Daily Prompt: Cliche

Well, kinda, sorta. When is a cliche not a cliche? When you ignore the Daily Prompt? Or reinterpret it? Am I a cliche? Oh well. Carry on…

Clichés become clichés for a reason. Tell us about the last time a bird in the hand was worth two in the bush for you. 

My brain wasn’t able to process that whole concept today–my ability to think has been hampered by too much Oscar news–from Anne Hathaway‘s “nipple-gate” to Kristen Stewart‘s limp (and possibly 420 friendly pre-Oscar fun) to Seth McFarland as host, I need a day or so to wrap my brain around anything more profound than wishing with every fiber of my being that one day Tina Fey and Amy Poehler really will host everything.

cranky_old_ladyBecause of my retail therapy disaster on Friday, I felt frustrated, unfulfilled, and downright cranky.

The best cure I know of (for mostly everything) is to work outside in our yard.

Listening to the birds and burying my hands in the soil (even our horrible SoCal cement) never
fails to lift my spirits.

Somehow this might–but probably won’t–tie in–even loosely–with today’s Daily Post prompt.

Among the many different types of birds in our area; Goldfinches, Scott’s Orioles, woodpeckers, House Finches, Scrub Jays, and sparrows, a new bird came to visit and eat raw almonds on our deck. Hi, buddy! A couple minutes later,  I heard the shrill call of a hawk and snapped a pic high up in a eucalyptus tree. Okay, that’s two birds–not in a bush–but two birds!

hawktreebirdondeck

I started at the top of the hill where we’ve planted all California natives. Our recent rains made the weeds grow like crazy.

I brought a boat cushion to sit on and pulled and pulled. In between the weeds were dozens of baby sage and buckwheat sprouts. My tugboat man is a great helper in the yard but his philosophy is more of slash and burn. It takes patience and a love for newborn plants to carefully pull only the weed while gently nurturing the babies.
sageonhillcrazycactus

Snow in SoCal! 

snowfromyard2When I took a break and looked up, I saw snow! I zoomed my little Canon as much as it would go and took a pic. It’s at least fifty miles away–amazing! I didn’t realize that the power lines would show so prominently; they’re pretty far away, too. Our view was really spectacular before the developers ruined everything and built all those houses.

It’s Spring! Temps were in the seventies this weekend with the bluest blue sky.

Apple blossoms

Apple blossoms

New Zealand Tea Tree

New Zealand Tea Tree

Acacia in bloom

Acacia in bloom

Sweet Pea Bush flower

Sweet Pea Bush flower

Sweet Pea Bush  & Rosemary

Sweet Pea bush & rosemary and lots of rocks. Oh, and bunnies, too.

The icing on the cake of my weekend was this butterfly. She let me get within inches of her and posed for her money shot. That’s MY Oscar winner!butterfly

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Life sucks and oh, yeah, there are a-holes everywhere

I added a little tease to yesterday’s post about Anne Hathaway‘s wayward vagina that was awinkin’ and ablinkin’ at the photogs. It was like she had a big arrow pointing to what’s called a fannie in UK SPK. (Trust me, DO NOT go to England and ask anyone where you can buy a fanny pack). It was all waving back and forth, “Hey, look at me! Don’t waste time following LiLo or Honey BooBoo. Come on in, y’all! Take a peeky-weeky.”

end of the world

Is this for real?

I was full of brag and swag a couple weeks ago when all the planets were aligned and I got the vintage Valentino and that handbag, and I was skipping through my days throwing a little enchanted fairy dust to the right and to the left, la la la. The extra shot of Grand Marnier in my Perfect Margarita was the Missoni sweater I got at that same consignment shop. BTW, I really have two arms, one was busy snapping the pic.

missoni2

Well, it all came to a crashing halt. Nothing catastrophic–just a minor mis-alignment.

Signals of doom and gloom

The first harbinger of misfortune is the apparent neverending absence of my hubs whom I had expected home for sure by Christmas. Now I’m gonna be lucky to see him for our nineteenth wedding anniversary February 20.

The second toll of the bell occurred when I was cutting my lawn and my dumbass bitch neighbor stopped by to watch me for a bit and then snarkily ask why I don’t get a divorce since he’s never here. AND she wasn’t joking, not that it would have been funny, anyway. Way to go to be supportive, bitch. Hey, why don’t you make your husband wear a shirt so the school kids don’t get an anatomy lesson in old man buttcrack and wrinkly manboobs, huh?

And the third (‘cos things like this come in threes, right?) happened at my gym. I don’t know why these things always seem to happen when the captain’s gone–that’s part of the whole message, I suppose. The boot camp class I attend starts at 9:00 a.m. and I like to get there a bit early to claim my upper right quadrant spot on the floor.

Here’s why: 1. I’m an ex-ballet dancer and I need mirrors to survive. 2. It reduces germ exposure if no one is in front or to the right of me. 3. I like to look at myself (refers back to #1.)

If you promise not to hate me, I’ll offer up a confession here. I LOVE to work out. I love to lift weights, work my muscles ’til they scream, and feel the burn. I enjoy challenging my body to exceed the previous day’s reps, weights, or endurance. For me, it’s very empowering to feel and be strong. Short girl syndrome.

I’ve turned left at the stoplight into the center where the gym is located.driving into the gymI’m in the left of the two one-way lanes. The car next to me drifts into my lane, cutting me off, so I honk and keep honking because I have to slam on my brakes to avoid getting hit and also ‘cos I have nowhere to go except up on that grassy median. The car turned right at that first entrance to the gym.

I couldn’t see who it was, but I assumed it could possibly have been an elderly driver who was going to attend the “Silver Seniors” area of the gym. I checked in and walked down the hall to the room where they hold the Group X classes which is directly across from the weight room. I saw a friend of mine, said hello and then,

“I sure wish I knew who cut me off when I was driving in here.”

From behind us, we heard a voice,

“It was me.”

Cool, an admission of guilt with a witness. It wasn’t an elderly lady; it was a sour faced older guy with greasy gray hair and a straggly beard. I said,

“Hey, you cut me off back there. You were taking up both lanes and I had nowhere to go. You should really be more careful.”

Well…he went batshit crazy, ballistic, out of control, yelling at me in front of what was now a whole group of my friends who were waiting for our class to begin. I have never seen this person before; we had no history, nothing.

“Just shutUP and get your ass in that room for that bullshit you guys do. And fuck you! And shut the fuck up!”

and then some random crap about how I didn’t have to be driving next to him at the same time that he was there ?? and a few more “fuck yous” before he walked into the weight room.

I didn’t ever respond back to him cos I got it, he was crazy–but I also don’t think any woman should accept any kind of abuse from anyone, and I know he never would have been so abusive if the captain had been around, and that pissed me off even more. I went to the front desk and explained to the manager what had occurred and asked him to document this incident and have a talk with the guy cos not only did I not accept being mistreated but he shouldn’t allow that kind of behavior in the gym. The big 6ft 4inch baby didn’t want to do it, but I was pretty insistent so he had a talk with him. By that time, some of my body building friends were on the scene and they were enthusiastically providing me with security. Apparently, that guy is known as being a jerk in general, but has a real problem with women. It was very unpleasant and I was pretty stressed out by that attack, but my friends convinced me to stay. Since then, I’ve been driving the hub’s truck in case he wants to hurt my car since he obvs knows my wheels, and I’m being extra careful not to make eye contact with any other potentially unstable lunatics who want to bully me.

The pic makes it look like the carpet is stained, but it's not.

The pic makes it look like the carpet is stained, but it’s not.

Things just don’t seem to be going my way right now. Look at the empty space where our Christmas tree would be. No wonder I stay here and glue seashells all day. It’s a jungle out there. I’m all set for 12-21-12. How about you?

Guurrrlllz, please tell Anne Hathaway to cover her lady parts!

hathaway malfunction

OOPSY DAISY

I guess my life’s not so bad. I haven’t done an Anne Hathaway or a Brit-ney. Ever. My lady parts haven’t ever been introduced to the world that way. Not yet, anyway. I even had a c-section; no human being has even luged down that tunnel. But who knows what I’ll do to get more blog or Twitter followers!  Seriously, Anne, gurllfriend.  Please wear undies or keep your legs together–or both. Pull-eaze. Have you ever done the “look in the mirror” thing to get in touch with your femaleness? Ick.

Actually, it was a disaster coming and going. I thought Rachael Zoe was her stylist. Was Rach too busy at QVC to care about that important deet? Who put that parachute on her back? It was a Tom Ford gown and he designed the bondage shoes, too. They say he used vegan leather. Are you telling me a poor carrot or a poor eggplant died so Anne could have a pair of shoes?

anne hathaways dress

parachute or backpac

planets alignedSo…you might remember a while back when all the planets were aligned for me and I got the vintage Valentino and that handbag, and I was skipping through my days throwing a little enchanted fairy dust to the right and to the left, la la la. Well, it all came to a crashing halt.

 

That’ll be on tomorrow’s installment of Enchanted Confessions. Stay tuned–