Hobbies one should not admit to and dead plant life

This is a dead tree. Specifically, a dead Ficus Benjamina, a weeping fig tree. I nurtured it, coddled it and feed it nutritious tree food. And did it appreciate that? No. The Ficus is a drama queen, a professional victim. If a breeze comes within 10 feet of it, if a person (god forbid) brushes against it, it sheds leaves like a martyr shedding clothes to take in the burning desert sun. The wimp. I pampered it and replaced its soil. And finally

in the dead of winter, I put it on the balcony. But not, let me add, until one mutant very long branch poked me in the eye. A branch bearing 3 of it's scrawny collection of 14 leaves.

Now it lives on the balcony. Weedy thinks it's kind of cool looking. So. I'm beading it.

I think I've officially been working on the Etsy shop site for tooooo long.

A good frog is hard to find

Here is my fantasy:

I meet a man in my day to day life. We talk for a few minutes here and there. We finally decide, because the conversations are pretty good, that we should have coffee together. We have coffee or a drink together and the conversations get even better. He's interesting to me and I'm interesting to him.

We exchange phone numbers. He says he'll call on, say, Wednesday. He actually calls on Wednesday.

He asks me out to dinner.

Ahhh.

Dinner. At a decent restaurant, with a little ambiance. And why does he choose that kind of place? Because he wants to impress me just a little and wants the atmosphere to be congenial and pleasant.

We meet at the restaurant with a little ambiance. I wear a dress and my wonderful new high heels. Why? Because I'd like to impress him a little.

And while we're having dinner and another great conversation, we're both thinking how lucky we are to be there with each other. We're thinking about possibilities. We're actually entertaining hope.

After dinner, we go to our respective homes - kind of wishing that we weren't but not wanting to spoil things by rushing ahead.

Right. Pigs fly. And it's the era of internet dating. Besides, I keep mistaking frogs for princes.

Either KD had a slip of the tongue today or I had a slip of hearing but I thought she said, "Traumedy" describing a movie. I started to laugh. The perfect label for my so-called-love-life:
Romantic Traumedy.

Damn I'm tired of it.

**Some post after all this time, but hey - that's what's not so new.

A mind is a terrible thing to waste

abstunt: to abstain from an activity thereby stunting growth

assclown: I just like this one. From KD

bioblabgraphry: talking about ones’ life on a blog (alternate: bioblographry)

biocide: unsound ecological practices (I haven’t heard this, but it might already be in use)

bubblegut: The result of drinking too much beer or bad elimination habits

coopernation: What politicians see as patriotism (these days)

drome: A self-employed person who works at home (fr: drone and home)

fantmare: A fantasy that turns into a nightmare (such as coopernation)

fembrane: the largely useless membrane that denotes virginity in women

Farch: Occurs in the month of March when it feels like February (Weedy’s word)

frage: fear followed by rage

frice: The price of friendship

friceless: Often mistaken for a typo (KD) meaning “without frice.”

sleaky: Slick and sneaky behavior; a charming sneaky person

tofood: Anything vegan trying to act like another non-vegan food

Undulush: Lush undulation

wisteria: transitional emotional state between wistfulness and hysteria (not to be confused with the flower)

worshop: To believe that prayers are currency to be redeemed for merchandise or other rewards

As usual, the f-words have it. Anyone else just dying to burn off a few brain cells in the pursuit of nothing? (It started with "wisteria" and I have no idea why.)

More words

Here is my theory, and please pay attention because I've worked hard on this and put in precious seconds of the very limited time I've just realized I have left on earth.

As we age, we become increasingly stupid. Eventually, if we wrinkle up in an appealing way and manage not to drool, if we assume a slightly crafty look and say very little, our stupidity is sometimes mistaken for wisdom. And usually, it is younger people who make the mistake.

This is because, at 29 or 35, for example, we are possessed of the odd illusion that eventually life will make sense. It's what we cling to as life buffets us about like little rubber dingys in the midst of a category five hurricane - that feeble little hope that we just hang in there, we will achieve wisdom. The notion that the Monty Python sketch that is, in fact, our daily life, will assemble itself into a coherent picture and we will achieve the big Aha moment.

As resident "wise woman" in the lives of some younger friends, let me assure you that it is a Monty Python sketch, so we should all eat, drink and be merry. I believe that's from Ecclesiastes, originally. From the New Testament: Jesus wept. And by the way, didn't live to be old.

Self-portrait Saturday

Someone asked me what color my eyes are. I took this photograph. No makeup except for my beloved orange lipstick, no tricks, no digital alteration, nothing to hide behind. And I still don't know what color to tell them...

As I'm lazy and wordless, I'm sharing the photo. Still here. Thinking of you all and reading...reading...keeping up with your lives...