Lady slippers

Sun makes everything better.

Lilacs and apple trees are finally blooming. The lady slippers are beautiful!

do more when the days are longer. Things that have been sitting on the to-do list for months are finally getting crossed off. I’m going more places and hanging out with friends more often. The extrovert hat is out and having a blast.

Best of all, more writing is happening. Productivity is not what I would like it to be. It’s not what it was this time last year, but I’m working towards that – baby steps.

Sun makes me happy.

Note To Self

Dear Self,

Maybe three blog posts in a week is too much. I’m not saying I don’t want you to have fun, or a space to vent, or whatever – I’m just saying that making three posts in a week, then disappearing for three weeks, does not a consistent schedule make.

Consider this your reminder that you want consistency. It’s a goal. You made it.

Love, Me

Dear A$$hat, An Exchange

On my way to lunch, I passed this particular asshat on his way in.

AH: What’re you, leaving?

MJ: Running away; I saw you coming.

AH: Better run faster.

. . . On the whole, this would have been significantly less disturbing without our last meeting:

AH: *in a voice and manner that reminds me why young children should not talk to strangers* Do you want a piece of candy, little girl?

*Entire office freezes in horrified silence.*

MJ: Well, that’s creepy.

You found that funny. Huh.


As “Dear A$$hat” looks like it’s going to actually turn into a blog series (I will have fodder for at least as long as I am paid to interact with people), I want to take a moment to define, well, things.

There are many words I could use – some that would be less offensive – but none were as perfect. To take the top definition from Urban Dictionary: “One who has their head up their ass. Thus wearing their ass as a hat. Asshat.”

These are in no way a reflection of my work conditions; where I work is pretty great, as day jobs go. It’s just that sometimes the levels of ignorance, arrogance, and entitlement all come together in that Special Someone who needs to be shared with the world.

You’re welcome.

Dear A$$hat

*Note about this post: I am experimenting. Because people are stupid and my patience is finite.

Dear Asshat who told me (again) that if I ever get divorced, he’ll take me (he’s married too [which somehow makes this ok?], but “that’s what lawyers are for”):

  1. No.
  2. Hell, no.
  3. With such a classy display of disrespect for your wife and myself, I’m somehow still going with NO.
  4. So glad to know my agency means nothing to you. No.
  5. You’re older than my mom. Um, no.
  6. And again with the no.

I admit to a morbid sort of curiosity about why you believe it’s remotely ok to say something like that, but I don’t want to be in your presence that long, and I certainly don’t want to listen to any more of your bullshit.

And so I leave you with the only thing I managed to say about any of this to your face: keep dreaming. (Just do it somewhere else.)

Refilling the Well

Oh, WordPress. It’s discouraging when you eat my drafts.

The Husband keeps suggesting that I draft in another program. He’s smart like that. I have yet to take his advice. Oh, well.

I intended to write a post about my trip to NYC. Because it was amazing.

I was going to write about the amazing people I met when I got into random conversations with strangers. This after a conversation on how difficult that skill is to develop in a big city like New York. In some ways, it makes me appreciate living in a small town.

My grandmother still cackles to tell the story of how, when I was three or four, I was scandalized by the fact that she talked to a stranger. We were in line at the grocery store. (I was an unfortunately serious child, and painfully shy.)

So glad I’ve outgrown that and have now developed “talking to strangers” as a skill. People are fascinating, and I love to hear their stories.

And even before fantastic conversations with strangers, my friend took me to see Sleep No More. I know; it’s been playing since 2011, but I’d never heard of it. One of the many drawbacks to living in rural Maine.

Imagine Macbeth set in the 20s, where the audience isn’t separated from the performance by a stage, but becomes wholly immersed in it, to the point of becoming part of the show. It was beautiful and haunting, set in an old hotel that I half-recognized from nightmares. But the audience was truly the creepiest part.

I would see it again in a heartbeat, and it’s had my brain going ever since, imagining other shows that could be done in a similarly immersive and unsettling style.

In the last week, I’ve been writing more, which is a nice change from the past few months. So the New York trip was awesome and necessary. (But it’s nice to be back home with the Husband.)

Grocery Shopping And Culture Shock

I love going grocery shopping in unfamiliar places.

Like yesterday, I went grocery shopping in New York – on Manhattan – for the first time. Completely different from home, as home would be completely different for New Yorkers.

Grocery stores are familiar on some level, no matter where you go. In France, or Spain, or Japan, or Turkey, or Ecuador. The function is the same, though the options and display often change. They provide a snapshot of the cultural differences, and I find them fascinating.

Grocery shopping at home is rarely so interesting.