Category: Stories

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The Return O’ The Posts

TIE O’ THE DAY is on its knees, begging your forgiveness. We shirked our entertainment duties, and we know how y’all get when you don’t get your daily dosage of neckwear and too much information about me. Bad tblog!

So today I found my redneck Hat o’ the Day and paired it with a lovely argyle Bow Tie o’ the Day. We figured the look would help us get back into our readers’ good graces.

Here’s our true excuse for our absence: I went to my TMS appointment early Friday morning. Now remember, last week was my first week of tapering the TMS from 5 to 2 sessions per week. After I got home, I wrote the day’s first post. Immediately after I posted, my crazy head went weird on me. Now, I know you’re saying to yourself, “This dame is bipolar, so she always has a weird head. What’s the big deal?” Well, this was a brand new territory of weird head. My head had never before been in this particular zone of crazy. For three days, I was forced to explore the new universe spinning in my noggin. That’s how I spent my Memorial Day weekend– with a new kind of weird head.

I’m sure it had something to do with tapering off the TMS. I suppose that at least shows TMS has done SOMETHING to me. I wish I could tell you whether or not my weekend crazy head was positive or negative. I’m not sure. I think my noggin was more level, but I’m still too mystified about the experience to make a judgment, myself. One thing I do know is that I wasn’t in a frame of mind to write posts, and that’s an odd thing.

I tried to describe to Suzanne how my head’s soul felt, and the best I could do was the following: I felt like the “dumb blonde” in the dumb blonde jokes. Oh, I felt intelligent as ever, but I felt like if you put a tire gauge up to my eardrum, you could test the air pressure in my skull. And it would be high. See why I can’t tell if the feeling was positive or negative?

After TMS this morning, I felt a little more like my abnormal normal self. Not to worry, folks.

33 TMS treatments down, 3 to go.

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Try, Try, Try

Paw prints are almost as fashionably interesting as paisley or polka dots. Stick ’em on a jumbo Bow Tie o’ the Day and the dapper-ness is undeniable.

This morning, Bow Tie was yet another hit at the TMS clinic. I guess my neckwear has been the talk of the clinic. My treatment is at 7AM, and at 6:55 some of the nurses, technicians, and office assistants make a beeline to the waiting room to see what neckwear I’ve got going on. One technician told me I am not allowed to ever be finished with my TMS treatments, unless I promise to stop in daily to show off the neckwear I’m wearing that day. I’ve said it time and time again: Bow ties make people jolly up a bit. It’s my purpose in life to wear the neck happiness.

Bow Tie and I talked it over. We were so disappointed about the non-dying o’ the hairs yesterday, and we just couldn’t let it go. We got ourselves so worked up about the whole thing that we decided it was our obligation to try to color the hairs again. That’s what we did this morning after I got back from TMS. Let me just say this: The second time was not the charm.

It’s true that my sideburn hairs took a bit of the VIXEN VIOLET. But overall, our trying was for naught. I’m still glad I tried dying my hairs a second time though. Trying and failing, and then trying again– those are valuable actions. I recommend we all do more of that, with both bigly and insignificant things. Find your passions– bigly and small– and grab ’em. Hold on to your passions like they’re your children. They kind of are. You’ll succeed. You’ll fail. Again and again. But only if you keep trying.

Except for the dozen or so sorta purple hairs, I’m stuck with my stoopid hairs and their natural color. I don’t have an opinion about whether I like my natural hairs hues, but I like my patches and streaks of gray. I will honestly be pleased if/when I am all gray. I think gray hair is gorgeous. I think it’s quite becoming to most faces. I’ve earned my gray hairs anyway, and I’m not alone. Just sayin’.

BTW I don’t know why I’ve been sermon-ing lately. Has TMS turned me into a priestess whose goal is to pontificate? Well, I doubt that. I’m probably just in a bossy mood.

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Coconut Bra For Rent

My vest– which I have nicknamed The Pimp Vest– creates a suave clash with Shirt o’ the Day. The cherry on top of this get-up is my luau, yellow lab Bow Tie o’ the Day. The cleverest detail on Bow Tie is the use of coconut shells to create dog bacheechies. Dogs worship us, and they will do anything to please us. Even dogs printed on bow tie fabric are eager to do outlandish things to make us happy.

I’m sure at some point in your life, probably when you were watching GILLIGAN’S ISLAND in your kidhood, you and your pals mused about the old “lost on a deserted island” what-if. What five things would you want with you? Who would you like to be lost with? What would you most be glad to have left behind? And the conversation game questions go on.

Bow Tie’s coconut shells got me cogitating, and I’ll tell you right now that what I’d like to leave behind in the busy world is exactly what I’d need if I were building a new civilization on my own on a desert island. What thing of utmost importance would I need, but not want? I would need the dreaded, wretched, torture contraption known as a bra! Eeeeeeeek!!!!

You ladies know exactly what I’m talking about. Bras are not comfortable. I was once expertly fitted for a tailored bra. I was willing to pay a bigly fortune to wear a comfy bra. It did cost a bigly fortune, and it was quite becoming. It was not, however, anywhere near comfortable. I might as well have spent $12.95 on a too-stiff bra from Sears. Discomfort is discomfort.

Even on a deserted island though, it would be unspeakably dangerous of me to build a hut or cast a makeshift fishing pole while not wearing a bra. A person could get hurt. I could injure myself by moving too quickly. The phrase, “You’ll poke your eye out!” comes to mind.

Mom taught me well that a bra’s proper place is hanging from the doorknob on the back of the front door. A bra doesn’t belong on its owner, unless someone knocks on the door. Practice slipping it on without removing your shirt. Practice slipping it off the same way. When the bra is off you, and on the doorknob, keep an ear out for cars pulling up in the driveway. You especially have to watch out for that one pair of Home Teachers we had, who sometimes knocked an hour earlier than they were scheduled. Sometimes, you gotta be lickety-split swift puttin’ on that brassiere.

Mom taught me that the last place a bra belongs is around a woman’s chest. Make exceptions only when necessary, like when going to work, church, the grocery store, or when working out. Other than that, a good bra does nothing but hang silkily on the living room doorknob– causing discomfort to no one.

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Face The Facts

Here’s a snapshot of me last week, on Mother’s Day, eating alone on the patio at CURRENT. That was the day I won the award for Official Ass Of The World, because I’d had a tiff with Suzanne and then drove off to SLC to our Mother’s Day dinner without her. Yup, that day. Trust me, I was upset and contrite when I selfied this– even though I was also enjoying my halibut.

So this is a photo of just me and my old face and Bow Tie o’ the Mother’s Day. Remember, this whole tblog thing began with– and is centered around– the neckwear. My old, wrinkly face just happens to hover above whatever charming neckwear I sport at any given time. I might show up in almost every picture, but the ties and bow ties are the stars. They are the point of it all.

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A Purse With A Calling

My Socks o’ the Day herald Bow Ties o’ the Day. This is, as you’ll recall, my view from my TMS treatment chair. Bow-tied socks relax me. And The Saddle Purse does, as well.

My purse goes everywhere with me. It sees and does everything I see and do. It’s a saddle, and saddles are meant to travel. It is a true, new companion. I never forget I have it, and I am vigilant about its well-being. It’s like a toddler. I HAVE A TODDLER AGAIN! I let it be independent, but I keep it close, and I constantly keep my eye on it.

Yesterday, at my pain doc appointment, The Saddle Purse sat quietly in the exam room. Of course, Dr. Bow (my nickname for Dr. Bokat) noticed it, and I showed her its finer features. I am especially in purse-love with its tiny saddlebag. As I was leaving my appointment, Dr. Bow asked where I had purchased the purse. I told her I found it at SLC International Airport. I’m guessing she will probably buy the red version because she works at the U of U.

I have been a diligent bow tie/tie missionary for decades. Despite never owning a purse until I turned 55, the one I bought– after it called to me– has converted me to its mission. It is the one and only true purse upon the face of the earth. Apparently, I have now been called to be a saddle purse missionary– without even trying.

NOTE: The highlight of my pain doc appointment was not actually The Saddle Purse’s mesmerizing of Dr. Bow. Nope, the highlight for me was telling Dr. Bow I no longer need the amount of pain medication I’ve been taking. It is clear my pancreas surgery helped my pain situation so very much. It’s been almost a year since the operation, and I feel close to completely healed from the surgery itself.

I’m glad Suzanne made me have the surgery. And she really did FORCE me to be gutted. Seriously, she locked me out of the house and told me she wouldn’t let me back in until after I finally had the surgery I should have had years ago. Okay, maybe that’s a bit of an exaggeration. But not by much.

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Every Once In A While

Just to be daring, I do try to blend and match and dress in solid colors sometimes. It’s my idea of dangerous! Even a slim, diamond-point Bow Tie o’ the Day can’t make this plain outfit appear interesting. I looked like a walking solid color. A fashion blender and matcher, I am not. In fact, my solid-color shirt and bow tie made my eyes bored.

I stood in the cold outside the locked door at the TMS clinic for about ten minutes this morning. The clinic folks wouldn’t buzz me in for my treatment because they did not recognize me dressed thus. I finally got buzzed in when I held The Saddle Purse up to the security camera. My purse is apparently an official form of ID for me.

I hold no ill will toward my clinic people for keeping me locked outside for ten minutes: Heck, I did not recognize me either. Must. Have. My. Clash. Back.

FYI 29 TMS treatments down, 7 to go.

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Going Broke For A Good Cause

Suzanne and I recently attended a fundraising auction for Davis District public schools. The theme for the evening was Shoot for the Moon, so I made sure I was slightly theme-y by wearing my space/cosmos Shirt o’ the Evening.

This outing was a first for my goldfish-in-a-baggie earrings. But for me my fave part of any attire I don is the neckwear, of course. I am so proud of this Bow Tie o’ the Day, which was created in Greece with an old bicycle tire inner tube. Excellent details: the bike patch and the tire valve. Some bow ties come close to perfect in terms of creativity, cleverness, materials, and appearance. This one is so close to flawless, but it does have a drawback: It weighs as much as the proverbial albatross around the neck. I can only wear it for short blocks of time. Wearing it for an entire evening was stretching it. People enjoyed it though, and that makes the humpback I got from wearing the heavy masterpiece well worth it.

Anyhoo… We bid on a few items at the auction. I was into the silent auction, which was happening all evening online for the small items. I was able to bid online with my phone. I spent too much money, but I came away the winner of basically six good dates to experience. I scored tickets/gift cards to Tracy Aviary, Clark Planetarium, Ballet West, Sundance Resort Summer Theatre, The Cheesecake Factory, and for a couple of infrared massages. When I say I spent too much money, I’m not really griping about the actual amount of money I spent. I’m griping about the fact that public schools have to go to great lengths to do fundraisers, in order to survive in the first place. That ain’t right.

In one of these photos I’m looking over my shoulder, incredulous at Suzanne, whose hand was almost constantly jumping up into the air to bid on some of the bigly items at the live auction. Somehow Suzanne’s bigly bids got us 2 round-trip airplane tickets to anywhere in the US we want to go, and a new car for a year. Since this is an annual fundraising auction we attend, I plan to duct tape Suzanne’s hands to her chair next year.

BTW I feel kinda bad about not doing a HAIRS THURSDAY post yesterday, but I didn’t have time. I have what I’m sure you’ll agree was a terrific excuse: I got to spend my time visiting with and holding a four-day-old baby girl. You know darn well that was a superior choice to staying home for the purpose of creating a bad hairdo to post. Crazy hair v. four-day-old baby? Spending time with babies always trumps any other choice. You will get details about my new infant friend in a future post.

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A Re-post From Last May 15th: The Pre-historic Phones Had No Airplane Mode

Look at baby-me and the Bow Ties o’ the Day! Yes, those are bows on each sleeve, as well as one long bow on the front of my dress. Of course. Believe it or not, I really do have vivid memories of this photo being taken. At the time, I was busy making a phone call to my invisible friend, when I decided I’d rather text her. Do you have any idea how difficult it is to text, using a rotary phone? Well, I sure do. ðŸ“¸ â˜Ž

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A Stinkin’ Weather Tease!

You know the sunny day of which I wrote this morning? You know the stunning sunniness of this morning when I put on my big, fat, ugly shorts– in which I planned to skip and hokey pokey under the blue sky all the live-long day? Today began innocently and blue-sky enough. And then the afternoon showed up, complete with black clouds, bigly wind, and bigly raindrops. The freshly-emptied garbage and recycling cans at the curb even blew over into the middle of the road. Skitter wouldn’t go for her walkie. For a brief moment, I thought I was living in always-windy Delta again.

Anyhoo… As far as I’m concerned, the bulk of this stinkin’ day’s stinkin’ weather stunk. This is Stinkin’ Tie o’ the Stinkin’ Afternoon, and I’m the stinkin’ skunk in the stinkin’ fluorescent green gas mask, trying to avoid the rest of today’s stinkin’ weather.

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Grrrrrrrr!

In this morning’s post, I admitted I might be having some TMS side effects, cuz what I did yesterday does not resemble how I am, in the least. When I started writing TIE O’ THE DAY a couple of years ago, I said I would always be as honest as possible about my circus life– good and bad. And I’m here to tell you I embarrassed even my neckwear yesterday. Only Suzanne and I know first-hand I was a jerk, but still… I was wrong.

So….. yesterday afternoon Suzanne and I had a minuscule non-Mother’s-Day-related tiff about when to binge-watch IN PLAIN SIGHT and when to do serious napping before going to dinner. Yes, the set-to was that stoopid! But you know how it goes: One of you says a kinda not nice thing; and then the other person says a kinda not nice thing; and pretty soon you’re both swept up in a huge tornado of immaturity. (Do not pretend you haven’t done it too.) I blame the TMS, cuz I don’t want to blame myself.

Before I knew it, I was in my car alone, driving to SLC to the restaurant where I had earlier in the week made Mother’s Day dinner reservations for us.

I sat and ate dinner on the patio at CURRENT all by myself, crying in my halibut. (The halibut was excellent, BTW.) The whole time I was there I kept looking at the Find Friends app on my phone to see if Suzanne’s phone had left the house to come eat with me. Nope. She and her phone stayed home. I understood. Heck, even I didn’t want to be around me.

Thus, today I chose my world map Bow Tie o’ the Day as a way to express my current title of Official Ass Of The World. And I felt my offense yesterday was so childish and egregious that I also deserve to be awarded 1/2 of a trophy– to memorialize my Official Ass Of The World title.

This fine trophy is actually my 1980 Miss Liberty 1st Attendant trophy, whose top statue has long since broken off. I don’t know why this little treasure hasn’t been lost in my life’s moves. I have lost important documents and photos in almost every housing move I’ve made, but this broken trophy always finds its way to wherever I live, making itself at home. Perhaps it has stayed with me since 1980 just to fulfill its ultimate destiny as my Official Ass Of The World trophy, which I’m sure will stick around until the minute I die. I might as well get it re-engraved with my current title.

Stoopidist. Lovebird. Tiff. Ever!