I guess you could say my Christmas spirit was missing in action this year. Now don’t get me wrong. It’s not like me to forgo decorating with enough holiday decor that borders on being embarrassing. However, I was swamped with work so finding time (and the gumption) to drag everything from the shed was rather daunting. So I skipped it, other than placing a wreath on the front door, giving the illusion I’m festive.
Normally I invite my 10 besties over for a tree decorating party in early December. We eat, drink and are consequently quite merry. Karen hangs the lights because she does it best. The gals hang most of the ornaments, yelling at me to “Come help us!” That’s because I’m usually busy gabbing. Dinner is just a ruse to lure them over. I’m like Tom Sawyer, only instead of painting my fence, they decorate my tree. But this year I gave them a reprieve. Continue reading
Category Archives: Humor
The Bitch is Back
As you may know if you’re a faithful reader of my blog, I became The Bitch at my tennis club a month or so ago. If this is news to you, check out my post, Don’t Mess With Me. Don’t worry, I’ll wait while you read it. 
Okay, all finished? Now that you’re all caught up, let’s proceed, shall we? Anyway, since my recent crowning, I’ve not had occasion to rinse and repeat. That is, not until last week.
Something I’ve learned during my years on earth is that there are double standards. When a woman stands up for herself, she’s a bitch. When a man does, he’s assertive. But now that I have a reputation of sorts, I’m branching out. I’m riding this bitch-thing like a surfer on a really rad wave. Is that the correct terminology? I’ve never surfed so I’m just guessing here.
One-eyed Charlie
Originally posted in 2013
As an animal advocate, I prefer to avoid consuming them. Instead, I’m perfectly happy watching cows and sheep graze the rolling hills of Marin. I pretend they’re able to do that until a ripe old age, whereupon they die in a pasture, fat and happy.
The truth is, there’s not much I can do for these particular animals except refuse to dine on them. Still, I find it frustrating to know I’m helpless to change their fate. Continue reading
All in a Day’s Work
Trapping feral cats for sterilization means encountering something different each day. It’s the fun aspect of this work. Now don’t get me wrong; that doesn’t mean it’s one big party. On the contrary. The list of unpleasantness is long, but I’ll refrain from boring you with most of that.
Needless to say, working with Marin Friends of Ferals has its moments…I’ve broken my finger, been bitten through my knuckle by a kitten barely bigger than my hand, been saturated with poison oak and nearly lost the tip of my pinky from another bite. Scrapes and bruises come with the territory from efforts to spay and neuter feral community cats, yet I love what I do. But as it turns out, love hurts.
One joy of the job includes meeting new people and traveling to places in Marin County (and beyond) where I don’t often venture. For instance, last week a family in Sebastopol contacted us wanting 4 ferals for rodent control on their 5-acre spread. Continue reading
A Splendid Thanksgiving`
I trust you all had a nice Thanksgiving. Probably watched the Macy’s Thanksgiving Day parade, visited with family and ate a lot. Then ate some more. The operative word at Thanksgiving is stuffed — ate too many stuffed deviled eggs, enjoyed your aunt’s cornbread stuffing, stuffed yourself with turkey. You get the drift…
As for me, I had a splendid Thanksgiving. Thanks for asking. And I did none of the above. No parade, no eggs, no stuffing or turkey. Parades aren’t my thing. No offense but I don’t have the patience to sit and watch zillions of floats, gargantuan balloons and endless marching bands for 3 hours. I️ love stuffed eggs but didn’t bother making them this year. I️ don’t eat turkey so why have stuffing?
No, I made a selfish decision this year. I’ve been crazy busy the last few months so my Thanksgiving wish was to have a day where I didn’t have to go anywhere; that sounded heavenly. My brother and stepmom were spending Thanksgiving with close friends and although invited, I politely declined. I’m a heel, aren’t I?
My brother and 90-year-old stepmom
Now Don't Get Me Wrong 