Bumbling p(h)ool...

Posted on  February 12, 2020  by  scottiejeanette Best laid plans of mice & women… I had hoped to follow-up last week’s string of near and total  whiffs  (okay, I still have a few sports dialect filters running) with a stand-up double (to keep the baseball jargon, a’flowin’) or at least a solid line drive up the middle… I wasn’t swingin’ for the fences (or so I thought) heck, let’s be real, I would’ve been happy for a full-count walk…  Sigh.  Lauren Chamberlain batting in the first game of the 2018 NPF championship. Star of the USSSA Pride I don’t wanna lose faith in the  boys  of summer (or winter spring or fall) but I am beginning to wonder what went wrong… with guys in general, I mean. Or in this case the men of Bumble, Tinder and Plenty of Fish. They are, so far, turning out to be as cliche’d bad as everyone warns me they are. Even my dear friend Chris (a veteran  dude , if ever there was one) just shakes his head, not at their b*llsh*t, but at my naïveté.  But i

Recklass Abandon(ed)

Photo by Mimi Fuenzalida -- Okay… don’t pay the ransom, I escaped. I know, I know, I KNOW… my last post here was September of 2017. I would love to say that I was abducted by aliens, sold to the highest bidder, or even entered rehab to cure my addiction to triplets and hyperbole… But it’s worse than all that. I am still under the shroud of grief. I’m trying really hard to make light of the rock of mourning that has lodged itself between my heart and my throat and seems for all intents and purposes to make this it’s permanent home. My Beloved, Cherished, Treasured Marcy – Mylove left this world over a year ago, and I have just now found the courage to even type those words    — tho’ I’m typing through the tears that are my new normal. September 2017… ah yes… a time from ancient history it seems.    I just reread that post and I wish I could tell you I remembered writing it. The truth is, I can’t even remember what I had for breakfast — My daily experience c

"It's weird cuz it's not weird... am I right, ladies?"

One of the surprising side effects of estrogen is the melting of a chain that I tried to keep ignoring for my whole adult life. This chain was short by design and the links felt lighter than the other restraints I had used to chain my heart into its dungeon keep. They were lighter, so I would almost forget I was wearing it… but it was made of some seriously strong stuff. I tried to convince myself that I had several tools that helped make up for the lack of mobility because of this chain, that I had ways to get the work done despite this chain. I used to talk about this chain metaphorically, because that made it easier to dismiss that I was the blacksmith that forged it, that I probably had the strength to break it, and that I did know where it leads, what it was restraining, and that I even knew why it had been forged in the first place, and therefore… that I was the only one who could break it. This chain? Let’s call it Miss-direction.  And it restrains the raptor of self-