More on Being 50 OR Oh, Crappoes, Fat Woman Shall Now Commence the Rant AND Also Some Content About...GASP!...Exercise!

There's something about a t-rex chasing you to
get you to move on out.

Recently I turned 50, and readers shall probably read about it until I get used to it or it gets old.  (Get it?  Gets old?  No, just me?)

Consequently, I broke out the bucket list and read where I wanted to hike 50 miles at age 50 on the Appalachian Trail.  (I don't specifically remember writing that on there.  Must be me getting old.)  Then we moved and I'm pretty sure I couldn't drag HIM or the kid on a 50 mile hike, and let's face it, I don't know if I could do 50 miles on a single mountain hike.  (Doubt does arise.)  So I came up with 50 miles in 50 days.  It's reasonable and I won't be far away from an ambulance.  This I could drag HIM with me, and sometimes the kid on her scooter or her bike.

Needs several reps to really work.

So off we go.  A mile or so every day.  I'm doing a little more because I expect something to happen and I'll have to skip a few days and I really want to do 50 miles in 50 days at age 50, because if I don't I won't be able to look at myself in the mirror, plus I told my doctor I would do it and he giggled.  (Seriously, he giggled.  I should be offended, but for some odd reason I wasn't.)

What does this have to do with me being obnoxious while
walking?  Nothing, but it's my blog.

What's the funny part?

One day we're walking down the green way and it's a nice day, so lots of people are out and walking, biking, jogging, getting out while they can.  As we pass people I say, "Hi."  Half the time they don't say anything back.

Here's where I get strange.  I mean, is it that hard to say hi back?  No.  (I wasn't asking for their first born child or anything of that ilk.)  Half of these people are being obnoxious effs.  Then I stopped saying hi, so HIM felt compelled to fill in for me.  For HIM, they say hi.  More women do, anyway.  But strangely some men do it, too.  (Hmm.) 

Consequently the rant began.  I theorized that if I said, "Hi," and the person didn't say "Hi," back, then I could say, "I said, Hi, bitch!" and they would acknowledge me, thus validating that I was a person to whom one should say hi.  Or validating that I was a person who didn't really care if I ticked a total stranger off on a walking trail.  Either one.  Upon sharing my revelation with HIM, HIM decided that he should walk ahead of me and pretend that we weren't married.  I think I saw him surreptitiously putting the police on speed dial.  (I have consequently determined that exercise makes me mean.)  (I wonder how that would sound in a trial?)

I'd look like a complete ass if I ran like I stole something.
Then I'd fall over and die after 50 feet.

The next victim quickly approached and I said, "Hi."  To my utter disappointment they said, "Hi," back.  So I was robbed of an opportunity to validate myself with the calling of the licentious name.  And it was thusly until we reached the parking lot.  Every single one said, "Hi," back to me.  I felt robbed.

How did they know?

If you HAVE to exercise, then do it in the most imaginative manner
possible.

On Turning 50 OR I'll Kill the Next Person Who Says 50 Isn't So Bad

Well, there it was, a perfectly good Wednesday morning when I got woken up to "It's the End of the World as We Know It" by REM.  I can thank HIM, the man to whom I'm married and the man whose shallow grave is located in the woods out back, for that.  I got presents wrapped in black.  (A travel mug, two meat thermometers, and a subscription to The Week.  My sister sent me a pendant.  She doesn't get buried in the back yard.  The cat decided to ignore the whole thing, which was a wise decision on his part, or simply because he's a moron and didn't know any better.)



So what could I do?  I hid in the closet for the next two hours fondling my meat thermometers.  (One is digital and wireless.  I should go buy a turkey.  HIM isn't known for buying the best gifts.  I got him 50 black balloons on his birthday.  I sent them to work.  HIM has a cubicle.  I thought that was funny as hell.  My MIL mentioned this to me when I said I was less than happy about turning 50.  I said that it was funny when HIM was turning 50, not me.  The moron cat would have freaked at having 50 black balloons in the house anyway.)

I went looking for pissed off LOLs and found a lot with cats.  Apparently cats are pissed a lot.  Or they're perceived as being pissed off a lot.  I know if someone put an itty bitty hat on my head and took a picture I'd be pissed off, too.

I remember when I turned 30 and I was upset.  I don't remember 40, probably because I was 7 months pregnant and peeing every...five...minutes.  Seriously, a note to women who haven't yet had a child, you will pee every five minutes and you won't sleep more than an hour at a time and that's before you have the baby.  Just be prepared.

But 50.  Sheesh.  I depressed.  Sofa king depressed.  I will now endeavor to amuse myself.

 This looks like hairy hairless cat.  I like the message.

Look the tree is ticked.  I wouldn't cut that tree down, I'll tell you.

I suppose I should just accept it.  It's done.

And then the heat pump broke.  It wasn't 50.  I'm sure.  I hate 50.  50 sucks.  I want to be 49 for another year.

Bubba and the Zigzaggery Zombies

Sheesh, I can't believe I forgot to announce this on my blog!

It’s trouble as usual for Bubba.  His mother, Miz Demetrice, and her good friend, Miz Adelia, are up to no good with the DEA watching them for mysterious reasons.  In addition, Bubba’s also trying to get the beauteous sheriff’s deputy, Willodean, alone for some quality time, when zombies invade in a cinematic manner.  Further, the director of the movie is apparently murdered by persons unknown, and someone is pointing a finger directly at Bubba (again).  Zigzaggery zombies, fetid filmmakers, maternal madness, and cryptic casualties are all par for the course.  What’s a Bubba to do?

Bubba and the Zigzaggery Zombies is book 5 in the Bubba series.  Book 1 – Bubba and the Dead Woman.  Book 2- Bubba and the 12 Deadly Days of Christmas.  Book 3 – Bubba and the Missing Woman.  Book 3.5 – Brownie and the Dame.  Book 4 – Bubba and the Mysterious Murder Note.  Book 4.5 – The Ransom of Brownie.

Buy it on B&N here.

Buy it on Amazon here.

Buy it on Smashwords here.

And for hardcore Bubba fans, buy it in paperback here.

 

Fat Woman Cannot READ Numbers OR 100,000 Isn't the Same as 1,000,000

Okay, I'm closing in on 100,000, not 1,000,000.  I'm depressed because I couldn't tell the difference between almost 100,000 and almost 1,000,000.  Big difference.  Talk about wishful thinking.

I feel like this.

 

Phooey.