Duped by Myself Again

Starting a blog was supposed to be therapeutic for me . I’m not going to lie, it hasn’t been . It was supposed to be a way for me to express myself with a mindful audience and to make a connection with others who can relate . It was supposed to replace social media and the need for likes on my Facebook posts . Now I watch the likes on my blog posts more obsessively than I ever did on Facebook. I’ll let the likes tell me if I can actually write or I just think I can . I’m not sure if you are the same but validation from strangers is the new popularity contest and I want to be the prom queen.

So far , I’m not even in the queen’s court yet much less in the running. I’m sure that you can relate with the need for validity from other writers. But it’s not the reason you write or is it ? If no one liked a book , would anyone want to be an author ?

I’m still not sure I’d be happy if I had a million followers but I’m going to set my focus on getting one more .

My most important follower needs to be myself.


Stifle via The Daily Prompt

Never one to be silent, I laughed out loud . In not trying to laugh, I made a embarrassing moment even worse . When people turned around, I covered my mouth and pretended I was coughing instead. All choked up . Funerals aren’t supposed to be sad . They are meant to celebrate  life and not mourn  the end of one . I didn’t get to say goodbye to my grandfather before he died. So he said it for me in a Willie Nelson song.  “On the road again “ is the reason I smiled ,then laughed  at my truck driving grandfather’s funeral.

Home -Brew Brouhaha

Today instead of being the unenthusiastic, apathetic helper of the brewmaster (my husband), I am the boss of the beer.
Meaning I am doing my best to be a good steward of this secret and revered beer society . It’s hard for me to focus on this project. There’s a lot of sitting around waiting on science to do its thing.
Yes ,I said science . What I thought of just beer has changed now because it’s actually really involved and interesting. It involves math and stirring things and checking temperatures and other stuff. For thirty minutes I am busy doing beer stuff.
Every time my husband is doing the things that I am in charge of , I pretend like I knew I was supposed to do it.
Finally , a break. It’s time to add some fire and do absolutely nothing .
Remembering that a watched pot never boils , neither does a watched brew pot .
My husband has a little ditty that he says . You might have heard it before .
“Bubble bubble toil and trouble. Fire burn and cauldron bubble.”
The first time I saw his magic spell casting , I fell in love all over again . Reciting Shakespeare while brewing beer is my idea of a perfect man.
He forgot to remind me to do it . I remembered a little late and then got the words wrong . I think Shakespeare would be okay with my improv . At least I have an excuse for my beer if it sucks .
And we are still waiting . I have time to file my nails , read a book and take over the world after my nap . By then I’ve forgotten the next step in the brew cycle.
Not really. Because my husband has already anticipated this and is set up for it.
I am excited because not only am I almost done with my brew lesson ,I’m almost done.
Then into the last part , equipment failure causes a close catastrophe . Instead of calling it a loss , my husband adds some secret potion to the salvaged part and after many curse words , my attempt at a true Gose is in a glass carboy for it’s first fermentation .
In summary, I’m not sure that I’m going to be the home brewing type. I’m all for the end product but it’s not going to be a hobby for me.
But who knows , maybe I just need to work on a beard to get into it .

Conversation For One , Please

First let me say that I love my readers and appreciate your comments so much! Keep them coming .

Conversations for one are not a thing, you say . Wrong.

We don’t live in the same world ,obviously.

Briefly , a top ten list of the one sided conversationalists that I know:

  1. Me
  2. Crazy cat ladies
  3. Me
  4. Psychotic driver I cut off yesterday
  5. Me
  6. My husband
  7. Me
  8. My mother
  9. Me
  10. Me

Again, all joking aside , I disagree with the argument of the theory of non existent singular conversations.

I’m having one with myself right now .


Do you know how to spell?

Are you from Texas?

Then grab a Lone Star , your spit cup and covered wagon and join me for the first annual “Texans can spell “campaign .

Again for the foreigners ( anyone who is not Texan ), I’ll texanize this so ya’ll get it.

I’m sorry I was blessed with the state of Texas as my home . I’m sorry you weren’t .

I’m not really a bless your heart kind but I’m not going to tell you twice that being Texan doesn’t make you stupid or uncultured or backwards or illiterate. I have been to school and I can spell . I don’t live in a barn with my cows that I have to milk before walking five miles uphill both ways in the snow to catch the pony express . I’m not married to my dad (anymore ) and I have all of my teeth. I don’t have a horse, oil wells, or a tractor.

I do have a double wide with an underground compound to protect me from aliens, dinosaurs and people who are assholes . ..not really . Just assholes.

And I can spell words bigger than my hair .

Bless your heart ❤️.