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Entries in Blogging (71)


Getting my Gordon Ramsay on

I am not the world’s greatest cook. There, I said it. Quite frankly, I don’t have the patience or inclination to put forth the effort required to produce a five-star meal.  The problem is, however, my palate yearns for a more elevated cuisine than I can muster. 

I have been a rabid fan of Gordon Ramsay and his Hell’s Kitchen television show for years. This may seem a bit odd to you, since I am not all that fond of cooking.  But you have to admit, the dude is kind of adorable and makes cooking look so easy!  Maybe it’s all the cussing and yelling he does that inspire him and his followers to create culinary masterpieces. That being said, it doesn’t really faze or motivate me.  I just like to watch. Ahem…

Recently, however, the “chef bug” bit me and I have been cooking with a new enthusiasm and exuberance. It’s kind of scary, really.  I’m measuring ingredients, chopping garlic into teensy-weensy pieces, and dirtying every pot and pan in the house. My apron has never seen such action. My frig contains fresh produce and herbs, when it’s more accustomed to soured milk and containers of moldy, long-forgotten leftovers. 

What brought on this sudden lapse in providing microwavable misery-on-a-plate, you ask?  I blame it on the Cooking Channel.  I saw a commercial for a company called Blue Apron and I was hooked.  Blue Apron mails you different meals to cook, providing all the ingredients measured out and ready to incorporate into a stunning dish that draws oohs and ahhs from all your friends. Well, at least the ones who can’t cook.  They will eat anything.



So I ordered my first box of Blue Apron which consisted of three different meals for two.  This week it was spiced meatballs, salmon, and chicken something or other. So far, I’ve made the spiced meatballs. It took me 1.5 hours, when the recipe says 20 minutes. I had to learn to cut and smash garlic.  I had to learn to pit olives.  I had to learn about whisking, sautéing, braising, boiling, and a whole bunch of other cooking terms. All of a sudden, this new adventure in which I had plunged was proving to be a pain in the ass.  I’m going back to delivery and dinners-in-a-bag.

Admittedly, it was a little fun in the beginning. The Blue Apron box comes with recipes printed on large laminated paper (so you can wipe off the spaghetti sauce stains and your tears, as they happen).  The recipe cards also tell you how to do each little thing, just in case you’ve been living with your head under a rock, and don’t know an olive pit from a mosh pit.  I was kind of disappointed to learn the difference, to tell the absolute truth.

But I pushed onward.  I chopped that garlic, and I rolled out those meatballs. I made the summer squash salad with lemon juice, no pith.  Yes, I learned about pith, too.  My cookery vocabulary runneth over.  I can talk risotto, scallions and couscous with the best of them.

But I digress. The Blue Apron experience was fun for about five minutes and then it just became work. So what did I take away from this fancy food fiasco?


  • You can put the bad cook in the kitchen, but you can’t make her tasty.


No wait.  Let me try that again.


  • You can give the bad cook fancy cookware, but you can’t blame her when she sells it on eBay.


Dang.  Okay, one more try.


  • If you love your bad cook, let her go.
  • If she doesn’t return, your stomach will thank you.
  • If she does return, put her in handcuffs, order take-out, and watch some “Hell’s Kitchen.”



 **Images from Google Images


Watch Me Watch Me

Last week, our downstairs neighbor called the property management office to complain that we were making too much noise.  The property management office called us and left a voicemail informing us there had been a complaint.  I listened to the voicemail twice.  The first time, I just laughed because my partner and I are pretty sedate and stick to our routine of couch-potato-ing (let’s just pretend potato is a verb for now, shall we?) and TV binge-watching most of the time. Every now and then, however, one of us might get a bit pissed off at the world over-exuberant and shout a “fuck you!” colorful phrase or two at the TV or one another, depending on the situation.

Other than that, we are good neighbors.  I wish we had neighbors like us.  We are awesome neighbors, and the ass-wipe downstairs needs to get a rope with which to hang himself a life.

The second time I listened to the voicemail, I just got mad, and I let it stew, as I tend to do when someone is unreasonable with me.  For example, back when we lived in Ohio, I had a personal vendetta against our garbage collector guy because he would never take more than two bags of trash at a time.  I tried on several occasions to test him by leaving three bags out for his collection.  He left one fucking bag on the curb every single time. Consequently, I hated this man I had never actually seen, because he was doing his job too damned well and according to our contract.  I spent way too much time thinking about the whole thing and how much I wanted to give that garbage collector guy a big one-finger salute piece of my mind. 

Thank goodness, I did refrain from going to war with my garbage collector guy.  We have to pick our battles carefully, right?  You never know who will do something next to bring out your murderous alter ego bad side.

Back to mean neighbor guy from downstairs. I did call the property management office and speak to one of the useless dingbats  office clerks regarding my neighbor’s complaints.  Turns out, he was complaining about the TV being too loud and the creaky floors. 

Okay, he had a definite point about the TV. My partner has hearing problems and turns the TV up so loud, it gives me a headache.  I have tried to persuade her to turn the volume down, but she is one stubborn bitch headstrong woman.

As for the creaky floors, there is not much we can do about that.  Walk lighter, maybe?  Buy a hover-board and surf the air-conditioner currents around the apartment?  Learn to fly?  Move?  Although I could totally get into riding a hover-board, none of those options panned out for us at this current time.  Furthermore, I figured the bad neighbor guy from downstairs must not have a fucking clue  any idea that he had pissed off a couple of vindictive bitches.  Either that, or he’s as dumb as a Republican donating to Donald Trump’s campaign.

Either way, I was letting it stew and the pot was getting thicker and stinkier with each passing moment.  I had a mental closet full of retorts, come-backs, insults, excuses, and snarky rhetoric for mean, horrible neighbor guy from downstairs.

And then I came face to face with the source of my agitation. His name was Will.

I was taking the trash out  (why does everything always lead back to the trash?) and I had four bags to carry.  I also have eighteen stairs to descend with said trash and my cane or walker, whichever I’m using.  That particular morning,  I proceeded to throw all four bags down the stairs and was ready to make my descent, when scary, mean, horrible neighbor guy from downstairs appears out of nowhere.  Actually he had come from his apartment, but I do tend to embellish now and then. 

He pointed to my trash and said, “Is that trash?”

No, moron, those are fifty dead cats. They used to be my pets, but I slaughtered every one of them so they wouldn’t make so much fucking noise! 

I actually didn’t say anything, just nodded yes.

“I’ll take them for you,” he offered, in a friendly, good-neighborly tone.  What had he done with my mean neighbor guy?

I finally found some words. “Thank you very much!  My name is Terri.”  He did not look amused or mad. He just started picking up the trash bags.  I couldn’t help but wish he would have been my garbage collector guy back in Ohio

Upon collecting all four bags of trash, he said, “Not a problem. My name is Will.  Have a good day.”  Then he was gone.

There I stood, at the top of my stairs, mentally erasing each one of the nasty names I had made up for my neighbor guy.  Now he was just “neighbor guy, Will”. 

Before you ask, no I did not completely change my mind about my neighbor.  He still called and complained about two older women making too much noise.

My message to my neighbor, as I let the whole noise/trash/stairs thing go:  Mr. Will, neighbor guy, I’m thinking about taking up a new dance.  You might want to put the property management phone number on your speed dial. Muahhhh!






So, I was feeling guilty for not signing up for this year’s NaNoWriMo writing competition. I got over it pretty quickly, however, when I remembered I have all but neglected my blog. 

Then, I got past the guilt feelings for not writing by remembering I haven’t been doing much exercising, reading, cleaning house, or anything requiring much movement or planning.

And I got past those feelings by - you guessed it - taking a nice, long nap in my easy-chair after eating my way through the leftover Halloween candy, today’s Sunday dinner, and the traditional Broncos game-day nachos.

Do you see a pattern here?  A very ugly pattern.

It would appear I have a rare disease known as NaNoWhyMe.  There’s no cure, but there is a mandatory two day quarantine, wherein the afflicted is locked in a small room with only a bed, toilet, wine-box, crackers and Nutella. No writing is allowed, but there is a fully-unabridged dictionary to stave off loneliness.  We writers really only need our words to keep us company, right? I just wish I knew what the hell ‘unabridged’ means in regards to a dictionary. And why haven’t I ever wondered about that before?

So many puzzles.  So little brain activity left with which to solve said puzzles.

And to add insult to injury, the Broncos just had their asses handed to them on a silver platter by the New England Patriots. 

I’m having a bad day. I’m having a NaNoWhyMe kind of day.

The only light that could possibly remain in this day is tonight’s episode of The Walking Dead.

Yes, folks, it takes a bunch of zombies to save me from the Wahhhmbulance.  They call them walkers on the show, in case you weren’t up-to-speed on your TWD protocol.

Those crazy, flesh-eating walkers can make my frown turn upside-down.  It might be the only cure for my NaNoWhyMe curse.

I’ll let you know how it all pans out.  If you don’t hear from me, it just means the disease has progressed past the point of no return, or the walkers have eaten my brains and I can no longer string two sentences together.

NaNoWhyMe.  It’s a thing. Don’t let it infect you. You might want to stock up on antibiotics to keep the wretchedness at bay, but I think binge-watching all seasons of The Walking Dead might be the best way to build up immunity to the dreaded NaNoWhyMe’s.

Good luck, and may the odds be ever in your favor.  Because they sure aren’t working for me.

***By the way, I looked up unabridged and it just means not shortened. Boring definition. But the million dollar question is, does it renew my interest in dictionaries?



Image from Google Images


So they are calling it a rematch

So they are calling it a rematch.

Remember the last Super Bowl?  It was not pretty. Broncos’ fans all over the nation have simply been trying to forget it and move on to this new season.

Ah, but the NFL gods and all those pesky Seahawk fans will not stop talking about that bloody massacre.  It was one of the Broncos’ darkest days.

So shut the fuck up, already, and let’s play some football! 

No more talking about a rematch.  Today’s game is not a rematch. Players have been traded and the teams are not last year’s teams, for crying out loud. Some of those reporters sitting up in that observation booth, wherever it is, take every opportunity to dish doubt and ugliness about my precious Broncos. I think they hide their location to keep rabid Broncos’ fans from going all The Walking Dead on their asses.

Ah, if only I had a cross bow and their GPS.  Just sayin..

Anyhow, I’m over it.

It’s less than an hour before the game.  I just need to don my Broncos jersey, orange comfy socks, dangly earrings, and hat. Then I need to hang my Broncos flag and dust off my John Elway bobble-head doll and rub his tummy for luck.

For luck, I swear! Minds out of the gutter please. I’m not that kind of kinky.

After morphing my home into a Broncos’ shrine, I will order up some food. Not cooking today. It could be a real screamer of a game, and I need to preserve my energy. I’m thinking Sweet and Sour Chicken, some fried rice and egg roll.  Okay, it may not be your normal football cuisine, but I haven’t been normal for decades, so deal with it.  A true fan understands these things.

However.  I feel like I am forgetting something.

Oh wait, the cheerleaders! We cannot forget the Broncos’ Cheerleaders!  Here’s a photo, lest you’ve forgotten about how vital they are to the whole Broncos’ experience. 

You’re welcome.

Three thoughts to leave you with:

  • The Broncos will show up. Unlike last year’s Super Bowl.
  • The Broncos will not be intimidated by the noise of thousands of Seattle Seahawks screaming, “Go Hawks!”  Real original, Seattle. How much are you paying your marketing team to come up with that one?
  • The Broncos will win or lose.   I will have a more definitive answer after the game.  And if I happen to doze off during the game and miss the final score, I am quite sure my dear friend and Hawks fan, Tracy, will be more than happy to enlighten me.

Okay three more things:

In the words of the lovely April, a new Broncos’ fan, “Let’s do the damn thang!”

My cute little sister would say, “Let’s get ‘er done!”

My partner would probably say, as she awakens from her nap during the first quarter of the game, “Is it over yet? Can we rent a movie now?”

I concur on all of the above.  I might add, “I only got 2.5 glasses of wine from that bottle?  WTF?”

Okay enough of this silliness.  Peyton Manning, would just hunker down and shout, “Omaha!”


Game On!!!


**Images from Google Images



Throwback Thursday and losing my cool

I love logging onto Face Book every Thursday and enjoying the cool pictures my friends and relatives post for Throwback Thursday.  They post everything from their kids when they were small to their pets dressed up like Elvis.  Some pictures are really hilarious. I have some witty and clever Face Book friends! Today I joined the fun by posting one of my very favorite pictures of my boys from 1983 (below for those of you who don’t follow me on Face Book). 

Viewing old photos also reminds me that I’m getting older by the minute. However, this reaction is not caused by the photos, as you are probably thinking, but rather the fact that I have to put my reading glasses on just to see the photos.  Things like that happen when you’re a woman of a certain age.

In further news, you may remember my posting about getting a new iPhone for my 60th birthday, which has already been six months.  Oh my God, I’m 60 and a half now


The last few weeks, I have had a lot of trouble reading or viewing anything on my iPhone.   It’s not the phone, people.  My eyes are aging right along with the rest of my sorry-assed sagging body.  I have to put on some reading glasses just to dial a number.  Of course, that is providing I can find my reading glasses. Sometimes I dial or text things that make people go “Hmmm?” 

I’ve been known to text a male co-worker that I need to make an appointment with my gynecologist.  That text should have gone to my sister.  Conversely, I sent a text just recently that asked one of my best friends if I can take some time off at the end of the month.  Obviously, that one was meant for my boss.

And you don’t even want to know who I’ve blind-dialed.  That’s kind of like butt-dialing, only using the bad eyesight instead of the butt. I’ve called for pizza at 8 am in the morning.  I’ve called a creditor back that I’ve been avoiding like the plague, and quickly hung up once I realized my faux pas. I called the DMV instead of my Dad. 

It was out of control. I was out of control.


Being the “take immediate action, damn the consequences” kind of girl I am, I decided it was time to say a fond farewell to my precious, coveted iPhone.  After bidding Siri a poignant goodbye and assuring her the problem was not her, but me, I went to to search for a phone with a much larger viewing display. 

I didn’t have to look long, because there she was, in all her splendor!   The Galaxy 4S smart phone with a 5 inch display screen, which was 1.5 inches larger than the iPhone.   After perusing all the other phones, I knew she was the one for me, so I ordered her to be delivered overnight.  I didn’t want to wait one second longer than I had to for this sexy new device.  I was smitten.

The next day, FedEx delivered my new toy and I jumped for joy.  I may have even done a little happy dance in front of the delivery guy.  He left rather quickly after I signed for the package.  Hope I didn’t scare him.  He’s probably never seen a sexy senior citizen with those kinds of moves.  Just sayin..

But I digress.

As soon as I closed the door, I tore into that package, and within a couple of minutes, I installed the battery and activated the phone. I was almost breathless as I turned her on and held her in my hands. She was huge. She was beautiful.  I was weak with the sweetness of it all.


The waters parted. The angels started singing.  The sun came out. My heart skipped a beat.

I could actually SEE my phone!  I could read every word. I could see the numbers on the key pad. I could even tell the difference between people in group photos. 

It was mind-blowing, people.  I was a changed woman.

So what if I wasn’t one of the cool kids that purchase every Apple product that was ever invented within minutes of its launch. 

Now I’m just an Android girl with a Fucking Fabulous Phone that I can actually see. 

Gosh I love technology.

Call me uncool.  Call me old.

But at least when haters do call me, I will be able to see the Reject button.





Old School Blogging - 2013 Recap

Howdy y’all!  I recently read a fun post on one of my very favorite blogs at Just a Normal Mom. Thank you very much, Ally!  Big Hug! But that’s not the last of it.  Ally got it from the lovely Kim at   All Work and No Play Makes Mommy Go Something Something. Then Kim got it at the miss Elaine-ous life  So, in order to make it mine, I’m copying a copy of the copied copy from the copier. 

 What? Oh never mind.  Here it is…

Old School Blogging – 2013 Recap

1. What did you do in 2013 that you’d never done before?
I ate my first McRib from McDonalds. That was a special moment. I also turned 60. That was a WTF moment.

2. Did you keep your new year’s resolutions and will you make more for next year?
I have yet to ever keep a New Year’s resolution. I keep making them though.  Maybe I should look up that definition for insanity again.

3. Did anyone close to you give birth?
I’m pretty sure at least one or two cats in the neighborhood, from the gawd-awful sounds I tried to sleep through on more than one night.  Or was that the neighbors?  Either way, I’m sure somebody had to be pregnant after that!

4. Did anyone close to you die?
No, thank God. Lots of prayers went out this last year for some very precious friends and family.

5. What countries did you visit?
Regretfully, no countries, but I was in a state of confusion for a major part of the year.  But that could have been the meds.

6. What would you like to have in 2014 that you lacked in 2013?
I want to walk.  That’s it.  It’s all I think about and all I dream about anymore. 


7. What dates from 2013 will remain etched upon your memory, and why?
I tried hard to remember a significant date, but I stayed-in mostly in 2013.  I did turn 60 on Sep 6th. I suppose I’ll remember that until I don’t.

8. What was your biggest achievement of the year?
Publishing my 2nd novel, Dark Pretense.  I’m very proud of it. You should read it and tell your friends. I make a quarter or two when you do that. I’m saving up for a new set of teeth and a plane ticket to Hollywood to stalk Jennifer Lopez. She’s not getting any younger, ya know. I want to see her while she’s still hot. So buy my book, please.

9. What was your biggest failure?
Hands down, my biggest failure would be not doing my exercises to strengthen my back and legs as often as I should have. My diet tanked too. I was a real screw-up in the health department.

10. Did you suffer illness or injury?
Lack of mobility and depression.  Hopefully not forever.

11. What was the best thing you bought?
I didn’t do much shopping, but I did try some amazing varieties of new coffee flavors for my Keurig.  It was a coffee adventure, if you will.  Don’t judge.  I’m 60, remember.  It takes a lot less to satisfy at my age. Or so I’ve been told.

12. Where did most of your money go?
Bills, groceries, coffee, wine, and freakin iTunes.  They have movies and music…big deal  But those apps! OMG I went batshit crazy for apps.  That’s what happens when you get an iPhone for the very first time. You lose all control and suddenly, every waking moment exists for your Apple-related addiction.  Warning! You’d better get help. I hear they have their own mafia if you can’t pay up. Just sayin. 

13. What did you get really excited about?

The Denver Broncos, Downton Abbey, pumpkin pie at Thanksgiving. And I totally went nuts when I opened up my new Keurig coffee maker.  I remember the days when “getting really excited” meant something completely different. Oh my, I do sound like a 60 year old.

14.  What song will always remind you of 2013?
Blurred Lines, for crying out loud.  And my eyes are still bleeding from finding the naughty version of it on YouTube.  Don’t go looking.  Well, not with the kids around, anyways.

15. Compared to this time last year, are you:

-happier or sadder?  A little on both ends of the scale, to be quite truthful.
-thinner or fatter?  Thinner, but not a lot, and I am pretty sure stuff shifted. It’s not pretty.

-richer or poorer?   What? Did I drink the last of the Wal-Mart wine again?

16. What do you wish you’d done more of?
So many things.  But mostly, I wish I wouldn’t have hidden away in my apartment all year, just because I couldn’t walk unassisted. It was a waste of so much time.  I missed my friends and family.  I missed going to the movies and out to dinner. I didn’t have to miss those things.  I’m hoping to “grow a pair”  (figuratively of course) and get my butt out and about.  Wave if you see me.  Better yet, buy me a cup of coffee. 

17. What do you wish you’d done less of?
Feeling sorry for myself.

18. How did you spend Christmas?
Alone. Don’t want to talk about it. 

19. What was your favorite TV program?
Downton Abbey 

20. What were your favorite books of the year?
Well, mine of course.  Oh, you mean other people write books?  I’ll have to check that out. 

21. What was your favorite music from this year? 
I’m really really old school when it comes to music.  My druthers haven’t changed in a few years.  I still enjoy Motown, The Rolling Stones, and some country.  I love classical, especially piano, but I’m no authority.  If it sounds pretty, I listen. 

22. What was your favorite film of the year?
My very favorite was Hunger Games, but I haven’t seen the second one yet. So I’m way behind.  I loved Identity Theft, too.  Melissa McCarthy is crazy funny.

23. What did you do on your birthday, and how old were you?
I was 60. Blah Blah .  Cake.  Blah Blah.  Wrinkles.  Blah Blah.  Bladder control.  Blah Blah.  Hair dye.  I’m over it.

24. What one thing would have made your year immeasurably more satisfying?
Seeing my sons and DIL, my grandsons, my Dad, my Sis, my best friend, and just enjoying their company.  I need a hug.  

25. How would you describe your personal fashion concept in 2013? 
I work at home, and found that colorful men’s boxers and a Broncos t-shirt made the perfect fashion statement. My John Elway bobble-head doll even smiled in approval, I swear he did.

26. What kept you sane?
Hope. My sister’s prayers. My wife’s smile. My best friend’s voice on the phone.  And wine.


27. Tell us a valuable life lesson you learned in 2013?
The world is going to keep on turning whether or not I get off my ass.  So I need to get off my ass.  



Terrilox and the three shopping carts

Once upon a time, and in a land very far away from reality, lived an old lady the fair Lady Terrilox. M’Lady was depressed, thus bringing great sadness upon her realm and all that resided within.  You see, the princess was plagued by arthritis and several bad hair days in a row  a dilemma of gargantuan proportions.

Her shopping cart had broken into tiny pieces. She could no longer make the journey in the family truckster to Ye Olde Wal-Mart Neighborhood Market to fetch bread, wine and turkey legs to feed her beloved Prince Joan. M’Lord was accustomed to returning to their castlepartment each evening and enjoying the culinary delights prepared with great expertise and care and set before him, along with his evening paper, cigar, and bunny slippers.

Lady Terrilox was devastated and also quite certain his Lordship would have her drawn and quartered, then promptly marry the much younger and more beautiful Sleeping Beauty downstairs.

Whatever was a princess to do?

Terrilox decided not to linger one moment longer, and to take immediate action to keep her lesbian lover who had to live in drag as a prince because they were hundreds of years away from “Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell” and the realm just would not understand   her man.

Without further adieu, M’Lady went to the closet and pulled out the latest Sears and Roebucks catalog scrolls and did some power shopping.  She sent an order for a brand new shopping cart, and splurged for the fastest delivery option. She would have her new shopping cart within two months via mule-train. 

“Oh!” exclaimed Terrilox. “So glad I opted for express delivery.” The priority option was carrier pigeon and she was not willing to wait for their flight south for the winter. It was, after all, the beginning of summer.

Two months flew by and the new shopping cart was delivered right to Lady Terrilox’ door.  She tipped the driver, then made a mental note to pick up the poop left by the mule-train forthwith.  Small price to pay for progress.

That very evening, after serving dinner to Lord Joan, milking the cows, feeding the livestock, mending the socks, cutting wood for the fire, and knocking the dents out of M’Lord's suit of armor, Lady Terrilox was able to steal a few moments to assemble her new shopping cart.

Lo and behold, however, once the cart had been built, it seemed to be much larger than the original cart.  “Oh no,” exclaimed Terrilox.  “This simply will not do. I must have a smaller shopping cart. I will never be able to handle this one.”

The very next morning, after packing M’Lord’s lunch, emptying the royal chamber pot, making breakfast and polishing all the doorknobs in the house, Lady Terrilox sent her husband off to work for the day. As soon as he was out of sight, she promptly ordered another shopping cart, along with the expedited delivery option, and waited patiently for her new shopping cart to arrive.

Two months flew by, and before she knew it, her new shopping cart had arrived.  She hurried to assemble it before Lord Joan returned home from work. 

Lo and behold, the shopping cart seemed to be much smaller than the previous one.  In fact, it was much smaller than the original one.  That simply would not do.  Lady Terrilox was beside herself with worry and angst.  Since valium hadn’t been invented yet, she proceeded to get drunk on her ass numb her pain with a little grog from her husband’s stash.  She just took a little, because if he ever noticed, she would be drawn and quartered and he would promptly marry that snoring bitch  Sleeping Beauty from downstairs.

Whatever was a princess to do? 

Unfortunately, Lord Joan had left the office early and beat the evening traffic to return home a full fortnight earlier than usual.  He walked in on M’Lady crumpled on the floor, crying into her apron and mumbling expletives he was quite sure hadn’t been added to Webster’s Royal Dictionary of the Realm yet.  He made a mental note to research that issue at a later, more convenient time.

“Whatever is bothering you, my dearest?  Did someone die on your soap opera?  Did the birds shit on the laundry again?  Pray tell what burdens thee, my love?”  The prince really had a way with words.

Lady Terrilox could hold back no longer. She spilled all the beans about the whole shopping cart tragedy, and resigned herself to her imminent fate.  However, she couldn’t help wondering where M’Lord would get four horses at that late hour to draw and quarter her.  She worried about every detail.  She really did not want her husband to stress. She would accept her punishment and take it like the good wife she was.

About that time, Lord Joan let out a boisterous laugh.  He laughed so hard, he fell back into the fire, and Terrilox had to fetch a pail of water to douse the flames on his melting armor.  She saved the day!  Turned out, M’Lady was quite the badass.

“What is so funny, M’Lord?  I have failed you. I have wasted a sixpence on all these shopping carts, and not one will serve my purpose.”

“My darling wife, I laugh because you delight me with your persistence. You are not afraid to try new things. You inevitably fail, of course, but that’s why you have me. I am your husband, and I am here to guide you in the right direction.”  The Prince really was a legend in his own mind. That, and the fact that he seemed to have forgotten he wasn’t a guy.

“So what do you suggest, your royal pain in the ass  M’Lord?”  Terrilox anxiously awaited her master’s coveted advice.  Actually, she really did have to go pee.

“The answer is quite simple, my wife. Find the royal tape measure and measure each shopping cart. After you have both sets of measurements, get out the Sears and Roebuck catalog scrolls and find a cart with measurements in-between those of the two carts. The one you find will be just right.  You can then mail the smaller and larger carts back for a full refund.”

“I hadn’t thought of that, my husband.  You are so wise.”  Terrilox figured it wouldn’t hurt to grease Lord Joan’s ego for future advantage.

Two months flew by, and a brand new shopping cart that was just the right size was delivered by express mail.  Shortly after that, the mule-train was retired in favor of the new express delivery system, The Royal Donkey Express. 

Times, they were a changing.

But, what happened to our little royal family?  Regrettably, they did not live happily ever after.

Lord Joan was caught by the lesbian police and thrown in jail for life where she lived in sin with Gertrude, the Giant Slayer.  

Lady Terrilox lived a life alone, except for her nineteen cats and a barn-full of shopping carts. Her shopping addiction had caused her financial ruin and she eventually died from either boredom or an overdose of grog.  She was found by the town magistrate, propped up in her closet and surrounded by her precious Sears and Roebuck catalog scrolls.

 The End



 *Images from Google Images


I hereby resolve 

Hello to all my beloved readers out there!  Both of you must have missed me terribly.  I’m tough to get out of the system.  It takes some people years.

But I’m back.  I have seriously considered closing down my blog because I haven’t had the inspiration or motivation to post on a more regular basis.


That seemed a bit extreme.  After all, where would I display my beautiful book covers if not here?

So you are stuck with me.

I hope everyone had an amazing Christmas or Hanukkah. Or is still enjoying Kwanzaa. I just hope everyone’s happy.  And I hope you have an exceptional New Year, as well.  We could all use one of those. Am I right?

I’d like to report that I have been productive lately, but that would be a lie.  I have been a lazy bum, only getting off my easy-chair-shaped ass long enough to stumble to work, which is in my bedroom. 

But behold!  It is time for resolutions!  I am very good at making New Year’s Resolutions.  I am not as good at keeping them.  But I really rock at making them.

This year, I decided to make resolutions I might actually be able to keep. How is that for forward thinking?  I even impressed myself with that ground-shaking idea.  I’m awesome and I know it. Amen.

So, here’s my list of New Year’s Resolutions for 2014.  Check them out.  Then leave me some love in comments, along with some of your resolutions.  This is gonna be fun.

No…I’m not drinking.  At least not yet.

Terri’s New Year’s Resolutions for 2014

  • I resolve to lose 50 pounds by July 4th.  Unless I happen to drive by the In-N-Out Burger.  Then I resolve to feel really sad when my tummy aches from the Double-Double.
  • I resolve to cut way back on Diet Pepsi. I will drink only water every fifth Thursday and any month that ends on the 29th.  I’m nothing if not dedicated. So what if I quit Diet Pepsi 99 times already? I can quit anytime I want. Really.
  • I resolve to write more and complain less.  Unfortunately these two things go hand-in-hand, with the complaining usually coming out on top.  But it sounded good in theory.
  • I resolve to watch every episode of American Idol.  Jennifer Lopez is a judge this season. ‘Nuff said.  This is a gimme.
  • I resolve to never ever (and by never ever, I mean never ever ever) watch an episode of Duck Dynasty.  As if..

(This resolution stuff is too easy)

  • Lastly, and most importantly, I resolve to laugh every chance I get.  It may seem hard at times, but it is not impossible.  I have figured that out through some tough times as of late.  When I laugh, I feel better. I resolve to laugh.

So that’s it, my new and improved approach to making New Year’s Resolutions.

Now it’s your turn.

Oh yea, Happy New Year!  Wishing you and yours a happy and healthy 2014 full of love and prosperity.

XOXOs all around!