Hey! Look what I got! My new Day of the Dead skulls face mask goes well with the Day of the Dead cape Suzanne made for me two years ago. I actually do have a bow tie made out of the same fabric as the mask, and I really did put it on before I cinched up the turquoise Bow Tie o’ the Day I ended up wearing in the selfie. But I had to immediately take it off and toss it for another day, due to the cutesy matching that was happening between the perfectly matching mask and bow tie. When it comes to matching, as you have probably surmised, I can usually match according to theme—but rarely can I breath while wearing two separate things made of the very same fabric. Even wearing matching socks is a hives-inducing stretch. It is just how I be.
Helen’s bigly Holiday Tie Tally: 209 Neckties. 93 Bow Ties. (In a few upcoming photos you will see me and Skitter in more holiday ties. They were snapped over the holidays, but I have already included the neckwear in this final tally.)
Helen’s Holiday Face Mask Tally: 9. (I didn’t make much of an investment in Christmas face masks, cuz I hope we won’t be needing them next X-mas season.)
Skitter’s Holiday Tie Tally: 25 Neckties. 1 Bow Tie.
Here’s the rest of what I utilized to bring y’all TIE O’ THE DAY’s jolly neckwear o’ 2020: 2 leg lamps. 3 Charlie Brown Christmas trees. 1 Old Man bobblehead. 1 Ralphie bobblehead. 5 festive jackets. 4 X-mas-themed, button-down shirts. 1 lighted antler headband. 1 Santa hat. 1 Bah Humbug hat. 1 Santa baseball cap. 1 lighted turkey hat. 1 pair of Grinch pajama bottoms. 3 pairs of obnoxious X-mas leggings. 1 ugly sweater. 3 “ugly sweater”-style, long-sleeved t-shirts. 1 gingerbread person t-shirt. 1 redneck elf t-shirt. 1, 3-D turkey necktie. 1 bow tie body thong. 1 red-nosed reindeer body thong. 1 blow-up Santa beard. AND most importantly, 2 milkweed pod, Nativity scene Christmas tree ornaments made by my grandma, Momo, at least 50 years ago.
I will always honor the bright strain of redneck that runs deep in my soul. I nurture that part of me. Have I put a tattered couch out on my front porch? Yes, more than once. Have I had an old mattress on my front porch? Yup, also more than once. The neighborhood dogs, cats, goats, and roosters love to jump and nap on my beat-up furniture. The way I see it, animals have a right to have “patio” furniture too—at least until you decide it’s time to load the old furniture bones off the porch and into the rusty truck bed, to drive it to the dump for a fond farewell. That makes perfect sense to me. Trust me—between all the folks and animals hanging around my place, I have always gotten more than my money’s worth out of the furniture I’ve owned. That’s part of the redneck home furnishing ethic.
Someone I met at a fancy party in Baltimore in the early-90’s once said to me, condescendingly, “For being a redneck from nowhere, you seem amazingly well educated.” I wanted to say in return, “For being an Ivy League-educated snooty boy, you sure seem like more of a stereotypical redneck than most rednecks I know.” But I didn’t say that to him. You see, I was raised to be a polite redneck who loves her neighbor instead of judging them by what they put on their porch, or by the population of their hometown. “Gee, thanks,” is all I said to the patronizing gentleman before I moved on to more interesting partygoers with open minds.
Sometimes now, I wish I could remember that guy’s name so I could contact him. I want to inform him—politely—that not only did I come from that “redneck nowhere” called Delta, UT, but Chrissy Teigen was born there too. He most certainly wouldn’t remember me by now, but he’d be impressed with the rednecks o’ Delta, if he knew Chrissy Teigen was born one there. I know I’m more impressed.
Y’all know I have a one-track mind, which pretty much begins and ends with Ties/Bow Ties o’ Every Day. Some days my one-track mind is one-trackier than usual, and today is one of those days. I’m likely suffering a hangover from the final 2020 presidential debate which was last night—even though I could tolerate watching it for only a grand total of 15 minutes. Golly, I’m glad the debate farce is over for another 4 more years. Folks, whatever monstrosities exist in the world, I’m grateful to know I can always count on my mighty neckwear to revive my troubled soul. Every person needs something ever-unfailing in their life. Everyone needs a go-to passion. I hope you’ve found your thing, like I’ve found mine.
FYI My apologies to some of you tblog email subscribers who haven’t been getting pix with the text the last couple of posts. (I hope it came through on this post.) I’m working on the technical problem, which means it might or might not be fixed at some point. Photos are showing up as they should on the website itself and on the posts relayed to Facebook, so you can find them there. I hate when technology that has always worked for me suddenly stops working, for no discernible reason. Makes me wanna put on another bow tie.
When we received our ballots in the mail, it was cause for celebration. We love to exercise our citizenship muscle by voting. Suzanne and I donned our patriotic Bow Ties o’ the Day. (Skitter wore her starry, starry Tie o’ the Day.) We placed our party hats atop our heads, and Suzanne went online to find the voter information to help us figure out whether the judges were worth keeping, as well as what all those Utah amendments were about. At one point, Suzanne’s face got a bit overwhelmed with trying to decipher the voter information.
I had promised Suzanne that our ballot-filling-out would be accompanied by only red, white, and blue food. I didn’t want to go grocery shopping yesterday, so I made do with what we had in the house already: RED cherry Twizzler pull ‘n’ peel licorice; BLUEberry muffins; and pork chops—”the other WHITE meat.”
Hey, boys and girls! I’m feeling a bit out of bipolar sorts this morning, so my racing brain is struggling to write any kind of sensical post for pink Bow Tie o’ the Day. However, I want to re-re-re-remind you gals to do your breasticle self-exams and/or get your mammograms. If you won’t do it for yourself, do it for all the people who adore you. Guys, encourage the women in your life to do their self-exams, and to schedule regular mammograms.
I’m Helen E. Wright, and I approved this pestering ad.
I wasn’t looking for a new shirt. I have plenty. I was buying Skitter’s dog food online, and I happened to see this shirt. I was speechless and felt lucky to have come upon it. I did not check my piggy bank. I did not check the balance on my debit card. I just ordered the shirt, as soon as I calmed down enough to do it. I had to have this shirt. It is, however, a bit roomy for me. To be precise, it is two pillows too big for me. I don’t care. It has to belong to me.
I know. You think I should exchange it for a smaller size. Nope. Not possible. Large is the only size which was still available, so I gladly took it. And even if there were other sizes, no matter which size I ordered, chances are that it would be wrong. I hate buying clothes online. You never know how the size is going to correspond to the size printed on the tag. I am tired of hearing that sizes are universal. To that, I say, “Fake news!” I have a whole closet of shirts that proves sizes are in no way uniform. According to the tags in the shirts hanging in my closet, I wear the size S, M, L, and XL. And they all fit me the very same. I know the laws of physics well enough to know that my one body is not 4 different sizes at once. Universal sizing does not exist.
Anyhoo… I’m keeping this bigly shirt, thank you very much. Scream Tie o’ the Day agrees I should. I probably won’t wear the shirt with the pillows added, however. Maybe I’ll wear it as a bathrobe.
For Pandemic Hairs Thursday, I chose a Bolo Tie o’ the Day—by way of my t-shirt. Go ahead and feel blessed that your hairs surely look better than my pandemic locks.
Something very wrong is happening here. It’s Spring, and it’s cold outside, which makes a long-sleeved shirt and a flannel Tie o’ the Day must-wear items. We are three weeks into May, and even in Utah, I should not have to get dressed as if it’s February. I take personal offense at the way the weather toys with me annually at this time o’ the year. Alas and forsooth! I shall wrap my flannel tie around me for warmth and try to forget how picked on by the cosmos I truly am. 🌬 ❄️ 😁
BTW This is a prime photo of my Spock ear, which has always been my sexiest feature.
Skitter gussied up in her checkered Bow Tie Collar o’ the Day in order to help her get on the vet’s good side. By the time I had cleared the snow off my car so I could take her to her appointment, I was ready for a day at the beach. All I had, however, was palm trees on a beach-themed shirt AND sneakers Bow Tie o’ the Day. My attire helped cheer me a little bit, but not much. I keep yammering to myself that summer is out there on the ever-closer horizon, but I won’t really believe in my own yammering about summer for two or three more months. Even our winter vacay isn’t going to put me and Suzanne in a warm climate like it usually does. Nope, we’re flying to Nashville in a couple of weeks, and I don’t recall ever hearing about “the warm beach sands o’ Nashville.”
Despite Skitter’s normal paranoid shaking at the vet’s, she is in fine shape. It was simply time for her to get her rabies booster shot. We have to keep Skitter healthy and legal for her visits to Mom—and all her other people—at Millard Care and Rehab. I’ll have to check with Mom to see if she’s had her rabies booster shot. If Mom’s up-to-date with her shots, Skitter and I will be taking a drive to visit Helen A. at MCR, in the D-E-L-T-A, ASAP.
FYI Here, in one of the selfies taken in the vet’s lobby earlier today, Skitter kisses my nose in an effort to convince me she really, really, really doesn’t really, really, really need her shots. I was not convinced.
