MMM 317: Buying the farm

For the second time, no less.

Pretty hair.

MMM 316: Contingencies

Something was missing document-wise for my buyer’s buyers on Friday, so that closing is now happening today, supposedly.  We shall see.

Aaaaaalmost too racy for WP.

MMM 315: end DST

Because it was just starting to be light in the mornings when I got up, and now that’s shot to hell for a month at least.

What’s she looking at?

MMM 310: Shovelling in the dark

That’s what you do when you get 6″ of snow but have solo custody of a very small child the next day and you know you have to be able to drive to the store at some point.  Did that for just over an hour tonight (I’m writing Sunday night because I have to get up with the toddler in the morning for day 3).  Tired.  Time to put the pics in the post and then kill zombies for a while.

Her booty is well labelled.

Week 308: Stress

I got stress. Stress makes me overeat or make bad choices, or at least degrades my willpower to the point that I don’t have as an easy time keeping to the plan. Last week was also an experiment in shifting my eating window based on some “circadian rhythm” research that strongly suggests hormonal benefit to earlier eating rather than later eating, assuming one is eating in a time-restricted window. I did it for 7 days, and skipping dinner is much, much harder than skipping breakfast and lunch. I also closed on my construction loan last week (stressor) and had a pre-appeals-board meeting with County Health and Safety. Today I get to call the Department of Environmental Quality to schedule a site visit and talk about my driveway and the pond I’d like to dig. And I’m up 4# from last Monday, which, well, see the earlier part of this paragraph.

I have this same crucifix necklace, but I wear it on a steel chain.

MMM 305: New Year, Old You

Let’s face it, you’re not going to change.  You’ll wimp out, make excuses, and stop trying to improve yourself sometime around Thursday of this week, assuming you were “resolved” (HA!) to do anything of the sort.  That’s just the kind of person you are.  And that’s okay, right?  I mean it kind of has to be, since it’s essentially set in stone.

Did that make you mad?  Make you want to object, say something angry to me and possibly about my mother?   Good.  That’s anger, the good kind.  You gotta be so disgusted with the way things are that you’ll utterly refuse to accept it, and anger is an essential part of that.  Use that.  Be enraged at the schlub you don’t want to be, and kick that bad crap out of your life and yourself.

Do girls still get bellybutton jewelry, or is that finally going out of style?

Happy New Year to Meme

Post your resolutions here in meme or picture form.

 

Or don’t I’m not the boss of you.

 

Never eat lunch alone.

 

Get straight A’s

 

Be cheerful and helpful.

 

Attack don’t react to problems.

 

Learn a new trade.

 

Cultivate Healthy Relationships.

 

How bout you?

2017 BBF Championships – Contestant #3

Contestant #3 – Nigella Lawson

Pupster’s note:  We have four semi-finalists for 2017, I will repeat poat for 4 weeks and then we’ll have a final poll to determine Miss Big Boob Friday 2017.  

From May 5th, 2017:

HHD – Gearing up for the Games

Roamy must be busy, so I’ll throw together an HHD poat for her.

Watching OnDemand shows for NBC (The Brave, WOO HOO!) has exposed me to some cool Winter Olympics ads. Of course I can’t find a link to it, since NBC probably has it locked down (why on earth would you want to release an ad to the public? why, someone might SEE IT!) but take my word for it, coolness.

My Mom

Since you sonsabitches are always making “your mom” comments, I thought it would be nice to make a poat about our moms. Feel free to update this poat with photos and stories of your own. Or if you’re too retarded to figure out how to add content, send it to me and I’ll do it for you.

My mom was born November 7, 1921 in Detroit. In those days women did not generally go to the hospital to give birth, so my mom was born at home on Drexel Ave.

My mom attended Catholic school through eighth grade, then she enrolled in a high school that taught, among other things, how to become a seamstress. After graduating as a seamstress, she went to work in a very upscale women’s clothing store which no longer exists – Himelhoch’s – pronounced himmelhose. She worked in alterations where she remained until WWII.

While my dad was over in Italy patching B-24s that returned from missions (if they were lucky) all shot to hell, my mom went to work as a clerk at Fort Wayne Ordinance Depot in Detroit.