There are people who, if they’re not actually laughing off catastrophe, at least can deal with it without going to pieces.
Archive for Ventually
Jerry Leiber and Mike Stoller drew the map; the Clovers sang the song; and I’m out here with nothing even slightly resembling a love potion.
The climate con goes on, and with it, the inevitable trolling.
If your ideal sleeping temperature is anything over 75 degrees, you're a psycho
— Caleb Hull (@CalebJHull) August 19, 2019
In the sexual arena, this isn’t as true as it used to be. I think. These days, I can’t be sure.
This is what happens when you’ve heard the same Billy Joel song once too often.
If you have no topic worthy of at least 600 words, as I don’t, this is the third-best thing.
Unsurprisingly, he sends them C.O.D.
There comes a point in life, apparently, when anything worse than a runny nose suddenly seems like the end of the world as you know it. And I am there, Jack.
I have already let it be known that I’m leaving the workforce by the end of this year. What comes after that? I haven’t a clue.
Guys will say with a straight face that they really don’t like all that makeup on a woman.
It seems that most of the goofy ideas I had when I was five still linger now that I’m sixty-five. Behold just one of them.
There really needs to be a Sarcasm Font for online use. I’d probably overuse it, intemperate as I am sometimes, but once in a great while I run across someone I’d like to run across with a railroad car.
“Mommy! He’s looking at me!”
Did you think only four-year-olds say that? Think again.
Three years ago, I was given a bracelet that said that, and no choice of whether I wanted to wear it or not. The damnable thing seems to have taken hold of me, and not in a good way either.
Five minutes can seem like an eternity, or it can go by just like that. Which makes me wonder how long five New York minutes would be.
For some reason, the psychiatrist thinks I ought to be dating more, and by “more” I presume she means “at all.” I’ve pointed out that this wasn’t happening, for reasons having little or nothing to do with my current physical infirmities, but she’s not buying. Yet.
He who created us, I have always felt, has had a slightly-warped sense of humor. The events in my life over the past month or so, I contend, pretty much prove it.
Okay, it wasn’t exactly Twenty Thousand Leagues Under the Sea, but four leagues (approximately) under a Severe Thunderstorm Warning is plenty scary.
This may come as a shock to you, Bunkie, but the fact that I’m in front of you means that I was here first.
I started going grey at the age of 23, and that particular number seems to have a lot to say for itself.
“Someone painted ‘April Fool’ in big black letters on a Dead End sign,” Kenny Rogers sang back in the day. Now if you’ve been paying attention, you already know that we have fools 365 days a year, more in Leap Year, and today merely gives them the recognition they crave.
So you think you’d like to blog. Go ahead. Be my guest. Just don’t kid yourself that you’re ever going to make a living at it.
She did nothing to deserve that status, of course, but there would always be someone to explain why it was her fault. No one, however, can explain why I would dream about it.
I have long suspected that everyone’s definition is just a little bit different — and I’m not entirely sure I have one at all. Perhaps it’s just as well.
Most of one’s long-ago classmates are by now a large, amorphous blob. Certainly most of mine are. But there are always those who aren’t.
Regrets? I’ve had a few, and one of them, weirdly, is having never been a teenage girl, or having never had the opportunity to grow into one.
“Only trouble is, gee whiz,” the Bryants (Boudleaux, anyway) wrote and the Everlys sang, “I’m dreaming my life away.” This is perhaps the downside of recovering from insomnia. I’d certainly prefer it to insomnia. But it has a catch or two.
It was Monday night, I’d just finished the last Tuesday post, and suddenly, panic ensued.
I have reason to believe that I’m better at that than I am at actually dating, though not everyone accepts my interpretations and conclusions.