Originally posted in 2013
I was in my early 40s, waiting in a drugstore for a prescription, when I decided to use those 15 minutes and have my wrist scanned to determine my bone density. It was either that or shop for light bulbs. Decisions, decisions…So I get in line with a half-dozen women in their 60s. Confident I’d pass with flying colors, I hoped the technician wouldn’t embarrass me by his excited announcement (within ear shot of the others) that I had the bones of a 25-year-old.
Shortly thereafter, my fantasy faded and reality slapped me to my senses. Not only did I not have young bones but I was pulled aside and advised to speak with my doctor about getting a full hip and spine scan. Apparently, the results showed my bones were under the mistaken impression I was 65. Continue reading
Last week I wrote about my being a genius. But this week I’m here to tell you I’m an idiot. How quickly the tide turns, huh? And in this particular case, live and learn did not prove to be exactly, how shall I say…correct? In fact, I’m finding that living and learning do not always go hand in hand.
I often type these blog posts on my laptop so I’m not shackled to my office computer. I can watch TV and type, be on the phone and type, sit in the garden and type. You get my drift. There are obvious benefits to working this way, especially when multi-tasking.
One of the things you should know about me is that I’m not tech savvy in any shape or form. It’s just one of the ways I’m an idiot. Therefore, I’m a bit skeptical of suggestions like downloads and updates, stuff like that. Normally I ignore them until my computer barely functions anymore. Only then do I consider the latest updates. Call me stubborn.
Well it’s official. I can finally divulge what I really am. No, I’m not a man in a woman’s body. But nice try. And I’m not in the Witness Protection Program, hoping that my former life and real name, Shannon Miller, is all in the past. Wouldn’t that be something though? If so, I’d now be back in hiding, having just blown my cover.
So no, my news isn’t quite that exciting. But here it is:
Last week I learned I’m a genius.
I know…it came as a surprise to me as well. Those who know me can attest that I’m not the brainy type. I’m more the flighty and absentminded type. In high school I was more interested in being with friends and playing sports. I honestly don’t remember studying much. Did I do it at the kitchen table? In my bedroom? Could it be I don’t remember because I rarely studied? That would be my guess.
Doesn’t look familiar
In college, I received my bachelor’s degree with a 3.2 GPA, which is basically a B. Not bad, but definitely not genius. Especially since I wasn’t particularly enthralled with my major, Social Welfare. How can an 18-year-old be expected to know what she wants to do for the rest of her life?
So here’s the situation. It’s 8:00 p.m. on Saturday night. I just spent the day cleaning my garage. Loads of fun. I’m grimy, dusty and full of chili because after I spent the day cleaning my garage I made a pot of veggie chili. Then I made macaroni noodles to put the chili on because that’s how my ex’s family did it in Kansas City. So since 1982, when we married, that’s how I’ve eaten it and now I can’t eat naked chili.
Anyway, now I’m stuffed. I also fed my animal crew and my foster cat, all of whom I assume are stuffed as well. My foster cat is nameless because I don’t permanently name them until I know they’ll be adoptable. I foster feral kittens and semi-feral cats. For some reason it’s harder for me to have to relocate them to outdoor homes (if they’re too feral to be adopted) after I’ve named them. Weird, huh?
So when I enter the room in which I’m housing a big orange tabby female, I say ‘Hey Boo Boo.” No reaction. Sometimes I say, “Hey Monkey.” But again, no response. I’ll try on a bunch of names during the time I’m fostering but once I realize that cat or kitten will be adoptable, a name will suddenly hit me and that’s the one that sticks.
Remember a few weeks back when I blogged about my cat, Tippi, who had a major personality change? (When a Cat Loves a Woman.) Being a tortie, she can be a bit of a bitch if you want to know the truth. Now don’t get me wrong; she’s a good bitch. Tippi holds her own among my 7 other pets and she’s the tiniest of them all, so it’s essential she not be a pushover.
Tippi probably weighs 7 lbs soaking wet, although she’s never soaking wet. Since I value my life, I’d never give a tortie a bath. Do you think I’m an idiot? That’s a rhetorical question but I suspect you were quick to answer. Still, my 7 lb. kitty has absolutely no fear and I just love that about her.
You should see Tippi in action. My cat, Fat Jack, who causes all kinds of mayhem by frequently pouncing on my other two felines, Savannah and Oliver, always gives a wide berth when strolling by Tippi. And he’s twice her size. She scares the bejeebers out of him…just another thing I love about her.
Why he’s called Fat Jack