I bought some new nail polish. It looks like this color.
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I put the polish on my toenails and then put on a pair of leather sandals that are in this color.
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The color combo reminded me of Claire Standish, played by Molly Ringwald, in The Breakfast Club.
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When this movie came out, like every other girl of a certain age, I wanted to dress like Claire. Truth be known, I still kinda want to dress like Claire.
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Do you realize that it was 1985 when this movie was released? This means that I’ve grooved on this stylish look and quoted what I believe to be two of the best movie lines ever… for 29 years. Oh my!
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[Image Sources: 1) me; 2) Pantone here; 3) Pantone here; 4) Elle magazine, courtesy of Universal Pictures, here; 5) Not So Witty Witterings here; 6) me.]
Talk about being disoriented. As if getting up pre-dawncrack isn’t difficult enough, I now have worm of the ear going on… and it’s the wrong worm.
Botheration.
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Here’s the deal. Zen-Den sets our clock radio to wake us at 5:30 a.m. each morning. But last night he changed the wake-up time to 5:15 a.m. because he needed to get going earlier than usual.
He did not tell me about the change.
So this morning the alarm, which is set to a local radio station, went off earlier than normal. When the alarm/radio goes off at its usual time I’m already a little bit awake so it’s not too much of a shock to me. But this morning the alarm/radio startled me out of my deep sleep.
Obviously.
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And in my sleepy mind it seemed like the radio was LOUDER than usual as it played an oldie: “Angel of the Morning.” Not a bad tune, but slowly as I began to wake up I realized that it wasn’t the right woman singing the song.
Who are you? And what are you doing in my morning?
So I laid there in bed trying to figure out what the heck was going on. I could confirm with a glance at the clock radio that it was the wrong wake-up time, but the singer/angel situation flummoxed me.
Wrong. Wrong. Wrong.
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So now, later in the morning after a few mugs of coffee, I have been able to make sense of what happened. Come to find out there are many versions of “Angel of the Morning.”
The first one, the right one, the best one, the one that my mind would have accepted without confusion, sung by Juice Newton, is:
The second one that I was familiar with but didn’t grow up listening to, sung by Chrissie Hynde and the Pretenders, is:
But the wrongest one, the one that was forced on me this morning and is still lurking in its worm-ear-y way within my brain, the one that apparently is the original version, sung by Merrilee Rush and the Turnabouts, is:
Friends, I’ve called you here today to confirm something that you probably already know about me. I freely admit that it is true: Fear Of Missing Out, aka FOMO, is not a problem for me.
I’ve been outside of so many things in my life that not knowing what’s going on in my social media circles does not bother me. I try to keep up, but there are days when I *gasp* don’t go online at all. [Usually Monday, often Saturday.]
I miss out.
On the other hand, I do suffer from something that I have yet to see acronym-ed so I will take this opportunity to create one to explain my social media problem.
My worry is: Fear Of Appearing Rude, henceforth & hereinafter known as FOAR. That is what concerns me.
Because I consider communication to be a two-way street, I take my side of the street seriously. Maybe too seriously, but that’s how I roll. And as such I fear that someone will take my slow response to an email or a blog comment or a tweet as an insult.
Especially if that someone is a person who does suffer from FOMO.
So what do you think, my blogging kith & kin? Am I worried about nothing? Or is FOAR another genuine made-up social media psychosis?
I’VE NEVER been one to talk about medical issues on my blog, and I’m not about to change that policy now. But today, by bending my own personal blogging rules just a bit, I’m going to share with you, my gentle readers, that I am overweight. Not much, actually. But enough for me to decide that it is time for me to change some of my evil less-than-healthy ways.
TO WIT, and finally getting to the point of this post, I bought a fitbit. I chose the Zip one, which is a small pedometer that you attach to yourself each day. Then it does all the work for you by keeping track of your steps. All you have to do is walk. A lot. And have a desktop computer or a smart phone that you use to see all of your stats.
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IF I were a cynical woman, at this point in my post I’d tell you that this little gadget has confirmed that I do move. Most days. More than I can believe. Yet I am plump. Which I kind of like, but that’s the sort of statement that could get my Woman Card revoked, so I won’t focus on the body image topic today. Nor will I be cynical, because I am a paragon of good health and positive thinking.
I’M ENJOYING my Zip. It’s a groovy fuchsia color, and has this cute little [mostly] smiley face on it. Sometimes the smiley face sticks its tongue out at me when I’ve been sedentary for too long. I like that. Technology with a bit of motivational attitude is exactly the sort of thing to get me stepping more. And maybe, just maybe, weighing a few pounds less.
I’ll let you know.
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[A message to the FTC: I didn’t receive any compensation of any kind for my opinion here about this device. I know that you worry about such things, so you can rest assured that, as usual, there is nothing here for you to see.]
THE SPECTACLED BEAN 