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. 

Resolving.ish.

Already Sunday evening. How does the weekend just zing by so quickly? And it's now 10 days in to the new year and I have yet to officially write down my personal goals, so very little is getting accomplished towards them. 

I did succumb to the whole "Pick a Word for the Year" challenge that seems to be a thing to do. I've read blogs where folks do this and it seems interesting/inspiring and so I figured why not. 

Don't know what I'm talking about? Well, you can get even more confused here. It's basically a #oneword2016 challenge where you choose a word that represents your main focus for the year. My natural instinct was to choose the word "CAKE" but then that didn't seem like a word that would move anything forward except the needle on the scale and the size of my pants, so I abandoned that even though it made me whimper just a little. Because no one likes to abandon cake. And if you do like abandoning cake, you have greater problems then picking a focus word for 2016, because that's borderline crazy talk. 

My next word thought was "CATS," but then that's nothing new, and for cryin'-out-loud what would my goals be around that word? To cuddle more? That actually does sound like an enjoyable focus word, especially when there's a whole lotta this going on around Chez Bang Bang on a cold January Sunday:

Let's face facts, that is some rather irresistible catting.

Which is probably why I still don't have my personal goals written in my fancy-dancy notebook, there's laundry that needs to be put away, I have to finesse my work goals for a Tuesday presentation, it would be nice to chat up my daddio sometime tonight, bills need a-paying, and I've gotta get ma shit ready for a quickie trippie to Vegas that starts on Tuesday afternoon. Because all that went on around here and I helped them with it. 

I still have all those little tasks to do and it's well into the p.m. portion of Sunday, and basically I'm going to go grab a snack and sit and watch the t.v. Because you have to ease into these resolutions, Reader. Don't want to give my system a big jolt. 

First, I have to grab a snack because I had thought of making a homemade lasagna for today, but made early (well, noon, it's impolite to judge, Reader!) breakfast and then sort of lost interest in cooking after that. So now we have nothing for dinner except whatever's easily grab-able. I think that leaves a generic ho-ho, an avocado and a left over Christmas cookie as my options. 

But back to my #2016oneword Challenge. Focus, Me.  

I've settled on my word: DISCIPLINE.

Not the 50-Shades-of-Spankings form of discipline, although that does sound sort of fun and frankly maybe I'd enjoy my goals more if there were a bit of firm-yet-tender spanking at the end of the day. There's not, unless you count when I sort of swat at the cats when they are Fight-Clubbing each other. 

So yeah. I'm going to bring a whole lotta DISCIPLINE to 2016.  Starting tomorrow. Baby steps. 

This Old House

Well, Reader, 2016 started out mean to Chez Bang Bang.  Or it tried to, anyway, but it was thwarted. Maybe The Universe - or a Ghost (we'll get into that sometime later) - was just trying to challenge me, and used Chez Bang Bang as the vessel to see if I could Man Up and deserve the honor of homeownership.

I've got news for you, Universe and/or  Ghost:  I am NOT man enough to own my home.  

That's what husbands are for, of which I have none at present. So stop testing me already. All of  us know I lack homeownership skillz, beyond cleaning up cat pee and sweeping up cat hair. 

But luckily I have the pleasure of the acquaintance of HNDYDAN and he's not only man enough to run his own house, his woman's house, her son's house, misc. other houses, but Chez Bang Bang as well. 

2016 delivered this to my kitchen:

 

Now, I'm no expert, but I knew this couldn't be good. 

This little treat happened when I ran the dishwasher. My solution was to keep trying the garbage disposal (is it a disposal or a disposer?? I say and type it both ways. Hm.), but that just filled up both sides of the sink.  Evidenced above. 

We bailed. Literally. And then I made my plea to Almighty Facebook for advice/pity help, and HNDYDAN came to the rescue.  

At first we thought maybe, just maybe, I had ground up the little rubber stopper thingie that sits over the garbage disposal side of the sink, because I vaguely recalled hearing a thumping noise in there when I ran the disposer at times, and we couldn't find the rubber stopper.  

So yeah, HNDYDAN was ready to take away the house from me right then and there. 

But then? We found it, so I was redeemed! 

HNDYDAN brought the flat plunger, which I learned was needed for sink plunging vs. the ones that are made for toilet plunging. I'm like a sponge, absorbing all this knowledge. 

The boys plunged. 

On a good note, I learned the proper plumbing techniques for sink plunging, which is:

1. block off the other side of the sink with towels
2. vigorously plunge with both hands firmly on the shaft. HNDYDAN really had this routine down. i don't know where he got all that practice. i'll assume a lot of clogged drains. ahem. 
3. scream when something gross comes out of the drain, which is exactly what happened when I decided to make the most of the HNDYDAN Experience and had him also plunge my slow bathroom sink drain, and a great big black ball of muck that looked like a dead wet mouse, but wasn't, came up out of the drain and I screamed and ran out of the bathroom, followed by HNDYDAN, who told me, "Uh, you can take it from here!" and then we both took a picture of it and sent it to Joanne, because nothing says "Goodmorning, Sunshine!" like a picture of a gross dead-wet-mouse-looking pile of goop from the drain sent via text. I was going to share it with you here, Reader, and I still can, but only if you comment that you'd like to see it. Then, I will post. Because I'm here for you, Reader, and I'm a giver. Just ask Joanne. 

Back to the kitchen sink. HNDYDAN got down on the floor, all nimble-like, and disassembled the pipes, only conking his head once on the cabinets. And oh by the way, he only walked once into the closed patio sliding doors, but hey, it's not my fault - I maintain very dirty windows so that people know they are closed, to prevent walking into them. Or it should. They are dirty for safety purposes, Reader. 

I've walked into a sliding door once myself, in Florida at my Dad's, so who am I to laugh, yet I did, but not too loudly because the drain was still clogged up and well, I'm not one to openly laugh (at the time) when I can do it right here on ol' Bang Bang's blog so all the world (er, the dozen) can Read All About It.  

I'm like the town cryer of trips, falls and window-walkings-into. 

You're welcome, HNDYDAN. 

But nevertheless, he got down to business. During the drain-removing process, HNDYDAN made a most unusual request, asking if I happened to have a flashlight.  

Me: "Um, on my phone!" 

HNDYDAN: "Move into an apartment. You're not allowed to own a house." 

But guess what? That iPhone flashlight worked just fine! So ha. 

And I did happen to find a proper flashlight, that I believe my brother bought for me, but it needs big fat C batteries which I don't have, but will get as part of my 2016 Resolutions and for part of my new tv show (see below). Because I guess sometimes you shouldn't rely on an iPhone light, although I do trust in Steve Jobs. 

Anyway, after he conked his head and his face, he pulled out his giant snake drain, which should have done the trick, but didn't. Chez Bang Bang's Ghost was still intent on thwarting us. 

It was time for the Big Guns, meaning HNDYDAN went and rented an electric snake from the home store the next day. 

We got started at the crack of noon on Day 2 of HNDYDAN vs. Drains, much to his dismay delight.  And that's what you get when you come to my rescue on Facebook - unexpected weekend time with me. You're welcome again. 

The Big Gun finally cleared whatever was down there, which we never really did determine what it was, it just must have pushed it on through, and now Chez Bang Bang has clear-running drains once again. 

You'd think that would be the end of this clogged-drain story, but it's not. Because while I had HNDY here, I persuaded him to install my shower head, which has been in the closet for two years, and he took care of that lickety-split. Unfortunately, I was disappointed in it's performance as it has a gentle rainshower thing and it's not nearly as pounding as I would like. So all that two-year wait for nothing. 

I like a hard pounding in the shower ~That's What She Said!~

It has three settings, but none of them are aggressive enough for my liking.

I want to feel waterboarded when I get out of the shower. 

I want it to exfoliate me from head to toe. 

And this new one? It's just a too-gentle mist and now I have to go and buy yet another new shower head that will give me the pounding I crave. 

But! The good news is, I carefully watched the installation process, and I am fairly certain I can do it myself next time. Stay tuned for another riveting blog update next week.

But that's not all either. 

Because I was home sick on Thursday with a vicious little bug and the Ghost of Chez Bang Bang tried to play another trick on me, and jammed the front door lock so I couldn't open the front door. And another plea to HNDYDAN had him galloping to the rescue later that day.  

Me: "I'm going to try to find the WD-40 and squirt it up in there."

HNDYDAN: "I'll be over when I get off work."

Later...

HNDYDAN: "Do you have a key to the door so I can try it from the outside?"

Me: "Yep, but it's real slippery. I coated it in Crisco because I couldn't find the WD-40."

HNDYDAN: ~pained look on his face~

You know the outcome, HNDYDAN took the mechanism apart, tightened up some screws, and now it's working much more smoothly, no doubt in part to the heavy dose of Crisco I applied to the bolt and in the keyhole. So basically I probably fixed it. 

And LASTLY, in the story of How The House is Being An Asshole in 2016:  I got out of the shower a couple of days ago (still unhappy with my gentle rainshower), put my towel back in the rack and pulled the whole damn towel rack right off the wall.

My Mister: "Hulk break towel rack!" 

Yep. Hulk broke towel rack.

But guess what?? 

I must have absorbed a lot of HNDYDAN's knowledge over the past week, because after several attempts of just trying to mash the metal part back onto the wall, I decided there must be a screw somewhere on the thing and turned the part over and lo-and-behold, saw a teeny-tiny screw!! 

So I unscrewed it, and put the towel rack back over the parts still on the wall, and screwed it back in and just like magic, the towel rack was back in place. 

Basically, I am just like Rehab Addict's Nicole Curtis and deserve my own t.v. show.  HGTV,  I am ready for my close up. Despite the everlasting presence of The Nose Dot. Who also might need it's own contract, I cannot negotiate on it's behalf. Apparently. 

. 

*yet another candid, morning-face, no-make-up, taken-just-now-for-YOU-READER, nose dot photo. And you can see why I need eyebrow filler, and coverup, but do you see those lashes? Untouched by makeup, so yeah. Awesomely long and fluttery. And hopefully enough to distract my television viewers (when I get my DIY Show shortly) from the Nose Dot.  The Nose Dot may have to get it's own blog if it plans on sticking around all year. 

p.s. For you who may be wondering why My Mister isn't the Man Of the House, he did help with the plunging, but really, he's a lover, not a fixer. :( 

Connect The Dots

Well, it looks like we've got ourselves a New Year, Reader, and as always, I am very optimistic, excited, and curious about what the year will bring.  I love a new year.  It's just so full of promise.  I mean, sometimes it goes all haywire and does all sorts of cray shit, but then there's always those wonderfully unexpected parts that I love to savor. 

Last year was of course my Year I Was Unemployed, and looking back it feels like one of my favorite years in a long long while. I reveled in being unemployed for the few months before I landed my new thang. 

But this isn't a Musing-About-2015 post, that's done all over the Internets so there's no need for me to do it, too. Ya'll know what-the-what I was up to anyway. 

What ya don't know is this: I actually went to CHURCH on Christmas Eve.  Now THAT is a big deal around here, Reader.  I'm not particularly inclined to attend the organized religions. Over the years I have tried it and the best time I've really had was getting my spiritual blessings done by the Amma's from India at a Unitarian Universalist church, in which I almost always refer to as the "utilitarian" church, and I'd beg to argue that this is actually a more fitting name.  

So yep. I found myself in a church on Christmas Eve, because My Mister's mother needed the support as she's getting churchy since her mama died in May.  It was really lovely, and had a hand bells musical thing going on, and I recited all the reciting things that they asked, and sang strong in my reserved-for-church-songs falsetto voice to all the music, and sat in the front row and respected the whole shebang. If Imma gonna go to church, Imma gonna do it all up right. 

Before we went, though, I asked My Mister for a churching favor.  

See, I've had a pimple on my nose for months now. MONTHS. It's the Karma coming back to get me, Reader, no joke. Because years and years ago, my ex-husband had the marriage-ending affair with a person who had nose cancer which resulted in a divot in the side of her snorkel tube. And lashing-out Trixie wished her to get more nose cancers to the extent her whole damn nose and face would just fall off.  

People warned me to not wish cancer on others, even the cheater-types, because it's not nice.  But there was just no telling me back then. Now, I didn't make a pact with the devil or anything for her to get nose cancer again, but I said it in my head more than once.  

Fast forward 10+ years and some nose pimple just popped up on the side of my very own snorkel tube and just would. not. go. away. 

And then after more than a month it finally DID go away, and the very next morning I awoke and found someone new had moved into the nose-pimple-neighborhood and took up residence.  

Because I care about you, Reader, and plus I sort of owe you because it's a new year and I really didn't deliver my very important words to you nearly enough towards the end of last year, I'm sharing a picture to show you the nose karma - despite the not-a-stick-of-makeup, taken-just-now, nothing-pretty-to-see-here version of Trixie. 

This sort of puts me in the same category as the movie stars who take a picture of themselves without make up (but we can all see they have on eyeliner and brow stuff) and we're all supposed to just be astounded by their bravery. So I guess you can call me a hero if you want, because I'm going to post this picture of my nose dot.

One of our cats, who's proper name is Jessie, has two dots on his nose, and we found ourselves calling him Nose Dots or Nosey instead of his name, and now that's sort of become his name.  And now I've been nicknamed Nose Dots as well, just around the house though. I don't think I'm being called that out in public, but maybe.  Here it is. My very own Nosey Dot. 

. 
Reader, are you beginning to feel I'm taking you on a rambling ride, how did we get from unemployment to church to nose dots?? Well, let me connect the nose dots for you.

As My Mister and I were getting dressed for our Christmas Eve churching, I had a very serious talk with him.  

Trixie: "Since we're going to church, this is the perfect time to send up a special prayer."

MM: "Okaaaaaay......"

Trixie: "I want you to pray with all your might and ask newborn baby Jesus tonight to heal my nose pimple and let him know that I take back all my cancer requests for the unfaithful. Because that's not nice, and who cares, this nose dot has got to go."

MM: "So. All the turmoil and strife in the world, and you want me to use up my prayer on behalf of your pimple?"

Trixie: "Yep. Glad we're on the same page."

And that's what we both prayed for on Christmas Eve, and while it's not completely gone away, it is getting smaller and flatter and maybe just maybe I won't carry my nose dot with me all the way through 2016 and Karma will know I'm sorry for the nose cancer wish thing. I was a kid! It can't be held against me forever, can it?!

But now I've got Jesus on it, so Karma really doesn't stand a chance.