Bat Outta Hell

A friend of mine – I’m NOT sayin’ who – got into a wee fender bender yesterday. Everyone’s fine – no airbags were even deployed. What made this notable were the throwbacks in the other vehicle.

My friend drives an SUV something or other. The other driver was in one of those jacked up, pimped out, four door pickup trucks with a rarely used pristine cargo bed. Yep, a total MAGAt egomobile.

My friend was pulling out of a Dunkin’ parking lot near an intersection when this trump truck screams around the corner like he’s Lieutenant Frank Bullitt being chased by hitmen through the streets of San Francisco. But no. They’re in some South Shore suburb of Boston and dudebro’s driving an oversized blobby white wankpanzer, not a highland green ‘68 Ford Mustang GT Fastback.

My mystery pal had absolutely NO time to stop. One second there was no traffic and she was clear to enter the roadway – next minute NASCAR Neddy’s directly in her path.

💥 BAM 💥

Immediately the, presumable, girlfriend jumps down out of the passenger seat and runs over screaming and berating my friend. NOT asking if she, in the MUCH smaller vehicle, is okay but getting all aggro up in her face.

Bitcholini’s in her mid-40s or thereabouts, dressed like it's the early ‘80s and she's on her way to a New Kids on the Block or a Backstreet Boys concert. We were having a goddamn nor’easter yesterday and she’s decked out in skinny jeans, a spaghetti strapped tank top under a poofy jacket, cropped right under her boobage. She’s sporting wide bleach blonde streaks in her teased, sculpted and sprayed hair. Her and her intense botheration made an...impression.

Next, boyfriend climbs down out of his dick replacement, sees the driver, my chum, is a woman and swaggers over like the tough guy he’s SO not. Not only does he NOT say hello or ask her if she’s alright (and obvs he’s just fine), he pulls a dick move – barks “license and registration” at her like he's some I-got-no-time-for-this-shit harried cop.

Now, the reason my friend was away from work in the middle of the day was because she was driving her husband to pick up his car which had been in the shop for routine maintenance. She’d just dropped him off and called him to let him know about the accident. He zoomed right over.

As soon as friend’s man shows up, Mullet Boy drops the bad, wooden, asshole officer act and starts acting almost human. He stashes his obvs tweaker girlfriend back in the truck while he schmoozes with the other penis owner (versus the person he was in an accident with) until the cops arrive.

When the cops get there the ultra sus ‘80s throwback immediately goes into a whole thing of telling the cops that “This is cut and dry. Black and white.” He then starts pissing and whining about how he JUST bought the wankpanzer and just look at all the damage (a small dent over a rear wheel well – fucking crybaby). BIG victim act. Meanwhile, my friend lost her bumper entirely. (also, her car is new this year as well.)

With the cops present, the creepy white trash stayed in their MAGAt-mobile. Why all of a sudden were they playing it low key? Could there possibly be two pounds of crystal in the glove box and maybe a few unregistered guns under the back seat. It might be inconvenient if the po-po found those when Twatzilla really needs her speedball now!

Maybe NASCAR Ned and Tweaker Tina were speeding around in the middle of an ultra stormy, cold weekday because they had a hot drug delivery to make. There was a major bust of 16 fentanyl and coke dealers in their area last month. I imagine the toxic duo are working overtime to meet the uptick in biz. Just being caring business people, eh?

Mystery of the Lost Dog Legs

While Jen was in St. Paul for her nephew’s college graduation she saw a suspicious amount of dogs who were missing one leg. Yes, indeed. In two days she saw three tripod pooches all, specifically, without their back left legs.

What’s up that it was the same limb gone on all three St. Paul dogs? Why this particular leg? Why St. Paul? Why dogs? Seems ultra fishy. Ya know...on top of this, Ten has just now told me that one of our neighborhood dogs is also missing a leg! Something deeply sus is going on. We so need to get to the bottom of this before the entire US canine population is overwhelmed.

Is this the work of some strange religious cult. Do they pay homage to their god(s) with pooch appendages? Obvs this has nothing to do with Anubis. Simply everyone knows that a proper offering to Anubis consists of Ritz crackers and Guinness. DUH!  Could it be devotees of the Aztec snake god Quetzalcoatl? Nah. Not sure but I think Snakey mostly eats people.

Is this something to do with Kristi Noem? I mean, we already know she has an animal killing kink – puppies, goats, horses, god knows what else. Kittens? Fluffy bunnies? Baby ducklings? Could be anything or anyone really. I mean, the woman has no issue with sending innocent people to forced labor prisons in foreign countries, never to live free again – what’s a lost dog limb to her? A hobby? A mid-afternoon wank?

Maybe Bobby Brainworm’s at the heart of this? There’s already photographic evidence of him as he’s about to chomp into a grilled dog carcass in some East Asian forest. He’s got a significant history with roadkill. Maybe the pressure of having to off 340.1 million Americans in Dump’s four short years is getting to him so he’s starting small? He’s just taking left hind legs from midsized midwestern strays…for now. This’ll hold him over until he can start taking out entire county’s worth of children with his obscene anti-science, anti-reality misinformation masquerading as healthcare facts. The delusional old rich boy’s gotta beat his record of 83 dead in Samoa, doesn’t he? People are stupid – I think he’ll have no problem meeting his goal.

What about Beavis and Butthead Trump? Don’t they just love to shoot up animals too? Oh wait, I think they only target tranqed up endangered species who’ve been hogtied and presented to them on a silver platter first. Yep, real macho sportsman these two.

Jen also saw a cat (with all four legs) in St. Paul. Cats are sly, slick, devious, and vastly intelligent. (Certainly smarter than any three trumps put together) Cats are also deeply superstitious and have been known to keep bits of their enemies as talismans to ward off disease, right-wing shock jocks, evil spirits, annoying children (redundant, I know), and servants who neglect to bring treats. So then, while it’s unlikely that cats are stealing dog appendages, we can’t completely rule it out. 

At this point the dog leg theft remains a mystery.

Geeks

Let’s talk geek. For those of you not in the carnie know:

Geek was originally an early 20th-century term for a carnival worker who was so unskilled that the only thing the worker could do at the carnival to entice an audience was to bite off the heads of live animals (Ed. note: usually chickens or snakes). (source)

Just FYI, I was NOT a geek during my three years with various shows nor did I meet any.

You hand in your ticket
And you go watch the geek
Who immediately walks up to you
When he hears you speak
And says, "How does it feel
To be such a freak?"
And you say, "Impossible"
As he hands you a bone.
~ Bob Dylan, Highway 61 Revisited

More broadly, outside the world of traveling carnivals, a geek is a skeevy, icky person who lacks social skills and smarts. You know, a fucked up nitwit. NOT someone you’d invite to your birthday party.

Examples?

Don Junior
Marge Traitor Grease
Boobert
Gym Jordon
Elise the trump-asslicker Stefanik
Paul Nazi-admirer Gosar

And the list stretches beyond the horizon.

Why are ex-prez Cheeto and RFK jr not on this list? They’re grifters not geeks. There’s a difference. Both Cheeto and Junior are slimy narcissistic nitwits who, if not for their rich daddies, would assuredly be selling broke-ass used cars in a shifty lot in the desert outside Reno (OR biting the heads off chickens at a Texas sundown town carnival). With their family cabbage though, they were able to buy degrees from fancy schools. This gave them their starts as high octane con artists.

You may well be wondering, WHY the fuck you have geeks on the brain this morning, Donna? Well, ya see…Jen’s headed to a big-ass family reunion down in Connecticut today. She’ll be gone ALL damn day which means no tea time (which means NO Star Trek and prosecco for yours-whiny-truly). I suggested, in a joking tone (because I’m only trying to help and am NOT a monster!), that if she gets tired of all the socializing she can tell her cousins and aunties that, since the last gathering, she’s renounced vegetarianism and has become a side show geek.

That’s kind of a conversation stopper, no? Eh, maybe not. Possibly I’ve given advice that will make her the absolute center of attention, the toast of the fête. This would defeat the whole purpose of getting her home in time for “tea.”

Oops.

I only mention it but language shifts and evolves. Britannica Dictionary defines geek as:

1: a person who is socially awkward and unpopular : a usually intelligent person who does not fit in with other people

     and

2: a person who is very interested in and knows a lot about a particular field or activity

So, no more dead chickens. 

Also, NO chickens were killed in the making of this morning's post.

Prep

This one, from this morning's walk, is for SueEllen.

FIRST – Ya gotta see this Tweet and vid. Jesus convertible Christ, this is awesome!

Next, I had my pre-surgery Plague45 test yesterday. It was fascinating in a Phillip Dick/Bladerunner kind of a way. OK no, it wasn’t like that at all but you know me and my overactive imagination. The test site was immaculately clean and everyone was wonderfully kind, welcoming and courteous. All the medicos were kitted out in 17 layers of protection (and I was DAMN glad of that for their sake AND mine). It was a special kind of creepy scary to have the swab wielding dude reaching out of a floor to ceiling plexiglass box, his arms and hands like robot appendages encased in thick, loose rubber. A LOT like this pic, below left.

Yes, I kept hearing “eyes; I just do eyes” as he gently stuffed the swab up my snout. FYI, it didn’t hurt but felt ULTRA weird.

I already received the results – SARS-CoV 2 (COVID-19) PCR – Not Detected

There were a couple paragraphs of yeah but:

Negative results do not preclude SARS-CoV-2 infection and should not be used as the sole basis for patient management decisions. Negative results must be combined with clinical observations, patient history, and epidemiological information.

Optimum specimen types and timing for peak viral levels during infection by SARS-CoV-2 have not been determined. Collection of multiple specimens from the same patient may be necessary to detect the virus.

Still, I think I’m cleared for tomorrow’s slice action. Yea fucking me!

I’ve decided – and yes this is a choice – that I’m done with the dread shit. It’s boring AND, just generally, no bleedin' fun. I mean, fer fuck’s sake, I’ll get to leave the house (WHEEEEE!), won’t have to exercise (as hard) and someone else will cook for me for at least four whole days. BEST YET, I don’t gotta put on a bra for a couple months!

Regarding food – I hear you asking “but doesn’t Jen do all the cooking?” Well yeah, mostly. OK, let's just never mind on that point.

Another thing about Saint fucking Jen – I’m going into the OR in better shape than I have for, at least, the last few shoot ‘em ups. Why/how? That bitch, that stone twatzilla forces me to go on 30+ minute walks ever damn morning. How does this evil broad strong-arm me? She shows up at my goddamn door and patiently waits for me to put my sneaks on – THE NERVE!

On top of that, since I can’t go to the Y (even though it’s reopened. Why not? People…potential plague carriers //shudder//) Jen bought me a recumbent elliptical for here at home. I’m on that rat bastid torture device five to six days out of seven.

Guess what – I HATE exercise but I like being as healthy and able-bodied as I can be more.

Other shit I gotta do before lights out tonight?

• Lay down the ground on a few new canvases. That’s the most physically taxing part of starting a new painting.
• Collect drawing pads, colored markers, pens and crayons in a bag. Jen will bring them to me at MGH so’s I have something to do when I’m not napping.
• Put my stack of new books on the shelf by the bed.
• Unroll the futon in the guest room and put out sheets and blankets (Saint Jen’s bunking in for my first few nights back home)
• Laundry *groan*

We leave for MGH at five in the AM. WooHoo. I wonder how much weight I’ll drop once I’m less these two motherfucking asshole meningiomas. A 20 pound drop would be nice. Yeah, only in my vivid, happy fantasy land. *sigh*

Texting While We Plague

Jen's tattoo which testifies to her eternal rightness

Jen's the manager of an essential biz so, yesterday when I hit a troublesome patch of insecurity, I texted her – interrupted her essentialism 'cause I'm all selfish and obnoxious like that. Ya know?

Me:
    I’m being exceptionally oversensitive today. ☹️

Jen:
    Ahhhhh , I think you are doing your best man, you are hanging in there like a super hero! Don't feel bad if you have a bad day or are feeling over sensitive! It's totally understandable with all the bullshit lately, all the fear/anxiety etc. We’re all in this together. I think we should pick a night to get takeout and watch a show! Not that that will solve anything but it will be fun.

Me:
    Yes, it would be fun.

We then discussed the spark for my ‘bout of oversensitivity. I was pretty sure I’d annoyed a friend with my, possibly, uncomfortable and indelicate questions. I was reading a LOT into something he said in a completely different convo. Jen, as uszh, set me straight with her impeccable wisdom. 

Naturally, I replied with:

Me:
    Sez u
    And how the fuck would u know
    And what’s THAT supposed to mean!
   
Jen:
    Sez me yah man!!!
    Cuz I know all AND I have a tattoo that sez so.
    And what's THAT supposed to mean back atcha!!!

Me:
    Ummmm, possibly this is where we devolve into childish name calling, such as:
    Yur such a dry twatini with a twist

Jen:
    You Poop Thumb!

Me:
    Oh, that’s a good one!

 A long series of random emojis ensued before we resumed our “insult” slam (like a poetry slam but WAY more silly and a LOT less elegant).

Me:
    Oh, I forgot....yur also a smegma covered pop tart!
    With sprinkles on top

Jen:
    Oh, AM I NOW????!!!
heh heh......
At least I'm not dragon toed cantaloupe fart!

Me:
    I thought dragon toes only farted glitter and raspberries – no?

Jen:
    You are thinking of the French synchronized swimmer dragon toes. They snort glitter and raspberries for lunch and fart them out during their shows. Quite entertaining for the chillins!

Me
    What about the Norwegian spelunking dragon toes? What do they poot?

Jen:
    They are famous for their braided mackerel farts which serve to further enhance the already bad air found in their favorite spelunking spots. It's a defensive gas emission to keep the tourists away.

Me:
    Oh, but...but... braided mackerels are SO tasty! Their winds can’t possibly be foul!

Jen:
    Glad you didn't ask about the pterodactyl toed goose tinkle farts.

Me:
    Ooooooo, what do THEY fart?

Jen:
    Most folks swear their farts taste like rotting egg soup, but true connoisseurs liken the flavor to a finely crisped tarantula nose!

Me:
    I LOVE tarantula nose! They’re simply divine with a light cilantro/jalapeño sauce and Prosecco.

Jen:
    Oh wow!!! Can you also sprinkle them on your poodle eggs or add them to your lava mist pear martini?

Me:
    Oh please! NO one does poodle eggs anymore – that’s SO last season! But...Lava Mist Martinis? I think Wendy whips up a batch of those every third Thursday in months with an umlaut.

Jen: 

     Are the poodle eggs just too foofy and hard to groom?
And, wow! Wendy is my lava mist hero!! I think the next month with an umlaut falls in between April and May! What was it called???

Me: 

     Oooo, SO close ! It’s März – March. And poodle eggs are heinously hard to groom. They do NOT sit still – it takes forEVAH!

Also, why are there no umlauts over any of the vowels in umlaut. That’s kinda strange don’cha think?

CAKEday

Today is Jen’s birthday and there WILL be CAKE!

When my hero, my beloved and Amazing Bob was alive, we ate nothing but wonderfully, heavily frosted cake all month. OK, no we didn’t BUT it kinda seemed like that. January was rich with the special CAKE occasions – New Years Day, his birthday, our anniversary, Jen’s birthday and, of course, any day ending in “y.” (kidding–HONEST–on that last one)

TAB and I were cake sluts. Cake addicts? Cakeaholics? Cakeophiles?

His health was so bad in that last year that he was too weak to come into Saint Fratelli’s with me. He’d wait in the car. THIS was a big fucking deal, a giant red flag. That he didn’t want to come inside and breathe the wonderful, soul-healing, sugary pastry air told me, more clearly than an MRI, that our time was short.

I had another We’re Moving dream last night. It played twice actually – once with TAB and once without. In both versions, with six chums, I was moving into a ramshackle BIG apartment down by the river in Charlestown. The joint was 99 kinds of decrepit and crowded with the previous, possibly lifelong, tenant's belongings. Rickety, kludged together shelving and structural “fixes” were everywhere. But, HEY, water views!

There was battalion of pro-repairmen on the job, fixing everything from rafters to sill as we explored our new home. It was up to us to clean out the guts of the crib.

In the TAB version, he had a room down the hall from me. It was huge, sun-lit and in the best, cleanest shape. I was sad that we we’d have separate rackrooms but happy that his was spacious and in splendid condition. There was a large bed and he lay down for a nap.

As I passed back through the kitchen, I spied an elderly dishwasher – HUZZAH! Turning it on for a test drive resulted in a slow motion tsunami though. Yup, something else for the repair dudes to remedy. As my six new roomies and I mopped the floor, I saw that the linoleum was light years beyond old. It was cracked, warped and, in places, nothing but grody, possibly disease riddled, dust.

Yup, I get it. I’m in transition. The old house (me) is in mega rough shape BUT not without hope. We CAN rebuild her!

Just like the dream, I have very good friends. They’re with me on this journey. My home (both figuratively and actually) is beat up but structurally sound WITH water views. Plus TAB is, on some level, still with me. There’s work to be done (isn’t there always?) but I’m gonna make it. Just like the dream.

And today, Jen was wonderful enough to have a birthday so there WILL be cake.

Text Messaging in a Stunned Age

We really thought yesterday was Friday. Imagine our shock and horror when Jen and I realized it was only Thursday.

Me: I think you and me are supposed to be at Starzzzzzzzzzz right now.
       Right?
       It's 10AM and I've already put in 4 hours work AND I gotta hit the gym now – will this pressure NEVAH end?!?!?! Also too, Starzzz called and wants to know when the fuck we plan on showing our faces. Hmmm?

Jen: Oh shite!!! This means our breakfast burritos are getting cold! And our mimosas are getting warm!
       😬
     😣
       I wonder what a warm mimosa would taste like.
       😱
 
Me: Like a hot toddy maybe? We are entering hot toddy season, ya know.

Jen: I believe it would still be good
       Flat but good!

Me: There's alkeehaul in mimosas so – DUH – OF COURSE IT WOULD STILL TASTE GOOD.

Did I mention how stunned and utterly dismayed we were with the IT'S NOT FRIDAY realization? We – honest and true – are not dipsomaniacal sodden sots. RILLY! It's just – well, we had some big time sad perplexion goin' on.

Jen: Though if you got those hurlish meat flavored mimosas that'd be bad...WAY bad. Right?

Me: A meat mimosa? //shudder//
 
Jen: 😈

Me: That is wrong on so many levels.
      SO wrong.
      Hurl!

Jen: Tofu mimosas would be better!

Me: Double plus hurl.
       Why not go all in — cat puke mimosas?

Jen: Oh my!!!!
       😨
      You had to go there.

Me: Yes.
       Somebody had too.
       Dirty job and all that.

Jen: Throwing yourself on the flaming sword.

Me: Is that a reference to sexytime stuff coz I'm still not sure I'm ready for that.

Jen: Hehehe actually it was not.

Me: Yeah, yeah, sure, sure.

Jen: 😮

Me: But an asparagus mimosa would probably be good!

No reply from Jen on this idea. I suspect she'd rolled her eyes and couldn't find the ideogram cartoon for it. Just a hunch. 

Bliss

Here’s the trick – rekindling that calm, blissed out, contemplative, everything’s-gonna-be-OK, I-will-survive vibe that I felt as I floated in the beautiful geothermal  pool.

While in Silica Nirvana I had my first truly good days since The Amazing Bob died. You know how fresh widows/widowers, when asked how they're doing, often say "Oh, I have good days and bad?” Yeah…well, prior to this holiday, I'd have occasional not so bad moments, sometimes even a laugh, but the norm had been way more sad and shocky-numb with frequent descents into pits of stone melancholy. There were no good days – just bearable ones.

Drifting in the quiet, peaceful hotel lagoon was magic. My fears and anxieties were utterly stripped away. The immense weight of my grief was lightened. I felt fortified, invigorated and at peace.

I remember thinking, as I rested on the water, that TAB would love the place. Yes, it’d be hell to get him all the way to Iceland and into the water but he’d totally fall in love. We’d have the cats sent over and never leave.

Here at home, during the summer, when his joints were really jolting him, I’d nag him into descending the seawall steps with me. At high tide, we’d sit there with our legs submerged in cool, salty water and just goggle the waves. It was meditative AND the salt water always made his bones feel better.
Good as he felt after our mini soaks, it was still a challenge to get him out of the house and down to the water (which is just across the street!). My handsome man was the quintessential essence of homebodyness.

Remembering this, as I softly glided in the warm lagoon, I smiled. Smiled! The obscene pain of being without him didn’t swamp me. Instead, I felt a peaced out, wistful air.  I was able to miss the love of my life without being consumed by the torturous, agonizing loss of him.

Amazing is what this was.

All my other getaways now look, to me, like varying levels of adventuring versus calming, buoying sabbaticals. Yup, I'm SO gonna do this again. Between the stark, raw beauty of the landscape, the gallery hopping in Reykjavik and that wondrous lagoon – well, I'm hooked. This, THIS was a healing tonic. Now to figure out how to ignite that peace here at home.

Another great bit – being outta the country and away from this poisonous political atmosphere – the horror-show theater of it all.

The Voyage Home

The view from our room – a vast moss covered lava field. Just amazing!

The trip back to Valhalla Land was both annoying as all fucking hell and not quite as bad as expected. Coulda been worse...and shit.

The WOW airline team continued to wow us with their appalling customer service skills as well as their dearth of consistency and common sense. I wonder, does WOW follow the Trump biz model? Ya know, don’t pay your employees a decent wage and, if possible, don’t pay them at all. What else could be the reason for the crew's surly sullenness?

After we got our boarding passes, we had to pass the “is your bag too big for the overhead” test. Makes sense BUT carry on bags which had been AOK-dandyy/no-extra-cost on the way from Boston to Iceland, were now deemed too big. Yes, they’d fit, they were cool to bring on board BUT… Jen had to pay another $40 for her very reasonable sized wheelie bag. The couple in front of us? They paid another $80 for their’s which, best I could tell, was the same size as Jen’s. Possibly they liked something about Jen (who wouldn’t – honestly?!), hence the lower tariff?

What is this WOW feeling they speak of? Could it be the feeling of being
treated like  factory farmed livestock? Also, a company who can’t be
arsed to pay decent graphic designers and printers (fonts defaulting to Courier?
 Christ on Comic Sans, how laughably 4th rate can you get?!) are really flying
their dimwitted rapaciousness flag just a bit too proudly to survive.

The plane, 30 minutes late already, was further delayed by yet another phalanx of bag checkers. Yes, the entire flight full of folk had already been subjected to the will it fit or won’t it test, had passed, or passed and paid a penalty, and now we had to jump through this hoop again?! ‘the fuck?

The other interesting (and by “interesting” I mean stupid-as-all-hell and how-dim-can-you-be!?) bit. Boarding wasn’t done from rear of plane to front AND there was no early boarding for, ya know, people who need extra time – families with babies and toddlers, wheelchair types and the chronically claustrophobic and balance impaired (moi, don’cha know).

Knowing we’d, inflight, be charged for even a cup of water, Jen and I had bought bottled H2O as well as sandwiches, sushi and wee bottles of Malbec. We were smart and all set, right? As we settled in, an announcement came – opening and quaffing our duty-free bought vino was verboten. Jen relayed this hilarious info as we unscrewed our minikin bottles and whipped out our straws (cups would’ve cost money and blown our cover).

Last view of our beloved lagoon before hopping on the airport bus

The two good bits – while my seat selection was once again wrong/NOT what I chose when I’d booked, I had a window seat (the gentleman sitting there asked to switch to aisle and I, naturally and oh-so-graciously assented) and there was actual leg room on this bird. Legroom and seat selection seem to be a total crapshoot on WOW.

Jen was listening to what our fellow passengers were buzzing about before and after both our flights. The phrase she heard most often? I will never fly this airline again!

Yup, agreed. I’ve had better Greyhound bus experiences. BUT, here’s the thing – the price difference between WOW and the next carrier is pretty huge. Boston to Reykjavik on WOW was $345 versus $585 on Iceland Air. That could very possibly make the difference between the trip being affordable or not. Also, would Iceland Air be worth the extra $240 we’d have to shell out? I checked the Trip Advisor site – they get good reviews. Most folks rated them Excellent or Very Good. Also too, I’ve flown them before and had tremendous experiences. WOW on the other hand gets more people voting their experience as Terrible versus Excellent or even Very Good. 

So, seems clear to me – for my next Iceland visit I’m going to have to cut some corners and save more shekels so’s I can afford a better, not rabidly incompetent airline.

Art and Peas

Yesterday was our art seeking mission day to Reykjavik. We sat beside our little lagoon (yes, I’m getting a little possessive) as we waited for the bus into town. The sky was dark, temps hadn’t crested 40º yet and there was even a brief round of hail. Naturally I thought, this is a PERFECT time to be floating in Silica City! Ah well, I could do that when we got back. *sigh*

Find of the day – Þóra Einarsdóttir. I fell madly in love with this painting of hers (at right). Jesus, the color, textures and form are visual Valium for me. As I gazed on this, I was peacefully transported to the lava rocked quiet seaside. Meditative, calming and utterly absorbing – that’s what this is. I could see this hanging in my wee cottage, beaming out cool waves of tranquility 24/7. Why didn’t I snatch this sucker up? Sadly, it was well outta my price range and no, she doesn’t do prints. Donna haz a mondo sad!

Found in the same gallery, Stigur, Sólveig Hólmarsdóttir. Absolutely LOVE her beautifully strange, small ceramic sculptures.

After Stigur we found Keramik, a small clay art gallery we’d visited on out last Reykjavik adventure. It was just as fab as expected with work by Audur Inga Ingvarsdóttir, Guðný M Magnúsdóttir, Hólmfríður Vídalín Arngrímsdóttir and more.

After these two joints we were ready to wander in search of street art. While we managed to find a few lovelies, our feets were barking, STOP abusing us NOW!, so, we didn’t hit guerrilla art ground zero as we had before.

S’OK, the lagoon was calling to us. We just HAD to get back for more silica mud floaty time action! First though, we needed to locate a dealer for those amazing, inspirational, artisanal wasabi peas which, best we can tell, can only be found here in Iceland BUT can be located in regular old grocery stores.

Success was ours! We bought enough to, hopefully, see us through New England's cold dark winter.

Silicia Nirvana

Jen and I checked into our sweet Silica Hotel room yesterday early morning(YEA!!!) and then promptlycurled up under the tremendously fluffy down comforters and went all Nap City. Mein Gott, we deserved that gorgeous pause time.

After emerging from mini coma bliss, we suited up and melted into the the hotel's wondrous, private, geo-thermal lagoon. Instant heaven! The air temp was around 42º (Fahrenheit). The water? Around 100º. Did I mention the whole paradise quotient yet? YES, this is it – Arcadia!

Given our horrible, no-sleep plane-ride, we'd decided the rest of the day would be mondo low key. It was. After that rejuventing dip, we took a walk over to the main lagoon, the big, BIG Blue Lagoon for a café lunchy. It's a 10-15 minutes ramble on a sweet, off-road path through the amazing lava fields.

After our morning happy, chilled out pool time, the Blue Lagoon was a bit of a shock. There were a boatload of tour busses in the parking and roped off entry lines everywhere. It felt like the entrance to a Disney Small World-esque attraction – Iceland World!

From our table in the noshery, we could watch all the action in Lagoon Central. Man oh man, there were tons of selfie taking singletons, couples picture snapping each other and oldsters just enjoying the brill wet heat and floaty action. Yup, this last group seemed to be the ones being here now versus checking the visit off on their busy-be bucket lists.

Jen and I decided that we had no need whatsoever to swim there. Our place was, IS way better – not crowded or ostentatious at all.

On our return, after another stroll through the stark, dark beauty of the lava fields, we dissolved back into our quiet pond. Here's the amazing thing – I swam. I floated. I paddled about and NOTHING bad happened! I didn't horrifically and scarily lose my balance. I didn't drown. Jen did NOT have to rescue me at ANY point in our swim 'n' soak. There were NO Nf2-crap-balance Beneath the Waves events. AND I wasn't even using one of the kindly provided inner tubes either! This, this is huge.

Maybe when we get home, I can join the Y and start lap swimming again!

The Ducks Have Landed!

The hotel's lagoon

Why are we ducks, specifically Barrow’s Goldeneyes this morning? It’s rainy and cold here in Grindavik, Iceland. Also too, the sun’s not out yet. It's a good day if you're an Icelandic duck. Maybe.

Our flight landed at 4:30AM. We stumbled our way through the Duty Free to pick up Pinot and Omnom Chocolate for the hotel room. Why? We like to plan ahead and what good’s a lovely hotel with a wondrous geo-thermal spa without red wine and dark chocolate? From there we hit the bus kiosk. First one out didn’t leave for another two hours. *groan* We caught a cab which we were told wasn’t all that much more expensive than the bus. Eh, it was but it was worth it.

It did feel weird, eerie, to be traveling down these skinny dark, foreign, wet roads with nothing in view except the occasional Bónus and car mechanic’s shop. Were we really headed to the hotel or was this the first scene out of an upcoming horror movie? Would the pleasant yet remote cabbie decide to dump us in the middle of the rain soaked, windy, freezing lava fields?

Yes, my imagination was in high fucking gear. Why Jen puts up with me's a real mystery.
In any case, here we are, chillin’ in cozy chairs, our feet up, gazing out at the lagoon, waiting for the day manager to get in, so’s we can MAYBE check in early. Even if we can’t, the nice desk dude said we can use the hotel’s lagoon. OR we can leave our bags here and take the 10 o’clock bus into Reykjavik, do our shopping and gallery hopping today instead of domani.

I’m wondering, given that Reykjavik’s just four hours ahead of Boston, why not have later flights? That is, one that gets into Iceland at a decent hour when people are about, restaurants are open and, ya know, the sun’s bleedin' up. Just a wee, kvetchy thought there.

Now, let’s talk about that flight of ours though. We flew WOW because they had the best deal. Yes, they were the cheapest and, boyhowdy, we got what we paid for. Not only was my seat assignment fucked up (aisle instead of window), the damn rows only had adequate leg room if your mother chain smoked Benson and Hedges while preggers. That and the heat was mega cranked. It was beyond warm and I had the distinct wish to strip down to my skivvies (but I employed restraint and decorum and did not – see, I can so be civilized!). And THEN the stewardess came around to offer bevs,  I requested a glass of water and was charged THREE dollars for it!

So then, me and my rampant claustrophobia were tussling. I was fuming over paying three smackaroonies for H2O. AND the stewardesses didn’t glide up and down the aisle. Oh no, they clomped, they stamped, they had the heaviest footfall around. Outside of sumo wrestler team locker room anyway. And then I noticed the advert on the seat back in front of me: “Fancy a WOW moment while in Reykjavik…”

And what exactly would that entail? Being placed in a super-heated, half-size fridge box for six hours without complimentary water? Yeah, quite possibly.

Now that we know what we’re in for, we’ll buy bottled water before boarding for the trip home AND we’ll pack away our sweaters and scarves. Possibly we’ll also see about detaching our legs and putting them in the overhead.

I only mention it but Jet Blue has totally spoiled me. After last night’s debacle, I’m tempted to plan my next holiday based on their destination map.

Just in Time

My kitchen floor’s done! Well, close to it. I still want to paint/stain the grout and wood holding-strip a nice bright copper color. After that, John will come back and lay down a clear, protective glaze.

Know what felt utterly satisfying – luxurious even? I got to make coffee ON the kitchen counter versus the living room floor this morning. Yup, doesn't take a whole lot to make me happy.

Also too, the medicine cabinet and vanity are in place AND functioning en el baño. YEA! My stress levels are now, finally, well out of the mesosphere.

All this is just in time for Jen and I’s quickie trip to Iceland. We leave for the airport at three this afternoon. Why Iceland again? Jen and I both need a chilled out holiday. Something with a low adventure/high cozy indulgence quotient. Yup, we’re headed back to the Blue Lagoon. What could be better than soaking in a geo-thermal pool, popping out for snacks and vino, reading cheesy fantasy potboilers and, just generally, not having anything on our MUST-Do-today lists? Not too bloody much, I'm tellin' ya!

BEST damn wasabi peas EVAH!

We’re staying nearby, not right at the Lagoon, BUT it’s just a short walk away. AND we won’t need to rent a car. There’s a bus from the airport which stops at the lagoon and then heads on to downtown Reykjavik. Yup, we’ll be heading into town on one of the days we’re there because ART and more ART. Plus, we’ll need some of them inspirational, artisanal wasabi peas, vino and a stop in at the fab vintage shop, Spúútnik Fatamarkaður, is MOST def in order. I got a brill jacket last time I was there.

Oh yeah and I want to hit the Kolaportið (flea market) again too. I just LOVE a weird flea market.

When we return home, apart from dealing with the mondo guilt trips which Coco and Rocco will doubtless dish out, I’ll need to put the kitchen and bathroom back into regular, everyday functioning order. You know, all the shelving back into place, meds, lotions and bandaids will take up residence in the new cabinets AND all those expired pills and salves will be binned. Who knew? Renovation is a great way to clean and purge.

'scuse me – gotta go pack.

Let’s talk about Jen

Home in Valhalla, pre-race

Our heroine is number 266!

She’s my best pal—my sister. We’ve been pretty much inseparable since she was a wee lass of 23 and I was a theoretically mature adult of 35. In our 22 years of friendship we’ve been by each other’s side through surgeries (six of mine, four of The Amazing Bob’s and three of hers), cancer, chemo and recovery (hers and TAB’s), home buying (Valhalla!) AND this strange turn we’ve both taken into fitness.

While I’m the Recumbent Triking Queen (that’s what it says on my biz cards, dammit!), Jen has become the Empress of Running. She’s out there in the pre-dawn hours every damn morning, getting in ten miles (or so) before she heads into work. Wow. Yes, the broad just kills me.

Today, for the first time ever, she’s running a half marathon. In fact, she’s out there bouncing along AS I TYPE! She’s doing the 3 Beach Minimum Half Marathon. It started on Nantasket Beach at 7:30. The runners will pass Black Rock, Pleasant and Sandy Beaches before turning 'round and heading back to Nantasket. I, naturally, drove down to join Oni in cheering her on at lift off.

Nantasket before the race began

Two things you should know:

1. DAMN the beach’s cold and windy at 6:30 in the morning in late September!
2. Still, gorgeous, gorgeous, gorgeous.

We waited in the car until it was time for our zooming heroine to queue up. As we sat in the car's warmth, Jen pointed out the young women in the giant black SUV next to us. She said that she sees runners like them all the time. They start out with perfect hair, makeup, their skin flawless and, of course, they’re not a big sweaty mess. At the end of the race or their daily run? STILL with perfect hair, makeup, their skin isn’t flamingly flushed AND they don’t seem to be sweating…AT ALL. In fact, they appear utterly refreshed. Conversely, Jen looks and feels her morning run or the race she’s just done. Like the rest of us humans after mondo exercise, she’s dripping perspiration like Niagara Falls leaks river water.

Oni pointed out, in a totally NON-judgemental way (no really!), that these women probably didn't spend their 20s drinking a six pack a night. *cough* OK, OK, we're guilty.

My take? These babes are clearly cyborgs. I must remember to tell Jen that when she comes across the finish line.

We'd like to find a race that accepts cyclists and wheelchair racers too. That way we can both do it. FUN! At the rate she and I are going, how long before we do the Boston Marathon?

Bad News, Good News, Bad News, Good News, Bad News, Good News, Bad News, Good News, Bad News, Good News, Bad News, Ad Infinitum

And random bits of fluff

Bad News: The Amazing Bob has cancer.
Good News: The docs are almost positive (pending just a couple more blood test results) that it’s lymphoma. The medics say this is “very” treatable. And it’s treatable with newer meds which are chemo-like but NOT toxic. This means they won’t have the nasty-ass heinous side effects like chemo does and did for our Jen.

Nothing’s written in stone yet BUT things don’t look quite as bleak for our hero.

Bad News: Between the frigid temps, my stressed out hamstrings and exhaustion from all the med hoopla, I’m not getting any exercise lately. Not only is this nae good for my weight loss plans, it’s bad for me brain and body in general. Exercise evens out my moods, chills down those evil hot flashes and just generally makes me feel stronger and more capable. After a ride I feel like I can do anything...OK, anything YES but, maybe, after a wee nap.
Good News: I JUST remembered that Jen has a treadmill in her basement. While I’ve despised that boring fucker in the past, it is surely better than nothing.

Bad News: Coco is totes not keen on our fearful, former feral.
Good News: Our boy’s INSIDE! It got down to two below zero (that’s Fahrenheit mes amis) last night but, no worries, Rocco was tucked inside, on the sofa with his hoodie and Sneetch!
Funny/Annoying/not really bad at all, in fact it’s cute news: Rocco likes to sit behind me on my desk chair while I tippy tap away. He nudges my elbow a LOT to prompt me to pat him. I know...HOW CUUUUTE!
Reality: Coco will deal. They’ll never be besties but she’ll chill out eventually. I make sure I spend a fair amount of focused time with her daily.

The cats — sure fire agents for slowing me down, causing me look around and just breathe. Furry doses of zen is what they are.

Bad news: I’m deaf and that seems to be irreversible.
Good News: Despite all my struggles to understand the world and people around me, I continue to discover warm, generous people.

Yeah, not AT ALL what I expected! I'm starting to feel as though the human race wasn't a total mistake after all. Sheesh! Next thing ya know I'll be breaking into Tomorrow.

Bad News: My Aunt Mary Ann (who filled the mother role for me more than Lucy) is gone. She died on July 5th, 2012. Far too damn soon.
Good News: She gave me TWO of her winter coats which she no longer wore. They fit AND they’re gorgeous. I’m SO appreciating them today!

Bad News (OK, not really — it just is what it is): My memory is more like our ancient clothes dryer than the supercomputer, Tianhe-1A.
Good News: I amuse myself endlessly. I just played the word “toga” in one of my Words with Friends games and, OF COURSE, the chant from Animal House came to mind.

Happy Thursday!