Two weeks

That’s how long it takes to get over a bad 45th birthday.  Just in case you were wondering.And yes I know that sounds like a pity party, but what the hell — I was feeling rather pitiful. The cure:  taking on a new fund-raiser for the babies’ school.  One that hasn’t been done before, and needs to be built from ground-up, but is for the financial aid program (which I love) and can potentially raise hundreds of thousands. So, yeah, that’ll get your mind off the bad birthday bit.  Although the lack of volunteers for silent or live auctions can send you back into a spiral……..   not that I blame the 50 (yes, FIFTY) women on my committee.  Personally I also hate working on the auction business.But since I’m now 45, and all grown-up and shit, it’s time for me to be a kick-ass take-charge kind of hyphenating woman, who embraces all forms of solicitation.  Did that sound wrong? 

Blasted Bloody Fockin’ Birthday

I turned 45 on the fourth.  Not happy with that so far.   Urg.  Arg. UGH.  Urk.   

Confuddlement

Two days ago a box arrived, addressed to me. The box is from my mama’s hometown. None of this is a huge surprise, given that my birthday is tomorrow (woo-hoooooo!).

So I open the box, and discover the following:

Inside:

Oh my. Truly, my family is the best.

What’s with the blue ties?

All the Repubs are showing up for their Big Events in blue.  The Shrub showed up for the SotU sporting a lovely light blue tie.  I would even call it ‘periwinkle’.  
  
 Then Mr. Mitt appeared: 
 and Candidate McC with his rather large and enthusiastic striped number: 
   
 So what’s the deal?  For years Republicans have been known for their red ties and red states.  Yet all of a sudden they are sporting blue.  Is blue the new red?  Or are they trying to send us a subliminal message?  ”No, really, I’m not a neo-con.  I’m a reasonable  Repub.  Truuuuuusssst me.” Which all segues rather nicely (backwards) into my last post –

scary-ass dolls and clowns…

… have this in common:  they are my enemies.  Me no likey, in a rather huge way.  So what is it about the movie with the scary-ass ventriloquist doll that turned into a clown that kept me glued to the tube?   Until 12:30?  And made me scurry up the stairs like a jackrabbit?    Arghhhhhhh.  Truly, at times my brain is that train wreck that you can’t look away from.