

TrixieBB: "Now, I fully expect you to say NO and in fact it's your job to say NO, but I need to put the question out there anyway, it's my way of working through the feasibility of the scenario." 

MM: "NO." 

TBB: "But I didn't pose the question yet."

MM: "Let's skip the rhetoric and get right to the answer. NO." 

TBB: "That's not how this works. You're going to entertain my question and act attentive and give me some valid rationale for the NO."

Reader, that's the polite way of recounting what actually was said, I'm sure some fuck-yous were in there, too. That's our love language. 

TBB: "I've been thinking about joining that new gym, I heard they have a pool and a sauna and a jacuzzi, and I think that would be good for me to go swim around. I'm told they open early and I could go before work."

MM: well, he couldn't get any words out because of the laughing.

TBB: "Stop the fuck laughing! I think if there was a pool dangling on the stick I could get up in the morning and go!" 

MM: - in between guffaws - "I'll tell you what. Just get up in the morning for a week first."

TBB: "Oh, good idea, so you're saying to just get up in the morning for a week and go to the gym I already belong to and see how that works out first, before spending $30/month on another gym." 

MM: "Nope. I'm saying to just get up early for a week first before even considering joining the gym with the pool."

TBB: "Oh, right, so what you're saying is to get up for a week at home, and go do my pilates machine that I had to buy that's been sitting unused for a year now upstairs, see how that goes before I join another gym. Good thinking." 

MM: "Nope. I'm saying to JUST GET UP EARLY for a week. Don't even try to do anything more than that, other than getting up earlier than you do now. See how Morning Girl likes that."

TBB: "This isn't very supportive of my trying to establish better healthy habits for the new year, and maybe Morning Girl can change her lazy lazy ways!" 

MM: "No? Well, I have one word for you: Trampoline."

Yep, he played the Trampoline Card. 

Wondering what the Trampoline Card is, huh.  

It was the blizzard of 2014. 

I came home one evening and INSISTED, complete with a stomp and a fit, that we drive in the blizzard to the nearest Dicks store so I could buy a personal trampoline, known today by the hoity workout society as "rebounder" so I could get in shape. It was the only thing preventing me from not achieving optimum cardiovascular health, and it would be a way to have fun while getting in shape. 

We trudged out through the sleet and cold, and were the only folks at Dicks that night except for the poor schulb who had to wait on us. I laid out sixty large for a rebounder - all without a Go Fund Me - and brought my trampoline home. 

• Screwed on the legs. 
• Took about two hops. 
• Lost balance.
• Narrowly missed falling into tv.
• Reallocated rebounder to basement.
• Haven't been on it since. 

It made me wobbly, Reader!
I could have killed myself!!
It's basically a legalized death-trap disguised as heathy habits!!!

So yeah. I couldn't say for certain that the early-morning swim idea would fair better than the Trampoline, so I have not pursued the notion further. 

I think a good place to start is to see if Morning Girl actually can get out of bed an hour earlier than normal. 

Which is a good place to start, because as part of my 2016 resolutions, I'm going to use the month of February as a blogging challenge to myself (because it's the shortest month, Reader, and I'm aiming low for better chances of success), to share something here every damn day, whether you like it or not, because my creative brain is rusty.

In case you couldn't tell.

This story was like pulling teeth. And not just so you can't identify the body.*

*That last sentence doesn't really make sense, but I'm leaving it in here anyway, because the last thing I watched on tv last night was a Forensic Files where the man killed his baby mama, skinned her and chopped up her body in the bathtub and pulled out all of her teeth by the roots so the remains couldn't be identified before he casually threw her skull into a pond. Then the skull was caught on some fishing line by two kids trying to catch fish, and the only way it was identified as the missing gal was because the guy removed all of her teeth except for two wisdom teeth which hadn't come down from the gumline yet. So they were able to extract her DNA from the root and nab the bad guy. The moral of this story is that what you don't see will get ya sometimes. And don't chop someone up because you will get caught. Probably.  

**Send your Fund Trixie Bang Bang's Pool & Spa checks to TBB @ chez bang bang.  I may create levels of funding, where if you contribute enough you can come and spa with me and Jack Daniels. Naked. Depending upon the size of the donation. And the amount of Jack Daniels. Trust me, you'll need it. 

Eye On The Sky

Good Day, Reader! I was going to say "morning," but it's already 12:45 p.m., and no, I didn't just get up, sheesh.  And then you may be reading this at night, so it wouldn't make sense, so back to the first part, Good Day! 

I stepped out on my deck to get a breath of fresh air and look at my pretty pretty backyard and I heard the strangest animal sound coming from the trees.

I was looking all around to find what curious little critter could be making that noise and finally determined that it was actually the tree branches rubbing against each other as they swayed in the breeze.  Then I felt a little dumb for a second, because I almost threw breadcrumbs out there for whatever it was making the cute little chattering sounds. 

Instead I did a little Nell reenactment, from that Jody Foster movie of the same name and stretched my arms out overhead and did a little "tay in the wind." 



Maybe we should all do more tay in the wind, because it made me look up and see the prettiest Cleveland-Winter sky, all blue and white and bright today and that made me happy. When I wasn't feeling a tich like a crazy person, that is. Acting & Crazy Person is really just a fine line definition. 

So basically look up once is a while, is the point of this public service announcement. Because sometimes we get all hunkered down in what's happening at eye-level, with all the screens at our fingertips, and we forget to look up and see the pretty around us. 

On that note, I'm going to grab my sneakies and go for a walk along the towpath. But I will not be doing Nell while out in public because someone will lasso me and have me hospitalized. Or I'll be discovered by a famous movie producer who is also out for a walk at the exact same time as me and I will be whisked away to Hollywood tonight. 

I don't have time for any of that, because I'm making caramel sauce out of condensed milk in my crockpot today. I have a sexy date this evening with myself and a little salted caramel something I will make later this afternoon. 

Come over.

We can have sexy caramel date night sauce together. There's enough for sharing.

Maybe.

Unless it's super-delicious. Then I can't make any promises. 

Doctor In the House

This morning while I was putting on my makeup I spilled a half of a weensy container of greenish eye pigment on myself. 

It spilled right out of the container because Smarty Pants Me removed the little plastic powder-holder-inner thingie that has holes in it so you can shake just a tich of it out at a time. Because I couldn't get it to shake out, and then I realized it had a clear cover over the holes, but I couldn't get it off. So I worked like a sumbitch to get that plastic spill-preventer removed with a pair of tweezers and toe-nail clippers. 

I was like a doctor, with all my necessary tools for make-up surgery right at my fingertips in the bathroom cabinet drawer. 

It wasn't until after I had the plastic powder holder thingie removed that I realized the great need for such device. Because that pigment powder is filled quite to the top in that weensy little container, and it doesn't take much of a nudge to get it to slosh out. And if you know anything about pigment makeup, you know that it takes very little to get the color applied, and it lasts and lasts and lasts.

Usually I'm rather careful, but this morning I nudged it with a jerky hand motion for some reason, and the next thing I was wearing greenish pigment from tit to twat.  

"Did I have to change clothes?", you're wondering.  Well, luckily I apply my makeup naked. I know that's a visual you can't un-visualize right now, and for that I apologize a little. Not a full-hearted apology, though, I'm not that sorry. But please in your visual make me look better than the reality. Go with Kate Upton, only less tan. You'll be happier that way.  

So Naked Kate Upton-Me sat on the closed-toilet and looked down at the debacle that had landed all over herself.  There was no time for a re-shower. So I got out a washcloth and started to wipe it all down, but it just became smeary and then looked like I was black & blue all over my torso, twat, and leg.  

And the only thought I had? "I'd better get this off, because if I get in an accident they will spend far far far too much time trying to figure out all this bruising."  

It was a pigment-smeared sight, I tell you.  I grabbed some makeup remover towelettes and re-bathed myself, but it still didn't come off all that well, so I do look bruised-ish in my birthday suit. 

So what we've learned is:

1. Clean underwear isn't the only thing you have to worry about in a potential car accident
2. Always apply your makeup naked, because it's better to brush off your twat than have to change an entire outfit
3. Don't do surgery on your makeup containers, the experts built 'em that way for a reason
4. Younique makes the hell out of pigment eyeshadow
5. Naked Kate Upton-Me looks fan-fucking-tastic, even with a bluish-greenish bruise all over her bod

I did not document this morning's mishap in photos. You're welcome. 

Super Duper.

"Hi, Reader," says NoseyDot Me, not to be confused with Nosey Dot the Cat.

Nosey Dot the Cat                                                 

NoseyDot Me

It wanted to say hi before it completely disappears, which I am happy to report is finally on it's way outta town. I can't say I'm gonna miss my little friend, either. 

In other news, I'm really rather surprised at myself for putting no-make-up-faced, recently-outta-bed me on the internets for all the world to make fun of and create mean memes with, should someone so desire. I guess enough bra-less trips to Walmart helped me lose my inhibitions.  

Plus, I'm not so vain that I think anyone gives enough of a shit about my appearance to be gawking over it.  If anything, you can take pride that your complexion is more even, eyebrows are darker, cheekbones are more defined, blah blah blah, and so I'm really an inspiration. 

I may be on the docket for sainthood with enough naked-faced photos. Is that how sainthood works?

I think it also has something to do with miracles, and I should be given credit for several.

1. The fortitude to sleep twelve hours and still go back to bed at a reasonable hour the same night!
2. A natural immunity to every different type of cat furs, evidenced by the ability to bury my face in a multitude of different cat furs and not sneeze!
3. The power to eat cake for breakfast, and then eat cake after dinner the same day!

In retrospect, these probably aren't miracles as much as they are superpowers so basically I'm a Superhero. 

Marvel, I'm ready for my movie. And my costume. And you can even give my NoseyDots a role, both the cat and the pimple. This script is practically writing itself. In my head.