Don’t get excited. This is not a post about sadists or sex. Or Fifty Shades of Grey. We are so over that, aren’t we??
Just saying …
Anyway. Talk about timing. If ever there was an absolutely perfect time for me to be responding to a WordPress Daily Prompt, it’s today: “Tell us your tried and true techniques for focusing when that deadline looms and you need to get work done. In other words, how do you avoid wasted days and wasted nights?”
Simple. I’ve got a one-word answer for you:
You’ve gotta crack that whip — on yourself.
Case in point: If you’re a regular reader here, you know I was off last week. I got a new project, from a new client. It’s a pretty big job, with three different parts
It’s okay. You can put the history books away. This isn’t going to be a post about Custer’s Last Stand, otherwise known as the Battle of 1876. No, this is a story of men and women. A story that hasn’t changed in generations. A story I’m not sure will ever change.
I overheard a conversation yesterday. That’s what sent me down this road. But before you accuse me of being nosy, let me just say, I couldn’t help it. The two girls in question were sitting right next to me. And they were not speaking in hushed tones. The only way to avoid listening was to leave. And why should I have left? They chose to talk about a personal matter in a public place. In loud voices.
What more could a writer ask for?
Anyway, I figure they were both in their early twenties. What do you think they were talking about? I’ll give you a hint. It wasn’t the economy, or the new Pope. Boys. They were talking about boys. One was being neurotic, as only a female can be.
She’d recently met a new guy. She liked him. They went out twice. She hadn’t heard from him in four days. He said he’d call and he hadn’t. Now before you pass judgement and accuse him of being a dick, he had told her he
What a difference a day makes. On Friday, Toronto was a ghost town. Yesterday, it was a total zoo. People everywhere. Young people. Old people. Couples. Singles. Parents. Kids. Men. Women. Boys. Girls. With dogs and without. City dwellers. Suburbanites. Tourists.
There wasn’t a square inch of space without someone sitting on it. Standing on it. Driving by. Walking past. Or waiting in line for it. Sure, stores being open again probably accounted for some of it. This being a long weekend also probably accounted for some of it.
But mostly, it was the weather. It had to be.
Yes, indeed folks. You heard it here first. I am here to report winter is over. Pack up the shovels and the skates.
Stop. No gagging. Despite what you may think, this post has NOTHING to do with the movie, of the same name. And this is the one and only time I will mention Ryan O’Neal. I PROMISE. It’s Valentines Day. Which I don’t particularly want to discuss. So what’s left? If I’m not going to talk about V-Day, I HAVE to talk about love. Don’t I?
It’s not that I’m anti romance. It’s just that really, Valentines Day isn’t about romance. In fact most men’s credit cards probably get more action than they do. Because Valentines Day is about spending money. Buying cards. Buying flowers. Buying chocolate. Buying perfume. Buying lingerie. Buying jewelry. Buying champagne.
So nobody loves Valentines Day more than shop keepers, banks and credit card issuers. It wouldn’t surprise me to hear they love cupid more than they love their spouses.
There’s more to my lack of enchantment with Valentines Day, though. For a start, who wants hearts and flowers just one day a year? Do you really thinks a bunch of posies or a box of bonbons or even a little, blue box from Tiffany’s on February 14, gets you off the hook for the rest of the year? I don’t think so.
I can’t speak for the menfolk, but I do know what women want. And it’s NOT a guy who waits all year, for Hallmark to Continue reading →
Have you noticed? There seems to be a proliferation of movies about growing old, lately. I’m not exactly sure why. Could be, because so many of the screen writers, producers and directors are, themselves, in their fifties and sixties, and beyond. Could also be, because so many of the great actors are, as well. And they need roles they can play.
Robert De Niro. Al Pacino. Meryl Streep. Tommy Lee Jones. Judi Dench. Maggie Smith. Jack Nicholson. Denzel Washington. Susan Sarandin. Jeff Bridges. Samuel L. Jackson. Helen Mirren. Bill Murray. Christopher Walken. Bill Nighy. Ben Kingsley. Malcolm McDowell. Diane Keaton. Steve Martin. Glenn Close. Kathy Bates. Sigourney Weaver. Geoffrey Rush. Liam Neesen. And the list goes on. And on.
Yeah, they’re boomers. Hard to believe, isn’t it?
God knows they don’t want to be forced into retirement. And we don’t want them to retire, either. They’re way too Continue reading →
The Green Study had an absolutely hilarious post yesterday. It was about her hellish trip to the mall. In passing she talked about a cashier’s bedazzled fingernails. And that sent me to a whole other place.
You have no idea just what’s being bedazzled these days. Or maybe you do? You want me to spell it out for you, don’t cha? You’re waiting to see if you can make me blush. Or stammer. Or splutter.
Nope. You won’t. Here it is:
Females are bedazzling their bits. You know. Their privates. There. Handled it well, wouldn’t you agree? No blushing. Anyway, it’s called ‘vajazzling‘. Need I say more? I hope not.
The irony is, Thursday night on Grey’s Anatomy, the subject came up. Before I go into detail, let me confirm. Yes, I am probably the only human being with a TV who did NOT watch Oprah interviewing (grilling) Lance Continue reading →