I’m ALL mixed up over here. I went back to my usual walkabout route – down past my friend and former housemate/landlord’s house which is so damn sad cuz he’s not there anymore.
Save the bees!
While walking I started contemplating seriously whether/if/how my last name is effecting job applications. After all, it’s pretty Jewish and lately we aren’t exactly everyone’s favorite group. Kidding. We’ve never been a favorite group. Please laugh at that even if it’s only a little funny.
Something I never noticed before
The number 143 is associated with Minot’s Ledge Lighthouse in Scituate, Massachusetts, which flashes its lights in a 1-4-3 sequence.
This sequence is sometimes called “light language” and is also known as the “I Love You Light” or the “lovers light”. The numbers in 143 represent the number of letters in each word of the phrase “I love you”.
All I remember from Monday is the ice cream. Trader Joe’s is trying to kill me. This week it is with their smores ice cream to which I had to add pretzels as dipping sticks.
The hangover is terrible but that never stops me from just mowing through the whole freaking pint like it’s a single serving.
The pint in question
While I appreciate the fact that is kosher, I didn’t need that to confirm why I ate the whole fucking thing in one evening. It’s just so damn good.
When I see – and smell – a big bucket of tuberose (tuberoses?) at the farmers market on a Saturday morning, everything is right with the world. I’d love for life to be so simply perfect like in the kids books like Ferdinand The Bull. Just leave me, let me just sit and smell the flowers. Today I introduced myself to Tony, one of the people who’s always working at that stand. The farm isn’t too far and they like to have visitors so who knows, maybe I’ll finally do that photo thing – capture some of real life at a working farm – I’ve thought about on and off for a really long time.
On Sunday, I got a text from a number that wasn’t in my phone. The sister of a friend. Oh no, I thought and plopped onto the couch while my heart dropped into my feet, my stomach followed. I’d texted him the week before an had a fleeting, uh-oh, when I registered not having heard from him in maybe a month. A couple of taps, an excruciating eight minute phone call with his sister (how many of those did she have to do?!). Confirmed, he was gone. He died on my ex-husband’s birthday, not that that matters, but I noticed the date when I looked online for an obituary. He died on the heels of another friend of mine who went out in a spectacularly gruesome episode, just look at the headline, I can’t write about it.
I can’t make sense of any of this – or much else on this day in July of 2024 – for that matter. A bunch of old dudes and their sidekicks survive and treat the rest of us like shit while good people are dead. Scott, who passed away on 6/30/24, was one of the best people I’ve ever had the good fortune to call friend. He didn’t deserve to suffer and die so soon.
I am glad he doesn’t have to see our country get any crazier. Maybe I’ll hang an American flag in his honor. He used to have one hanging outside his house, at the mailbox on the curb, it was visible to anyone passing by. Folks started thinking he was a Donald supporter which he most certainly was not. Scott was kind, decent, nonjudgemental, among other things, and I defended him and his flag more than once. It’s ours and that was what Scott was about. A Deadhead to the core. I do wish I’d had the chance to let him know how much he meant to me.
I know it sounds terrible but one of the things Scott and I had in common was that we didn’t really like people. We laughed about it many times because we got along so well as soon as we met almost exactly five years ago. I don’t know the exact date but it was July of 2019. Thank you for being my friend, Scott. I hope you know how much you’ll be missed.
You can have anything you want. If you’ve got the wherewithal to send a question to a newspaper, you can get yourself some covers. So why the fuck do you need an apology?
No I haven’t read the column. The clickbait got me cranky even before I clicked it. The whole fucking thing is beyond stupid.
Get your own covers. Forget lame ass apologies. And stop broadcasting dumb shit that makes women look like fucking toddlers.
