Category: Ties

Posted on

And Now I Regret It

Things started out so well this morning. I had a Zoom doctor appointment, for which I chose to wear my Bow Tie o’ the Day of red and white polka dots. Skitter chose to wear her oranges Tie o’ the Day. After my appointment, I then cooked myself a nice breakfast of a few teensy pork chops. While they were cooking away, I wrote a little poem I immediately shredded because it was mean-spirited, and I don’t really do mean-spirited. I needed to write it and get it out of my system, but nobody needs to read it and get all offended by what amounted to a passing mood I simply needed to work through in my own mind.

I ate my well-seared chops, but had one left over. I’m sure you know who had been staring politely at my fork throughout every bite of breakfast I had put in my mouth. Now, we make it a point to never feed Skitter people food. Except for all the times when we do. She was eyeing that left over pork chop like it was a pot o’ doggie gold, which I guess—to her—it was. Her nose sniffed the air more dramatically than Elizabeth Montgomery’s in BEWITCHED. C’mon, folks! How could I not put a tiny pork chop in her bowl? I had to do it—after I cut off all the fat, of course. So Skitter ate her chop in no time. Just as quickly, she curled up in her bed for her mid-morning nap.

Fast forward about three hours. Skitter’s bed sat right beside me as I got some reading done. And then it happened. It happened once, then twice. Skitter let pork chop doggie farts. Silent, but deadly. I finally put on my first Mask o’ the Day to save myself from the stench. It wasn’t enough. I put a second Mask o’ the Day over the first one. Two masks at a time seemed to do an adequate job of keeping me from passing out, as Skitter’s gas kept wafting through the room in invisible waves o’ danger. She’s never been a particularly gassy dog, but it’s clear she is getting older, and so are her pipes. No more pork chops for The Skit, no matter how much she enjoys them. Even as I type this, she is sound asleep in her mid-afternoon nap—probably dreaming of bacon—and farting with gusto all the while. 🐶😷

Posted on

The Department Of Helenland Security

Apparently, my Facebook account was hacked last night or early today, as many FB friends already know. It seems some of my FB friends were sent a video from me, which really wasn’t from me at all. If you received the video link, DON’T OPEN IT! Nobody knows what it is, but it ain’t from me. Let’s be cyber safe, boys and girls! And that means not opening files of any sort when we aren’t sure where they came from or what they are. Trust me—if I ever send y’all a link to something, I will be clear about what it is. I will make sure it’s safe before I send it. Sorry for any inconvenience that the link I didn’t really send might have caused you. (www.tie-o-the-day.com was not harmed.)

Having said all of that, it won’t surprise you to know that keyboard Tie o’ the Day and I have spent most of the day investigating how this relatively minor mix-up happened. I don’t have any sensical answers yet, and I hate not having answers. I spent a couple of hours changing passwords and running overall security checks on the three computers I use. Everything checks out as A-OK. But seriously, what demented soul would want to hack a Facebook blog about ties? Could there possibly be another tie-obsessed, eccentric writer out there who is jealous enough of my neckwear posts that they feel the need to steal them? As far as I can tell, writing about ties is not a competitive sport. But I suppose I could be wrong. 💻🖥⌨️👔

Posted on

Cuz 3 New Ties O’ The Day Are Better Than 1

My long-awaited surgery was supposed to be this morning, but—as I’ve explained over the last two days—there is currently no room at the Huntsman Inn for me and my Cranky Hanky Panky. I’m now scheduled to be cut open October 14. I hope they’ll have a hospital room for me by then. This drawn-out process has gotten to me, bigly. I told Suzanne to hide the X-Acto knife, because I’m about tempted to resort to self-help. I might just have to dig out that pancreatic stone on my own. I hate to whine, but the stoopid stone is painful.

So, what did I do with my no-surgery day? I went shopping for neckwear, of course, and I discovered something I had heretofore not known. I told you in a post a few weeks ago about how I found Halloween candy on the grocery store shelves at 12:01 AM on July 5th. Well, today I discovered that Christmas neckties are already in some stores in September. What a fantabulous thing to find out! For me, at least. Yes, I found 3 Christmas neckties to add to my enormous holiday collection. I’m guesstimating these 3 ties are getting me close to a total of 300 Christmas ties. I am not even going to try to wear all of them this upcoming season, so if you don’t see your favorites during the build-up to Christmas 2021, you’ll just have to stay tuned to TIE O’ THE DAY next year, and the next, and so on. I promise it will be worth your while.

BTW In this photo, I am dressed almost entirely in blue-and-white stripes: see my shorts, my shirt, and my hat. (I think I’m missing Dad and his striped overalls.) I chose super-long, neon green-striped socks and some animal print Sloggers for variation. You’ll also notice that it’s clear I didn’t learn to “strike a pose” in a traditional modeling school.

Posted on

I’m Bigly Ticked Off

This is my angry face, which I rarely wear. As I dressed for this selfie, I picked out the aggressive-est, angriest-looking Face Mask o’ the Day I could find, because I wanted you to know I’m steaming. I also wore a mask because didn’t want to take a chance you’d see me mouthing any vulgarities while I’m in this mood. I chose to wear my deviled egg Tie o’ the Day because I wanted to put the words “devil,” “pitchfork,” and “Hell” into your mind so you wouldn’t miss my point: I’m angry. Anger is not a mode I’ve ever chosen to spend much time in, so it’s decidedly foreign to me. In fact, I don’t like visiting it one bit. Anger is my least favorite country, although I’m comfortable in righteous anger when it is called for.

Anyhoo… I got a call from my surgeon this morning, telling me my surgery has to be postponed for 4-6 weeks. It seems there are no empty hospital beds available at Huntsman Cancer Hospital right now, because of the added COVID-19 patients who currently occupy them. I say this in hashtag lingo with all respect and humility, folks, on behalf of everyone who has had to postpone their necessary medical procedures this past year: #getvaxxedandwearyourmaskspeoplesoyouandothersdonthavetosufferneedlessly #ifeverypersonhaddonetheirpartatthebeginningofthepandemicthiscouldhavebeenovermonthsago

To put it less nicely—and more in line with the depth of my truly angry feelings about having to postpone my much-needed, long-awaited surgery, let me just say this about how I feel: @#%&#%!*+ !#E@$*^*!!# @$@$##$*$% ^&*^@$^ *^@ ^*&^$ @#*#%@# @$$*%^!#. (I apologize if I hurt your ears with that rant.)

Ah! I feel much less angry after getting that off my chest. Now, I’m merely discouraged as 💩. 😷💉

Posted on

Dressing For Delta

It’s time for a trip to Delta to visit Mom. I’m not sure exactly when I’m going to make the drive, but it will be soon. I like to plan my travel attire ahead of time, and today I came up with this outfit that seems appropriate to the current Delta weather. Fortunately, I have an umbrella-covered Face Mask o’ the Day and a raindrop and umbrella-covered Tie o’ the Day. My cow Sloggers boots should come in handy for wading through puddles and newly formed lakes, and my bigly floppy hat will keep the rain off my bald head. Yes, I think this will suit me well on my next trip to my hometown.

Posted on

I Admit It, I Forgot It

I’m not sure, but I think I had what could very well be my first “senior moment.” For the first time ever, I went to the grocery store, filled my cart, and then realized I had left my wallet at home. I had not yet tried to check out, so I was saved the indignity of screwing up with a line of busy customers behind me. I just tucked my full shopping cart to the side, up by customer service—where I caught the eye of a store clerk who I’m vaguely familiar with. I said, “I’ve left my wallet home. I’ll be right back. Can you keep an eye on my cart for a couple of minutes?” I dashed home and back, and my full cart was safe and sound when I returned.

This memory lapse will cost me. I already know that my fate is sealed on this point: for the rest of my Centerville life, whenever I pass this particular store clerk when I’m shopping at Dick’s Market, she will ask me if I remembered to bring my wallet this time. I’ll give my reply, and we’ll chuckle. Same joke, over and over again, probably weekly, probably for years. The joke will get old, but it’s just how it is with mere acquaintances in these contexts: you only “know” each other because of one odd occurrence, so you mention it in some way every time you meet up. It’s your one connection—the one thing that makes you not strangers.

As the future plays out, I’m sure I will occasionally decide I need to do my grocery shopping elsewhere because I simply won’t be able to stand the wallet question even one more time. But Dick’s Market is just around the block, so it’s too convenient for me to not patronize. Thus, I am doomed to my forgotten-wallet-reference-first-senior-moment fate until said store clerk retires or dies. Oh, well. My first senior moment could have been so much worse than a forgotten wallet, but let’s not think too hard about what those worse senior moment possibilities could be. 🤡

Posted on

Show-And-Tell

I told you I’d show you Suzanne’s new rug as soon as it got delivered. Well, today is Tuesday, and it was delivered on Saturday morning. It remains in its delivery state. I don’t know why. Before it showed up, I swept and mopped the floor where it’s going to be spread out to live with us. And yet, it remains under wrap. Now, I could do the simple thing and ask Suzanne when she plans to unfurl it. I could ask her why it still looks like a giant’s cigar is on our living room floor. But I won’t. It’s more fun for me to speculate about it. I can make bets with myself about how long it will take her to decide it’s time roll it out. Will today be the day? On the other hand, it wouldn’t surprise me if Suzanne is waiting to see how long it will take me before I can’t stand it anymore and I finally ask her if we can situate the new rug. One of us will speak up first, but it’s not going to be me.

But for now, Skitter is doing her impression of a mighty mountain goat and wearing her blueberry/strawberry/blackberry Tie o’ the Day. Please note Skitter’s tail between her legs as she climbs the frightening heights o’ the rug.

Posted on

In Trouble

I’m wearing my in-the-doghouse Tie o’ the Day, which faithful readers of TIE O’ THE DAY will know means I’m in trouble with Suzanne. I should probably wear this tie a lot more often than I do, but I save it for when I’m so far in the doghouse that I’m digging said doghouse a new basement.

It happened like this: Yesterday morning, I came downstairs where Suzanne was sitting at the kitchen table. I proudly and forcefully announced to her, “I’m preparing to die!” I knew the minute the words fell out of my mouth that I had made a bigly miscalculation. Suzanne, the family’s official worrier, was in no mood for me to be ironic and otherwise jokey about my demise.

All I meant by my announcement was that I have a month to get my house in order before surgery—in case. I’m not worried about the “in case,” but I do think it’s always wise to keep the “in case” of a situation in consideration. It would be irresponsible not to.

I’ve “prepared to die” plenty of times before in my life, and Suzanne has always laughed along with me when I mentioned it. When you’re going to move into a different abode, for example, an efficient way to prepare for the move is to think like you’re getting ready to die. You prioritize. You assess all the crap you have, then you get rid of what you know you don’t need anymore. You throw junk away. You donate stuff. You decide to give certain things to people you know might love them like you used to. You get your important papers organized and filed in such a way that someone else can find them if they need to. You make sure the bills are paid early. You thoroughly clean the house. That’s all I meant about preparing to die.

Heck, I even used this prepare-to-die thinking before my prior surgery, and I don’t recall Suzanne having a problem with my terminology or behavior back then. For whatever reason, she’s a bit more touchy about my operation this time around. So I’m in the doghouse. I can respect that. I can also make sure I don’t make any further dramatic, facetious death announcements or let her see me getting rid of clutter that once mattered to me, but no longer does. I will have to prepare to die in secret this time. In case.

Posted on

The 3rd Time’s Annoying

Skitter is sleeping in, while being fashionable in her kiwi Tie o’ the Day. I am off to the University of Utah Hospital this morning to get my 3rd ERCP in the last couple of months. A scope and a minuscule claw gadget will be sent down my throat in a few hours, yet again—one last try to extricate my pancreatic boulder. If this works, my September surgery can be canceled. Honestly, though, I don’t know why the ERCP would work this time, when it didn’t work the first two times. Nevertheless, I will have hope. Hope is a good thing.