• Five Ways Menopausal Women Are Like Daryl Dixon

    I’m upset with The Walking Dead writers at the moment. We haven’t seen enough of the emotionally unavailable badass with a crossbow since the Winter break.

    I call bullshit on this.

    I already know from my comic book geek people that the series deviates from the graphic novels, so there is no excuse for not having a little more face time with Daryl.

    Then I thought, you know…menopausal women are a lot like Daryl Dixon.

    1. Daryl is volatile. You just don’t know what you’re going to get with Daryl. Shoot him in the head? He might dismiss it with a hand wave and a tiny little threat. He also might get drunk and burn a house down. Same with menopausal women. For instance, suppose you decide it’s a good idea to behave in an annoying manner to a menopausal woman. It’s possible she will find the humor in the situation. It’s also possible she will burn you down. Best advice? Shhhhhh.

    2. Daryl isn’t afraid of tears. If shit goes down, we’re going to cry.

    3. If Daryl is eating, then he’s eating. It makes no difference to Daryl where he is, he’s licking his fingers. Perhaps, we menopausal women will behave polite in public. If we are home and by ourselves and there is no clean silverware? We will eat that pudding cup with our fingers.

    4. Daryl’s coping mechanisms. Daryl may not deal with stress in the best possible way, he has his limits and when he reaches that limit, Daryl needs down time.  We menopausal women have our limits. At the end of our rope is a cocktail glass. Or maybe a cupcake.

    5. Even if when he’s crabby, Daryl gets shit done.  He kills the zombies, he hunts dinner and he comforts the baby. All while being slightly sweaty. Menopausal women? Exactly the same. Except for the zombie part. We’re also more than slightly sweaty.

    Okay, you bloggers who are always using gifs in your posts….this is fucking exhausting.

    Fine..menopausal women are nothing like Daryl Dixon. This was just an excuse to look at Norman Reedus pictures all evening.

     

     

     

  • My Subconscious Is Laughing Behind My Brain

    subconscious laughs behind my brain rubber shoes in hell

    Worry has been a constant companion.

    I’m a worrier. One who frets. I have worried every day for decades now. I was a worrier as a child and I have honed that skill to a shiny perfection. My worrying skills have the soft patina of worn and well loved kitten leather.

    My worries and anxieties are both more sophisticated and just as ridiculous as they were when I was a kid. For instance, I have an ongoing worry that we are one major car repair from throwing our entire financial existence into a swirly vortex of suck. I’m also kind of afraid to use public restrooms because I’m convinced I will find a human head in the toilet.

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  • Amazing Graceless Goes To Work

    Next week marks my 3 month anniversary at my new job. I celebrated this ‘almost milestone’ by sort of admitting to my boss that I recently fantasized about him getting hit by a bus.

    Let me explain.

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  • Firmly Entrenched In My Fifties

    speaking my thoughts more freely

    I am 52 years old today.

    I have no idea how this happened.  I don’t feel 52. I don’t act it, either. Well..unless it works to my advantage. That’s a perk of getting older. We get to do that.

    I’m not an old woman quite yet, but I can see her way out on the horizon. She looks like she’s having a good time. At least I hope she is.

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  • I’ll Beg If I Have To

    I need your help.

    More specifically, Randy needs your help.

    I love my husband. We’ve been together 20 years now and though the relationship has had its ups and downs, it’s a good one. I want many more years with this man. I want to see more of the world and share it with him. I want us to watch our grandchildren grow up good and strong. I want to laugh with him and lean on him and watch him grow.

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