Saturday was my birthday. I had a ten dollars off coupon from Victorian’s Secret, so that’s where I went to buy a new bra.
They say you should get measured for a bra every year, especially if your weight has changed. I’ve been on the WW since January, and have pretty much hit my goal, so I was due.
Apparently, there’s no living creature so repulsive that some kind-hearted soul won’t feed it.
Except, possibly, Newt Gingrich.
In Rockland, a woman has been putting out food each day for the seagulls. She told the Bangor Daily News she buys fourteen or fifteen crates of bread each week for her avian friends, who would otherwise have to fend for themselves on a diet of dead things and trash.
Since cleaning out my closet last week, I’m a de-clutterin’ fool! It just feels so good to get rid of stuff I don’t really use and pass it on to folks who could.
Before I get to the news of the week, I must ask if any of you readers are currently students at one of Portland’s high schools. If so, are you reading this posting on your school-issued laptop? If so, are you aware that by doing so you are not only wasting taxpayer money, you are also employing this technology to undermine the values your parents, the educational system, and society as a whole have attempted to instill in you?
So that’s all good.
Well, finally! We got some April showers last week. Even though our May flowers been up two or three weeks now, it was a good thing. The ground needed a soakin. Plus, the rain forced me to stay inside and tend to some long overdue spring cleaning.
I don’t know about you, but the hardest thing I find about spring cleaning is that it’s spring. The sun’s shining, daffodils and tulips are up, birds are singing. I want to be out doors, puttering around in the yard.
Grapes have always seemed to me to be pretty much useless. I don’t like wine. I don’t like Welch’s grape juice. I don’t like those little packets of grape jelly that come with toast in restaurant breakfasts. And while Steinbeck’s famous Dust Bowl novel isn’t bad, it should be noted that none of the principal characters is actually a grape.
Now, the last time I addressed this subject was my blog back in November 2010. (I know, ‘cause I checked.) But some things never change, and my husband’s one of ‘em.
The closest I come to being a vegan is when I’m asleep. I used to think I was also meeting the strict standards of veganism when I was drinking beer, which would have made me about eighty-five percent vegan, because I spend at least that much of every day either sleeping or drinking beer. But my calculations have been called into question by knowledgeable experts on the vegan lifestyle, by which I mean a couple of people I met in a bar.
Strict vegans, they told me, consider yeast an animal, so they don’t consume alcoholic beverages.
Last week, I’m drivin’ back from Bangor, where I’d spent a lovely afternoon getting a root canal. I know! Just the thought of it sends chills down your spine. But, it really wasn’t all that bad. I went to a place where all they do is root canals. I mean, they crank ‘em out, ‘bout a gazillion a day. They got it down.
The Portland Sea Dogs, the Double-A minor-league affiliate of the Boston Red Sox, finished last season with the worst record in franchise history. To the best of my recollection, the Dogs won about three games during the entire summer, all of them on days when I wasn’t at Hadlock Field. This was discouraging to endure, but I’m not a fair-weather fan.