Standing in front of a bank of cards at least a foot taller than I am, I let my eyes bounce around them as if the right one would jump out of the rack and into my buggy. Reality took hold and, I picked the first one that caught me with its comforting colors and pretty script font. Reading the words I was struck by their honesty and the genuine emotion of the writer – these were the words of someone who knew loss.

I rejected it.

It – with another ten or so just like it – made their way back to the spot where I’d found them. Not because they were lacking, rather because they weren’t.

As kind as the words were, they were the ones that should be written by the sender. Written in ink and pained over, by someone who cares and struggles for the right words. “No one”, I thought “wants this shit in a greeting card written entirely by someone who doesn’t know them. I wouldn’t want this card.”

The emotions from thirteen and eleven years ago, respectively, traveled back to me and landed with a thump in the middle of my chest. What would have made me feel better back then? Nothing. A hug. A look. A story of them and the impact they had on others lives, however minimal.

In two corners of my home office are peace lilies. Their genealogy has been with me for over a decade, since their grandparent was sent by coworkers to my fathers funeral. I was thankful then just as I’m thankful now that they didn’t send flowers, which have always just served to remind me of just how temporary life is. I’ve had to send lilies of my own too many times since then, and each time I’m reminded of the thoughtfulness and my own lily who has grown and been divided and shared with friends who were born without green thumbs.

In the end with lilies aside, I settled on a card that said what I needed it to: “With condolences.”

I recently received that meme from my brother (not bosskat, but the one we never hear from) with the “What’s your full name? What’s your favorite color? What time is it now? Ever loved someone so much it made you cry” questions which also included one I hadn’t seen yet: “What sports do you watch on television?” to which I replied:

Which is saying a lot, given what we know about the size of my vacuum cleaner bags.

I blogged this a while back without embedding video, since that’s something I’ve never done [here] out of a love and deep respect of your bandwidth, but I don’t think it effectively communicated how freaking funny this is.

Sometimes text just doesn’t cut it – and if you’ve ever had a “cyber friend” you know exactly what I’m talking about. Don’t pretend you don’t.

Potentially the best part of the movie Domino (aside from her being a supreme badass) is Lateesha Rodriguez:

Feel free to take this opportunity to discuss the downfall of the overly politically correct hyper sensitive paranoid culture we may or may not be escaping or simply the fact that we shouldn’t all take ourselves so damn seriously all the time.

Sometimes, ya just gotta sit back and laugh at yourself.

I didn’t count them as we drove through North Carolina, South Carolina and Georgia…I didn’t need to. They were like freckles on a sun worshiping redhead.

Too many climate controlled garages with stacks and stacks of things folks couldn’t bear to part with but clearly no longer need. Imagine if everyone went and had a “Clean Sweep” day at their unit, then we converted them to shelters or something more useful than a rentable cinder block and tin extension of the kid at the beach with the sand pail yelling “mine, mine, mine!”.

*sigh*

Back to reality.

Who doesn’t love 11 and 12 hour work days when trying to go on vacation? Oh right – me.

I’m out. See you in a week or so if you don’t see me first.

Friday – Sunday

Monday – Saturday

Happy birthday to The Mc…my brilliant, handsome and goofy sweetheart.