Feeds:
Posts
Comments

Posts Tagged ‘Friends’

This meme … so accurate.

Dear Friends and Family:

It’s Day 16 of captivity. I’m finding ways to amuse myself.

For example, I created a pandemic playlist. Y’all know I love a good playlist, and there’s something for everyone here.

I watched Tiger King, along with most of America, it seems.

Yes, it’s really the batshit crazy train wreck everyone says it is.

Someone posted a genius Bingo card for it.

This is what my card looked like after 30 minutes into JUST ONE EPISODE.

I had a virtual happy hour with Goat Yoga Lisa. And 36-hour Tina has planned one for Wednesday. During our chat, Lisa mentioned that her photos from St. Patrick’s Day 2019 showed up in her Facebook feed.

Lisa: There I was, in crowds! Standing close to people! Drinking other peoples drinks!
Me: Those halcyon days.

The family has laughed plenty playing board games.

I wish I could remember what the answer was for this Sensosketch.

I’ve done my spring (and summer and fall) cleaning plus all the laundry. I’ve been cooking nonstop. I even made egg salad — something I don’t often make because I hate peeling eggs.

The pollen has given me a headache and sore throat, but I’m still obsessively taking my temperature just to be sure.

Weird times, friends. Weird times.

Stay safe. Keep busy. Watch Joe Exotic.

Love,
Beth

Read Full Post »

Dear Friends and Family,

It’s Day 12 of captivity. I’ve gained two pounds. I have to resist the urge to eat cheese all day. It’s bad enough I take my vitamins with wine.

I’m still going to work for a few hours each day for a change of scenery. I’m not a dress-down-for-work kind of gal. Yesterday, I wore a skirt and heels. Just for me.

I rarely see anyone when I’m there. Yesterday, though, I saw the CFO at the water cooler on the second floor and the woman in charge of special projects down the hall. We all paused in our tracks, giggling nervously. The CFO went back into his office, and Special Projects let me go into the bathroom before she continued down the hall. Six feet of space, people.

Later in the day, I crossed paths with the CFO again. Same situation.

Him: Stay on your floor!
Me: I don’t have a bathroom up there. Unless you want to spring for a Porta Potty, I’m coming down!

When I was at my university the first time around as an English major, I won a major award for writing. The prize package included “Love in the Time of Cholera.”

In our house, it’s “Love in the Time of Corona.”

Gideon broke up with his girl Peyton. He informed me last night:

I don’t want to be in a relationship anymore. It takes up too much of my time. My precious time.

Incidentally, I won the award for a short story I wrote called “The Pot Roast.” It was about my weird grandmother wanting raw meat as a Christmas gift.

Last night, I made the dish.

Gideon, girlfriend-free with precious time on his hands, roamed into the kitchen.

Him (peering into the pot): What’s this?
Me: Pot roast.
Him: We haven’t had that in a while.
Me: Yep. I’m bringing out all the hits.
Him: Top 20?
Me: Top 20 from the 2000s.

After dinner, the family decided to play Twister. Yes, Twister. I’ve still got it! I managed to keep myself up plus Dominic. I bowed out when a spin for me would have required me to sit on his head. Let’s not get crazy in confinement.

Nighttime also is TV time. Even “sheltering in place” cannot help me get through the treacly “This Is Us.” I deleted all episodes in my queue, and instantly feel better. (Honestly. It takes itself SO SERIOUSLY. It’s like a DC Comics movie.)

I’m still taking CORVID-19 seriously. Perhaps too much. I got a little worried earlier this week because I had a sore throat and a headache. Insert panic. Then I realized it’s springtime in the South — an inch of pollen everywhere.

Maybe that explains the guy restocking at the gas station. He emitted a small cough. The cashier and I whipped around on him.

Me: How long have you had that cough?
Him: (Scurries quickly away from the loud lady)

Stay safe, and don’t get Corona-ed,
Beth

 

Read Full Post »

Dear COVID-19,

Pack your knives and go.

One day you’re in; the next day you’re out.

You’ve been chopped.

But yet you’re still here. And where am I?

Trapped on the couch watching way too much Reality TV. Clearly.

I even managed to get through some of my “Ridiculousness” backlog.

I still have a ways to go.

It’s only been a week of intense social distancing, but it has taken a toll on this extrovert who loves nothing better than to be out of the house.

I remember my mother and father always being aggravated with me:

Mom: Why can’t you sit still?
Me: I just can’t.

Dad: You are going out AGAIN?
Me: YES!

My boss told me I could work from home.

I said I had two teenage boys at home. No WAY I want to be there.

So I’ve been splitting my time.

Answer emails. Walk to work. Answer more emails. Advise students via Zoom. Talk to whoever might be around at a safe distance. Walk home. Answer more emails. Read industry reports.

Lather. Rinse. Repeat.

On Friday, I spoke to two people. It was a big day.

I’ve been doing plenty of cooking and cleaning. Talking to people ON THE PHONE (!). And drinking. So much for the good done via Dry January.

I just read a horrifying article that indicates this could go on for 10-12 WEEKS.

If that is what it takes to keep more people from getting you, COVID-19, then I understand, and will try not to complain.

But I really wish you would take the hint and LEAVE.

The tribe has spoken.

Impatient and unhappily housebound,
Beth

Read Full Post »

Dear Self-isolating Friends and Family,

What a time to be alive! It is unprecedented weirdness. I don’t know about you, but some aspects of life are totally normal (my boys fighting) and some are totally bizarre (no toilet paper or cleaning products in stores).

I received the email below. Ordinarily, that would send me into a tailspin. You know how I love my Biddy Boot Camp.

But you also know that I am an optimistic person. So here I am looking on the bright side:

1. Atlanta traffic has been reduced to early-1990s levels.

This is lunchtime on I-85 where it joins I-75. It’s usually a jam.

2. No line at The Varsity (no eating inside either, for better or worse).

3. No one is sneezing, coughing or sniffling in public. (I’m thrilled. I hate this. Pandemic and non-pandemic advice: If you are sick, STAY HOME.)

4. Family time (again, for better or worse). I’m not ready to kill the children. Yet.

5. Home cooking. Last night, I made Pommes Anna from a recipe by Chef Anne Burrell. (I watched “Worst Cooks in America” during my isolation this weekend.) It’s basically scalloped potatoes with a twist.

Yum!

6. The potential to watch shows on my (long) list of suggestions. Although I find myself rewatching “Schitt’s Creek” in preparation for Season 6.

7. No cancellation fees on the annual cruise we had to reschedule before Coronavirus came calling.

8. Faculty at my university are forced to try online learning. I’ve been singing this delivery method’s praises for years, but some of my colleagues have been reluctant. It’s not perfect, but it works. And it compels people to learn new things and be creative to improve the experience for themselves and for students.

9. The chance to do things that have been put off for way too long. We moved to a different place in the same neighborhood the weekend before everything started changing substantially. With the forced down time, we have unpacked everything, put up shelves, cleaned the place, etc. I also rewired our speaker system — something I needed to do since we moved back to Atlanta.

10. The constant reminder to WASH YOUR DAMN HANDS. I’m continually appalled by the number of people who do not wash their hands after going to the restroom. Gross!

Join me in optimism: Tell me about your silver lining.

Love and air kisses from at least six feet away,
Beth

 

Read Full Post »

Dear Viktor Wynd,

You and I clearly are kindred spirits. My friend Nick mentioned your Museum of Curiosities as a place to check out the next time I was in London. In fact, he specifically said this:

It looks like how I imagine the inside of your head looks.

Well, he’s not wrong.

My head is filled with flotsam and jetsam, much like your museum.

In fact, your website celebrates the lack of categorization as part of the mission.

This museum will merely display everything that has glittered & caught the eye of it’s founder.

I just want to take a moment to recognize your genius. Where else can a jar of Amy Winehouse’s poop live alongside some terrible taxidermy?

As I was able to visit recently, here are some visual aids for readers who think I’m kidding:

This is pretty bad, even as bad taxidermy goes.

And part of Amy outside her music lives on.

BFs 4EVA!

It must be weird to be a celebrity whose detritus is museum worthy.

There is plenty going on in this case. Almost too much for intake.

Id like to copy edit the museum mission statement, but I won’t. Here it is with all its charm intact:

The Museum has no overreaching aim beyond the theft of it’s visitors time and the hope that it will provide amusement by return & hopes to fill the vacuum between what the establishment elite believes is worthy of worship & what exists in the world.

Good news: It did ABSOLUTELY provide amusement. This is exactly the sort of place that provides a perfect afternoon for me.

Read Full Post »

Dear Simon, Rob and Nick, aka Jesse’s Divide,

It was exactly a year ago that you played Smith’s Olde Bar in Atlanta as part of the U.S. leg of your Space Wolf tour — a leg I planned with no prior tour-planning experience.

(Good GOD. WHAT were we thinking? A leap of faith all around.)

One year ago, I badgered all my friends to come hear you play.

One year ago, these friends seemed surprised I had good taste.

One year ago, these friends bought you all tequila shots.

Photographic evidence

And one year ago, Rob drank so much tequila, he still had the liquor sweats 24 hours later.

More evidence

Now the four of us are talking about U.S. Tour 2: Electric Boogaloo for October, and I couldn’t be more excited.

This tour will be fortified with more Jesus, more vegan food, more gigs, more fans and likely more tequila.

Crucially, this tour also will feature less driving, less crappy equipment and (I hope) less barfing on the side of the road.

I am forever grateful to Clair for inviting me to go with her to see you that February night in 2018.

Love you guys! You’re simply the best.

Happy Valentine’s Day and Touriversary!
Your No. 1 American Fan

Read Full Post »

Dear Lottery God:

I still haven’t gotten a response to my May 2019 plea. I didn’t really expect one, but I DID hope.

Here’s the thing: What I really want are not material things.

Instead, I want experiences.

Like a blogger friend of mine (edyjournal), I’m not so concerned with status symbols. In fact, sometimes they come with more baggage than they are worth.

For example, I drove a BMW convertible for a while. I bought it used for $4K under the Blue Book value because the seller had already ordered a brand-new one for his kid as a replacement (!).

It was in great shape, and I take care of cars. That’s how my current car (a 2008 VW Eos) has managed to last and still look good.

Anyway, I got so sick of comments like this:

A BMW? Insert name of employer at the time must be paying you well!

[Eye roll]

It was a fantastic car, but I didn’t seek another BMW after it was totaled when I was broadsided at an intersection.

I feel myself growing apart from another friend whose job working with the 1 percent has her chasing the same Richie Rich tokens of success to keep up.

That’s not interesting to me.

You know what IS interesting to me?

Scream-laughing with my youngest on a roller coaster.

Watching people slam dance.

Day drinking in the Harry Potter section of Universal Studios Orlando.

Edit: Having brunch and getting my hooves shaved down with a long-time friend.

When I travel nowadays, I tend not to come home with tokens. (I Marie Kondo-ed my life since moving to Atlanta.) I come home with consumables: snacks for the kids, chicken hoops for me (when I can find them), random condiments, etc.

I don’t add to my physical footprint (not even in weight as I’m still maintaining).

So I’m asking again, Lottery God: Please smile upon me. These experiences aren’t free.

Best wishes and warmest regards,
Beth

 

Read Full Post »

Dear Snails,

Thank you for giving of your slime to beautify mankind.

I was initially grossed out at your sacrifice.

After I saw this at CVS, I posted a pic with the caption, “Ew.”

Just EW.

Unlike your typical movement, the jokes came fast.

Others weighed in with testimonials.

So I decided to see for myself. It was indeed slimy. And cold.

The problem child has problem skin, so I suggested he try it with me.

He said he would if everyone else in the family would do it too.

He underestimated my powers of persuasion.

Snail mask, party of four

You can sense him seething through your secretion sheet.

Anyway. We waited 15 minutes.

Removed the mask. Rinsed. Examined the results.

Problem child reported no difference in his skin, and complained he could still smell and taste the sheet.

Adult male claimed to have softer skin and fewer wrinkles.

Youngest was happy to be included.

As for me, I have issues your ooze can’t aid. (Yes, I still have Hitch eye. I have a dermatologist appointment this week.)

Still, thanks for your service.

Yours in self care,
Beth

Read Full Post »

Dear Readers,

I’m so excited that my badgering has paid off. Here’s another guest post. The Royce had a birthday last week, and it prompted some reflection.

I’ll be back next week with a story about the eldest. Parents with teenagers will relate.

Love,
Beth

This is The Royce in his natural habitat.

 

Aging vs. Old: A Rant
Guest post by The Royce

So, yesterday was my birthday. And that’s good because, hey, another trip around the sun, right? But somewhere along the way — in the last, oh say, few years or so (I don’t know whatever) — it occurred to me that, while I am not old (yet), I am, in fact, aging. Maybe I’m finally “of a certain age” — whatever the hell that entails — because, while I’m definitely still an easygoing person, little things are starting to grind my gears just a bit.

Like those damn neighborhood kids walking in my yard! LOLJK. (Note from Beth: I don’t think he is, in fact, JK.)

Though it’s commonly *cough* invariably *cough* attached to middle age and miracle creams, signs of aging actually applies to things other than crow’s feet and smile lines.

I’m talking about the less-obvious, non-physical signs of aging. Because like it or not, every day of every year, you’re aging. You just don’t notice it.

Until you do.

And then you notice it again. And again. It’s a lot like buying a new car that you thought was unique and rare until you drive off the lot and there’s three of the same vehicle waiting at the first intersection you get to.

On Jan. 13, 1974, the Super Bowl was on my seventh birthday, and I got to watch my favorite team, the Miami Dolphins, become two-time world champions against the Minnesota Vikings. Not a bad day for a kid.

In 2020, the game is three weeks later, two hours longer, and the pre-game show lasts half a day. WTH?

When did that happen?

You see, that’s not old. That’s aging.

Recently I went out with my lovely wife to meet some friends visiting from out of town. We arrived a few minutes early and looked over the drink menu while we waited.

I’m sorry, but WTF?! How did a cocktail get to be $14 in this town? (Note from Beth: They live in Savannah.) Did I teleport to Manhattan when I walked
through the door to this place?

Again: Not old. Aging.

You know why people don’t go out as much when they get a little older? It’s less about being tired and more because we don’t want to get bent over paying those ridiculous prices every time we feel like having a nice meal somewhere. Hey, how about we go out for dinner and have a couple glasses of WELL SHIT THERE GOES A HUNDRED BUCKS.

No, it’s not denial. Old will, with some luck, arrive eventually.

But for now … nah, not old. Merely aging, just like I have every day of my life. And considering the alternative, I’m fine with that.

Seriously, though. Would it kill the little cretins to stay off my lawn?

Read Full Post »

What’s this about bringing home the bacon?

Dear Friends Who Were Shocked I Didn’t Call Someone Out on Chauvinist Crap,

Y’all (rightfully) pointed out that it was not like me to stay quiet when someone says something backwards or dumb. I defended myself in this instance saying that the fellow in question was about 90 and deaf, and I’m a new member of the organization.

Still.

At the very least, I should have just made a joke about it right then and there.

But here’s a followup:

I had lunch yesterday with the female past president who was sitting next to our elderly subject when he made the comment. She was the first female member and first female president of this organization. And, in fact, some members left the organization when she joined. Granted, this was 30 years ago.

I shared with her my mortification. She said she was shocked too, as this man has always been a huge supporter of women in the club, herself included.

We talked a while. In short, our 94-year-old friend may have some cognitive decline that caused his commentary.

So.

Saying something wouldn’t have made a difference. And I know everyone else at the table felt the same way I did, so no education needed there.

But still, I’ve learned a valuable lesson.

See/hear something: Say something — anything!

It’s a good reminder for everyone: Things won’t change with silence.

Yours sincerely,
Beth

 

 

 

Read Full Post »

« Newer Posts - Older Posts »