I told you about Suzanne crocheting me two neckties, and one was a scary, neon tangle which I presented to you as a Tie o’ the Day yesterday. I didn’t even know where this second crocheted tie was hanging out, and then last night… VOILA! I found it in the urban ghetto area of The Tie Room, while I was looking for Skitter’s French fry hat. Is it a coincidence I found both ugly ties in the same day? Not to me. I have no doubt this Tie o’ the Day got jealous of the other crochet Tie o’ the Day’s new-found fame. Neckties are like that.
And now I’ll make sure none of us ever sees either crocheted tie again. They are officially retired from the active neckwear collection. They’ll spend the remainder of their existence in perpetual emeritus status.
It was inevitable. When I re-posted the infamous thong-attached-to-bow-tie photo yesterday, I should have realized I would get requests for the bow-tie-tuxedo-briefs photo. This snapshot was taken on New Year’s Eve 2018. So, with even more gratitude for TIE O’ THE DAY readers who remembered it, here it is.
For your complete viewing pleasure, take it all in. Do not miss a detail. Around my neck: 6 Ties o’ the Day, 2 Bow Ties o’ the Day. Bow tie beanie. Christmas lights jacket. Matching set of pajamas, for once. Bow tie/tuxedo socks. My clunky “funeral shoes,” which name I need to explain to y’all someday soon. And the star o’ the pic: my bow tie/tux Briefs o’ the Day, which I bought online for 0 cents and $2.99 shipping.
I have a feeling the thong and the briefs will show up again, having new adventures, this holiday season.
I got all gussied up for a Friday on the town. Bow Tie o’ the Day was right there with me, ready to start the weekend the minute Suzanne came home from work. And then, I got a text from Suzanne at work, saying “Blah, blah, blah… leg pain… blah, blah, blah… leg is swollen… blah, blah, blah… doc says I should go to the urgent care NOW… blah, blah, blah… could be a blood clot!” So, off I run to the urgent care clinic in Farmington to find Suzanne. When I get there, she’s waiting for me in the lobby, where she explains the clinic can’t do the correct testing on her leg. We immediately amscrayed to the ER at Lakeview Hospital in Bountiful.
We spent the next couple of hours in an ER exam room, where Suzanne’s left leg was x-rayed and ultrasounded, and a bigly insurance deductible was forked over to the hospital. Panic not, my friends! Suzanne’s mysterious leg passed its x-rays and ultrasound. We have no definitive answers about what’s going on in her left leg, but we are relieved to know it’s not an evil blood clot.
We got home from the hospital last night in time to watch all three hours of Live PD. Suzanne reclined all evening in the love seat, with her legs further lifted atop 2 pillows I retrieved from upstairs. I’m certain Suzanne was plenty comfy, since she kept asking me if I would please go pee for her so she wouldn’t have to move. I would do anything for Suzanne. You already know I don’t say “no” to anything she asks of me. However, pottying for her is one task I cannot put on my honey-do list. But I would, if I could.
I need to rant. I’m having a USANA Ampitheatre hangover. Last night was my first time attending a concert at the West Valley City venue, and Suzanne and I both declare it will be our last visit to the place. I was so disappointed in the venue that I went on strike while there, refusing to click any photographs for TIE O’ THE DAY posts. That’s right, I put my phone in my Saddle Purse for the duration of the concert. But here’s a photo of what I wore, in case you want to know. And I know you do.
First, I want to make clear that the band we went to hear, Mumford & Sons, was in fine form. My list o’ complaints has nothing to do with them. Fabulous musicianship. Intelligent lyrics. Point-on showmanship. Yes, Mumford & Sons delivered. USANA? Not so much.
Of course, the standard concert complaint issues were there too. I’m talking about the things that happen at nearly every concert. For example, concerts never begin on time. I wanna tell ’em, “Hey, Performer, this is your job. You chose the time, and I signed up to be here at the designated time. Hold up your end of the performance time commitment.”
Also, to my fellow concertgoers, I wish to say these things about what happens at almost all concerts: “I did not pay 8 billion bucks for a ticket to Mumford & Sons to listen to you sing the wrong lyrics off-key right outside my eardrum.” And “Hey, you in the seat in front of me– thanks for standing up the whole concert, blocking my view of the stage and one of the bigly screens. Why did you pay for a reserved seat, if you were only going to stand in front of it the entire concert?” And to those of you who dance while tipsy, “Stumble over your own feet and your own purse if you really must. Stay away from me and my Saddle Purse.” In summary, I want to yell it out: “I’m no stern sourpuss, but YOU ARE NOT THE BAND I PAID TO SEE. Go ahead, sing ALONG, but don’t sing OVER the band. Stand if you must, but remember there are old folks like me sitting behind you, and we can’t see through you. Do your dance, but not on my toes.”
My specific complaints about USANA begin with the traffic and parking. Let me be brief: At USANA, there is too much traffic, and not enough parking. We thought of offering a WVC resident cash to let us park in their driveway for the evening. By the time we had snaked our way through what seemed like every neighborhood in WVC, and finally got into a USANA parking lot for $20, we had missed the opening band entirely. (Did I say I had paid 8 billion bucks for our tickets?)
And I’m sorry, but the slope of the floor to which USANA’s seats were attached was close-but-no-cigar. It was impossible to see the stage while sitting in the seats, when even a very short person sat properly in their seat directly in front of me in the row ahead. Suzanne and I watched the bigly monitors most of the performance. We also moved to various empty seats twice before finding a “meh” view of the stage.
And then there was the mosquito factor! I’m itching and scratching as I type. No further comment about that topic is needed.
But the worst, most egregious irritant I found on my first and last outing to USANA was the stage design itself. Of course, it’s an outdoor stage. It’s like a cavernous black box, pushed back and up against the night sky. Bigly sky + cavernous black box has the effect of making performers look like HONEY, I SHRUNK THE KIDS characters. The performers appear to be oh-so tiny. I had the sensation of looking through the “wrong” end of the binoculars while trying to spy coyotes from atop the Delta water tower. (Yes, I have been up there. Back in the day.)
Thanks for listening, tbloglodytes. I’m feeling much better now.
Tie o’ the Day is also Bow Ties o’ the Day. They’re all being a little matchy with my raggedy cowboy Hat o’ the Day. I’ll survive the matchiness just fine cuz it does look snappy.
I dressed for going out today, although I never actually went anywhere. Instead, I did all kinds of house chores in my good duds. My efforts don’t show, however. My choring ended up being mostly tasks which must get done, even though no one else will notice them. My list was full of things like the following: de-squeaking the doors (which took longer than it should have cuz I had to find the WD-40); untangling the cords under my computer table; putting new light bulbs in the high ceiling fixtures; and dusting baseboards. I swear, the work is more interesting when you dress up to do it.
A day like this is not uncommon for me. And when I have one, I begin to feel really guilty about what I did, or didn’t do, all day. This happens to me right around the time Suzanne is on her way home from work. Today, I feel the need to apologize for doing only the “invisible” housework. I will most likely apologize to her when she walks into the house, before she’s even hung up her keys. And then she’ll tell me to quit apologizing for it. I know she doesn’t give a darn what I do with my days, but I still feel like I should apologize for EVERYTHING not getting done EVERY DAY. Apologies and excuses just fall out of my face. I know it annoys her sometimes. Heck, it annoys me too.
I’ve been mulling it over. Why do I apologize for being unable to do the impossible? I know you do it too. How is it that we can know that “x” can’t ever be perfect, but we still feel the desperate need to apologize for not making it perfect, 24/7?
Maybe part of it is because we know we really could do a little better at whatever it is we do. Maybe another reason is we appreciate what someone does for us, but we don’t feel like we are doing nearly as much. We feel inadequate, but instead of thanking that person for what they do, we apologize for the x, y, and z which we didn’t get perfect. We take it out on ourselves. Maybe we need to appreciate our own efforts a bit more. Mostly, I think we need to remind ourselves we’re as imperfectly human as anyone we apologize to.
Hey, I’m gonna try an experiment. For the next 24 hours, if I feel like I need to apologize to someone for something I didn’t get done (or something I did get done but not perfectly), I’m not going to apologize. Instead, I’m going to thank that person for something they do. This experiment will be disastrous or enlightening. I’ll report how it worked out. If you don’t ever hear from me again, you’ll know my behavioral experiment was a dangerous, failed undertaking which Suzanne didn’t appreciate. 😬🙀
Sticker Bow Ties o’ the Day have noticed I’m in the doghouse, as far as Skitter is concerned. When I don my bike helmet and head for the garage to get my bicycle, Skitter withers into one of her beds. The pout on her face is deafening. She knows I’m going outdoors without her, and she wants me to feel super guilty about leaving her home.
And I do feel guilty about it. She would enjoy a bike ride, I’m sure. But her legs wouldn’t be able to keep up with me if she tried to run at my side. She can’t yet ride a bike herself, and she hates to ride on the handlebars of mine. She’s too tall to fit in a bike basket. I thought of attaching a toddler trailer to my bike, but it would freak out The Skit to not be able to see my reassuring face every other second.
I mean– I know the solution. But I haven’t yet been able to actually locate or create the solution. What’s the solution? Skitter needs a sidecar attached to my bicycle. Heck, I could add a second sidecar to the other side of my bike for Mom. Oh, they’d both be in heaven. I wonder if Suzanne knows how to crochet bicycle sidecars.
Tie o’ the Day is only one delightful part of my carefully chosen ensemble. I had to hie to a speshul Homeowners Association (HOA) meeting at the Centerville Branch of the Davis County Library system a few evenings ago. Suzanne was attending her book club, so I was on my own. People, if you have never been to a HOA meeting, consider yourself lucky.
No matter how important any topic on the agenda of these meetings might be, the meetings are kinda dull. I have not yet fallen asleep in one, but as I get older, it gets harder to keep the old eyeballs and earballs on the task at hand. I mean– there are pages of numbered articles, rules, laws, bylaws, and notes to suffer through. Snore. So I came up with this clashy attire, hoping to keep me and my fellow meeting-goers awake with the warring of my fabric patterns and colors. You’ll just have to use your imagination about how the cut-offs and cowboy boots added to the look. I didn’t think to take a photo of them. And don’t think I didn’t have The Saddle Purse on my shoulder.
I could have skipped the HOA meeting altogether, but I don’t want to take the chance the other owners might vote for something stoopid. In fact, there is one old bat owner (the truth hurts, but it’s still true) who seems to read the HOA bylaws as religiously as some people do their daily scripture study– and she wants everyone to know it. Her interpretations of the rules often do not have anything to do with the real legalities involved. In fact, the simpler the rule, the more she seems to have to fuss about it.
As a responsible member of my community, I consider it part of my duty in life to cancel out this woman’s wacky HOA vote, whenever necessary. And I want to be in the meeting to see it canceled. I take no glee in her defeats, but canceling out her HOA vote ensures the rest of us reasonable community regulations.
At this particular meeting, she piped up about the inadequate length of the towel hooks hanging on the swimming pool restroom doors. She spent a bigly chunk of time on that “issue.” I had to suppress my urge to hand her $10 so she could go across the street to Home Depot and buy a screwdriver and whatever size towel hooks she wants on the pool restroom doors. I wanted to tell her I’ll even switch out the hooks myself if she just won’t make us spend one more boring moment of our collective time listening to her talk about this “calamity.”
But I sat there, quiet and polite. I always do. I listen to her with an open mind every time, hoping for an important and/or useful idea to come out of her mouth. There’s nothing “wrong” with the woman. I think the woman wants to contribute. I think she wants to be knowledgeable. Most importantly, I think she wants to stretch out the length of the meetings because she is just plain lonely. That the woman is lonely is an assumption Suzanne and I share, after spending many HOA meetings with her.
Folks, there’s always more going on with people than meets the eye, and you might not always be able to learn exactly what it is. Simply be patient, always. Simply be kind, always. And remember: You’re not dead yet, and you just might find you’ve become a lonely old bat in your own belfry one day, in need of the exact right towel hook and a friend who knows how to really listen and not be rude. Just sayin’.
Bow Tie o’ the Pioneer Day, combined with Shirt o’ the Day, shares some Utah state flag colors with us, minus the gold. I wish to share a few Pioneer Day tidbits o’ trivia.
Did ya know that Pioneer Day is officially a celebration of more than just the LDS pioneers finding their way to the Salt Lake Valley? It’s dedicated to everyone of any faith and any nationality who emigrated to the Salt Lake Valley during the pioneer era, which ended with the completion of the transcontinental railroad in 1869.
In 1886, the Pioneer Day celebration was more of a mourning than a celebration. The Salt Lake Tabernacle was decorated in black bunting. Latter-day Saints who were in hiding or imprisoned for polygamy offenses were eulogized.
You can now attend Pie and Beer (sounds like “pioneer”) Day parties, held by those who find the official July 24th festivities a bit too confining.
Traffic-wise, according to the Utah Department of Public Safety, Pioneer Day has the state’s second highest holiday traffic fatality rate. (July 4th has the highest.)
My own personal Pioneer Day trivia is that I once ate a chocolate-covered, “Mormon-Cricket”-on-a-stick which I bought for $2 at a food booth at Sugarhouse Park. I ate the crunchy critter while we watched the 24th fireworks there one year in the 80’s. The sticked bug tasted okay, but I didn’t need to consume seconds.
FYI The Mormon Cricket did not taste like chicken.
Bow Tie o’ the Day and I spent our afternoon practicing the art of walking while balancing a stack of 16 ball caps on my head. We decided such a sight might helpfully distract people from looking at my sorry hairs. Sadly, I don’t own enough hats to sufficiently cover each of the out-of-order hairs on my noggin. Nobody owns enough hats to handle such a massive task.
On June 1st, my hairs horror assault on the eyes will end, as soon as Miss Tiffany and her scissors are available. But I intend to always retain the skill of masterfully balancing 16 ball caps on my head while I proudly skip with Skitter around our neighborhood. No hairscuttin’ of any type can take my newly-acquired balance talent away from me. Just sayin’.
Be ye not afraid. Askew wood Bow Tie o’ the Day is here to assure you that Hairs Thursday #14 will post this afternoon.
In these photos, you see me and Bow Tie and my TMS technician, Tenzin. Tenzin has made the treatments almost a pleasure to go through. She gets my humor and my fashion. And she is a hoot, herself. I will actually miss her.
One day at treatment, I noticed that if you turn my electromagnetic TMS coil on its side, it resembles Mickey Mouse ears– even more so when placed atop my TMS beanie. Tenzin humored me when I asked if she’d take the apparatus apart, so I could get a TIE O’ THE DAY selfie with the “ears.” She was ecstatic to do so. I handed her a prop bow tie I always carry with me in The Saddle Purse, in case I need it. She loved the whole set-up and was proud I thought enough of her to let her pose with her own borrowed Bow Tie o’ the Day.
Y’all know how I find significance and humor in coincidences. Of course, it’s happened again. I should have known the TMS equipment would have a component which resembles Mickey Mouse ears. My TMS doctor’s name? Dr. Mickey. How did I not notice this connection earlier? Coincidence? I think not.
34 TMS treatments down, 2 to go. Both are next week.
