Busy Bee Suz – a little bit of this, a dash of that & a whole lotta snark

Fake {name} Friends, Simplifying My Christmas, And Feeling The Spirit In The Smallest Dose

Have you dreamed of your virtual friends? I have and I do. I mean, as if I don’t already have enough sleep issues without YOU invading my sleep, but this is out of my hands.

This past week was super fun; I was receiving mail/packages from some of you.

Get Out Of My Dreams, Get Into My Car

Who loved that 80’s tune?

Anyhoo, my friend Nance sent me a huge box. Inside was a jar of strawberry preserves, and another box that contained huge strawberries. I mean, giant like the size of Shaq’s basketball shoes. BEHEMOTH. And then some books, some papers and STAMPED RETURN ADDRESS ENVELOPES. Get this, the return address had her REAL name and address. Nance: I thought Nance was your real name, but it isn’t is it? BARBARA! The return envelopes said Barbara SomethingOrOther Last Name.

At first I was disappointed to know you falsified your name, but the strawberry gifts softened the blow. But what the heck would I do with all the strawberries? They aren’t even my favorite berry.

Then Ally made an appearance. She sent me some letters and I’m not sure if there were gifts because things are getting fuzzy, but Ally isn’t Ally’s real first name either. I mean, according to MY dream, which we all know is All Telling.

There have been others in the past and it’s a fun surprise to visit with my Around The World Friends while I’m getting my beauty rest.

Passing The Torch, and I’m No Scrooge

Back in September while in GA with my MIL, I was lamenting to her that I didn’t know how I’d find the time to decorate our house this year. At that time, I’d scheduled all the furniture/bed deliveries for our beach condo (decimated by hurricane Ian) to be delivered the weekend after Thanksgiving) That weekend is generally when I decorate our home, which takes two days minimum. I went on to say, I wouldn’t even decorate if not for us hosting Christmas Eve for the family.

My MIL is nothing short of brilliant. Without missing a beat, she said: “Now that Lindsay has a house, why don’t you ask her to host this year?”

A lightbulb the size of Gibraltar went off over my skull, we called Linds then and there and she agreed to host this year. *sigh* Passing the torch is hard for me, so I’d like a blue ribbon or a plaque stating so, but I’m excited to let her do this.

Will I go to her house and leave my shoes in the middle of the floor? Will I drop my purse on the kitchen island in the middle of everything? Will I turn on every light and open every cabinet door without shutting them? Maybe, because dreams are made of such things. 😳😜

*I’ve since had to push the furniture deliveries back a week. It seems that even sleeping with your contractor doesn’t help these days.

On 12/1 it was time to tune into some Christmas Tunes on my Sonos system, then I pulled a few decorations out of my Christmas Cabinet that is located in my craft room; stuff I won’t store out in the garage because of the heat/humidity. No Christmas tree for thee, but I did buy a giant Poinsettia from Home Depot and placed in UP HIGH away from plant eating Frenchies in the Christmas tree spot. This will work for us this year.

I almost didn’t make cards this year, but yesterday I took a half an hour and threw a card together online. I worried that if I didn’t full-on decorate AND send out cards, the world would spin off its axis and we’d all be doomed.

If you have a few minutes, this is the best Christmas commercial I’ve seen in a long time! Grab a hankie (or your shirt sleeve) and a kettle ball.

Anyone else minimize your decor and stress this year?

Raise your hands if you’re blog friends have visited you during sleeping hours.

XOXO

^{pic borrowed from Photo by Suzy Hazelwood on Pexels.com}

Thanksgiving Recap, And Help Me Answer The Age Old Question: Why Am I So Weird?

We had a perfectly lovely Thanksgiving holiday. The Coach, the pups and I arrived in GA the Thursday prior to Turkey Day. Our family: Lolo Lindsay, Lindsay’s beau Mike, his daughter Lillian, Lolo’s dog Max, (Nathan couldn’t attend this year) Coach’s dad and his wife Judy all arrived on Tuesday and were able to stay until Saturday. Thank goodness there isn’t one ounce of drama in our family, because we only had fun.

After we picked the fam up at the airport, we stopped at Buccee’s for shits, giggles, and a sandwich. Linds got a group selfie and this weird guy throwing his hands up photobombed us: THREE TIMES!

I wanted to holler at him that I’d just met my long lost family after looking for them for 20 years and he ruined our pic, instead I just stood there with my face squished up, thinking he’d leave.

Cue the Thanksgiving montage:

Me Not Talk Pretty

On Saturday evening, before the last of our family departed we stopped at a little restaurant on the way to the airport; it’s in a small town, near our home that we frequent. As I was walking through the parking lot, I caught the eye of a woman also coming in; she looked at me in surprise:

Suzanne?

Heather?

It was a friend I went to high school with and I’d not seen her in person since maybe 1988 when I styled her hair for her (first) wedding. Years ago, we were Facebook friends, but she was always on and off the FB depending on her mood. The last time I’d been in contact with her, she’d moved from where we grew up on the East Coast, to a town about 40 minutes north of us on the West Coast of Florida.

You know when you run into someone and you’re not in your own town, your own element, it’s always more surprising. Right?

What popped out of my mouth?

Oh My gosh! Hey!

Wait, WHERE AM I?

She was with three other people, so that makes FOUR people who thought I’d lost my marbles and all sense of geography.

I’m such an idiot.

Turns out that she and her husband had just purchased a home in the area, which is pretty cool and more proof that I’m a trend setter.

I told them what ‘hood we purchased our home in.

Heather pointed to the woman with her and said: This is my realtor.

Me: Oh, cool. My Aunt is my realtor. (immediately thinking: WHO CARES?)

Heather’s Realtor: Oh, nice. What is her name?

Me: Oh, you wouldn’t know her, she’s mostly retired, but does stuff for family and friends. (Why did I bring this up to begin with?)

I revisited that conversation no less than forty times in the next 24 hours.

I almost look normal. Right?

Could you spend five days with six visiting family members?

Do you think I’ll ever get over asking those people WHERE AM I?

XOXO

I’m Feeling Thankful and Not So Shankful.

Here we are, another Thanksgiving is upon us and again, I’m SO thankful to be present for it.

*Knock on wood, it is still four days away*

We’re excited to have time with most of our people; both girls were able to take time off and that is a gift in itself. There were a few big holidays where Lolo was working and to say it sucks is an understatement. How do people have a good time when their kids are not in the vicinity?

I think back to when I was not in the same state as my Mom for most holidays between age 12-30. Maybe I wasn’t the best kid to be around, or she just didn’t have the energy to worry about it. Either way, she never voiced an issue with it, but who knows. She probably really missed me.

Hello. It’s me, I’m the problem.

In the past there was a yearly tradition: I was so excited about Thanksgiving, mostly because it is the least of the big holidays that created stress, but you know what? I would bring UNDUE stress with my high expectations.

I wanted the day to be perfect; the table settings, the decor, the turkey, my demeanor. ALL OF IT.

Was it ever all perfect? Nope.

Did I waste energy and take years off of my life and worse, create wrinkles? Yes.

Finally, I’ve gotten to the point where I don’t expect perfection. Bring on the mediocrity!

Since 2020, I’ve even given up doing the turkey myself. I let the Coach ~~massacre~~ spatchcock it and toss it on the Green Egg. My oven is open for other things and the turkey comes out perfect. Although, I have to depart the kitchen during the spatchcocking process, because who in their right mind can watch that? I do return afterwards and sanitize the area as if there were a nuclear spill.

Memories, I have a few.

Years ago (maybe 2005?) we (Aunt Trisha & I) went overboard with the casseroles. Green bean casserole. Squash casserole. Sweet potato casserole. I remember my mom saying the next year: Can we do less casseroles?

Me: Beverly, this year you are getting a side salad with no dressing. Don’t even look at the casseroles.

See what happens when someone dares to criticize my menu? THE NERVE.

I was kidding, but really, who did she think she was? My Mom?

_{2014, Bev’s last Thanksgiving.}

What I wouldn’t give to threaten my mom with a dressing-free side salad this year. *sigh*

With that thought in mind, I’ll *try* and refrain from idle threats OR of shanking any of my people this year. No promises though, as it is my love language.

Anyhoo. All this to say Thank YOU for all of your kind words, funny comments and just for a being a part of my life. It means the world to me. XOXO

Regarding holidays, are you on the Stressful, ready to Shank side? Or are you more of the chill ~~sedated~~ type? Dare tell: How many casseroles will be on your table this year?

Talking Dogs, Camel Talk & Time For Jesus.

We had our one year Gotcha Anniversary this past week with our Peanut. We love her a ton, but man, she’s been work. We’ve come very far, and she is mostly good, but she has moments where I think: She’s unhinged. She’s touched in the head. Maybe she had an unhealthy relationship with her birth mother?

See how her ears are back in this pic? I’m not referring to this as being unhinged or touched in the head. Just weird.

I was doing “Place” training and it puts her on edge. Biscuit could care less, but the ‘nut is bothered by it terribly.

My Dog Can Talk, Naturally.

A few weeks ago, I had this bizarre dream. ok, they’re all bizarre. But this one was especially fun. I was somewhere, in a semi-public setting. Biscuit had pooped on the ground, I was annoyed, I grabbed a paper towel and picked up the poop, then disposed of it. I was off to find some bleach to to wipe up the area when I saw a lady walking by. I pointed to the spot and said: avoid that area, I’m going to sanitize it since my girl pooped there.

I looked at Biscuit and said WHEN WILL YOU LEARN? She looked at me, deadpan and said in the voice of a sassy, young (human) girl:

I know my name.

I didn’t reply, but let this new information, the fact that she could speak digest for a minute. Who even asked her if she knew her name? I found the Coach and said: Hey, um, Biscuit can SPEAK. Can all dogs do that?

I Can Teach You Things. But not important things.

While in GA with my Girlfriend D one afternoon, I noted as we were walking, saying something along the lines of this:

Me: I can tell my leggings are too tight because they’re cutting across the middle of my gut. It’s uncomfortable as heck. I sighed while in thought, then continued. I could just pull the waistband up higher, but then I’m gonna have a Camel Toe and I hate that more than the waistband cutting into me.

D: What’s a camel toe?

Me: WHAT? YOU DON’T KNOW WHAT A CAMEL TOE IS? OMG. HOW HAVE YOU NOT LEARNED THIS IN 60 years?

I proceeded to educate my sweet, but ‘perhaps lives under a rock’ friend and we were both hysterical!!

Make Time For Jesus.

Before I leave you today, let me try and cleanse your palate with this little Gem.

I need this clock either for myself or for someone else because it ONLY brings a smile to my face.

Well, my time here is up.

Please tell me you know what a camel toe is aside from the one on an actual camel.

Would it be cool if our dogs could actually speak? Or would that make them too human and ruin it all?

XOXO

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