WTF WordPress?

InterrobangWhat is it with all these WordPress changes?  This morning I went on to check my stats, and the format has been revised AGAIN.  It took me about 10 minutes to find my own Dashboard, and I only managed it by reading WordPress’ instructions at the top of the page, and then scrolling through numerous options on the left side of the screen.  None of those options said “Dashboard.”

Settings” only took me to the administrative pages that include such stuff as my account information.

Finally, in desperation, I clicked on “Menus.”  That took me to a screen that looked amazingly like the old Dashboard – until I focused my eyes on all those drop-down options in the middle, one of which was — wait for it — “Menus Structure.”

Where the f* is my Dashboard, people?  I just want to check my comments and look at my stats!  Ah, wait, if I go to the very top left and click on the “Dashboard” link, it actually takes me to the Dashboard I know and love.  Ten minutes later!

Don’t the WordPress employees have anything better to do with their time than to reformat their site every other day?  Bloggers like me have a hard enough time just getting onto a computer sometimes – having to deal with reformatted pages is a nightmare, especially first thing in the morning.

Maybe the WordPress people are all sadistic sociopaths.

Maybe I should send Not CM over to work for WordPress.  Bet they’d have a job right up her alley – perhaps she could work with the reformatting-every-other-day people, and maybe add background sounds to the home page:

Hey, blogger – got you guessing!  Ha, ha.

Watcha lookin’ for – keep trying, it’s there SOMEWHERE.  Boo-ha-ha.

Tell us what you need, and we’ll make sure you don’t get it.

Wake up, bozo – a 2-year-old could do this better than you.


Anyone else fed up with WordPress today?


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Image by Stephen Coles

Posted in That's Life | Tagged , , , | 15 Comments

The Day After


My gift from Mr. & Mrs. Grumpy Old Dude

By now, Grumpy Old Dude (Archon’s Den) and Mrs. G.O.D. are probably either on their way back to Canada, or have already arrived there.  Hopefully, their travels are (or were) safe and healthy.

To complete my side of the story (check out the prior post here):

My mother-in-law and I had just said goodbye to Mr. & Mrs. G.O.D. and were on our way back up the road.

About two blocks later, I exclaimed, “Damn, I never got my lollipops!”

Fortunately, my mother-in-law doesn’t hear too well these days, and what with the traffic noises, I’m sure she thought I said something totally different.  After all, who thinks about lollipops while driving?  [Don't answer that.]

I briefly debated returning to the G.O.D.s’ motel to confront them, but then decency and common sense came into play, and I realized they may have simply forgotten to put the darn things in their car when they left Canada.  G.O.D.’s own post told the story of shopping for my lollipops, so I was sure it was just an oversight.

At work the next day, my cell phone rang.  It was a number I didn’t recognize, and no one I know is likely to be calling me at 11:00 am on a weekday, so I let it go to voicemail.  Turned out, it was G.O.D. (aren’t I special?), calling to let me know he had forgotten to give me the lollipops at lunch the day before and would be driving to my house to drop them off before getting back on the road for the next leg of his journey.

Say what?

Maybe it’s just me, but I find it a little unnerving that my home address can be so easily ascertained once you know my real name.  However, real estate ownership is public record, so I guess I can understand that.  And with Google Maps and GPS, it is not a difficult task to figure out where my house is.

I tried to call the motel, but the number just rang and rang.  Apparently, the front desk was too busy with departing guests to even pick up the phone.  I tried G.O.D.’s Canadian cell phone number, but his cell phone does not work in the U.S.

As is my normal routine, I headed home at lunch time, hoping I could beat Mr. & Mrs. G.O.D. to my house.  I figured by the time they loaded the car, checked out, went somewhere for breakfast or lunch, and then found their way to my house, I should have time to get there first.


My house wasn’t this bad, thank heavens!

When I pulled up in front of my house, the first thing I noticed was that I hadn’t done a very good job of weed pulling.  Do you have any idea how many weeds you can pull and shrubs you can trim in 5-10 minutes, if you really have to?  Quite a few – I know.

I  had just finished that and was back inside with Puppy Cody, when I heard a thump on my front stoop.  I looked out, and G.O.D was just heading back to his car.  Of course, I ran out the front door so that I could catch him, and had a nice but short chat with Mr. & Mrs. Not-Grumpy-At-All before they got back on the Thruway.

All in all, a really nice blogger meet-and-greet.  I can hardly wait for G.O.D.’s  post in which he describes the visit from his point of view.  Join me in watching for that post on Archon’s Den sometime in the next week or so.


I love to hear from my readers.  You may comment on this post, comment on my Facebook page, or email me at:  or


Images by Cordelia’s Mom, and Anthony Fine, respectively

Posted in Relationships, Road Trips & Cars, That's Life | Tagged , , , , , | 6 Comments

The Difference Between Men and Women (Color-Coded)

BlindsAs any wife/girlfriend can tell you, most men have absolutely no concept of colors, except in connection with a specific sports team.

Case in point:  I was out walking the dog on a nice summer day and passed a house that had recently changed ownership.  A young woman and her husband/boyfriend were in the driveway, and each was holding a set of window blinds.  I overheard the woman emphatically [p.c. version of conversation] tell the man, These are ivory, not white. I told you I needed white!

When I started laughing, they both looked at me with daggers in their eyes, and I quickly walked away.  But what I would like to have told them is that my husband and I had the exact same conversation just a few days before that.

Color WheelI’ve come to the conclusion that men, unless they are artists or interior decorators, see only the basic colors:  white, black, blue, red, green, yellow, etc. – they do not recognize shades of those colors:  ivory, ebony, royal, cranberry, sage, honey, etc. [please, no comments about shades of gray].  And heaven forbid there be a combination of colors:  plaid, marble, mosaic, woven, tweed, etc.

A former beau once gave me a beautifully wrapped Christmas present.  When I opened it, I discovered the ugliest green/brown/orange plaid coat I had ever seen.  I tried really hard to act enthusiastic, especially when the poor guy said proudly, “It’s green – it matches your eyes.”  Apparently, I was no better an actress then than I am now – after a few minutes, he suggested that if I wanted, I could exchange it for a different color.

When I recently purchased my new bedroom furniture, my current hubby took some personal time off to accept delivery.  Arriving home after work that evening, I found him dripping with sweat and near collapse, but with a cat-ate-the-canary look on his face.  In his infinite wisdom (and apparent love for me), he had decided that since the room was empty of furniture prior to delivery, he would repaint the walls (which had last been painted 20 years ago).  Sounds like a great idea, right?

The walls were originally turquoise, and the furniture and curtains were white. When I arrived home, I found the walls were now nearly white with just a whisper of turquoise – they actually looked pretty cool, almost like a custom paint job.  But then hubby said, “I’ll apply the second coat later.”

Second coat? What color?

“White,” he said. For whatever reason, he thinks all walls in all rooms of all houses should be white.

HospitalBedI had to explain that painting that small room white and then putting white furniture in there would make it look like a hospital room, and I had been in far too many hospital rooms lately. Thank heavens, he saw my point and agreed to leave the walls with one coat of white and just a whisper of turquoise – even though he thought the walls looked “splotchy” (they looked fine to me – guess men and women differ in their concept of solid vs. splotchy).

I love it when my husband will ask me what I think of the clothes he has set out for work.  He’ll hold up a pair of pants (let’s say brown) and a shirt (let’s say a blue/purple plaid), and black shoes, and say “These go together, right?

(Yep, absolutely, honey – the women will be all over you … actually, they maybe will, since you’ll look so needy.)

Not that I’m a fashion queen, mind you.  If anyone ever saw me out in the yard with Puppy Cody at 5:00 a.m., they would find me in mismatched sweats and decrepit sneakers, with my hair (well, at least as much hair as I have) going every which way.

But to get back to the battles between the sexes.

RedFordFusionGo car shopping together – the man will be looking for power and safety, while the woman is likely to say something like, “I want that one – it’s pretty.”  (I always look for power and safety, too, but pretty tends to win out.  That’s how I wound up with that red car.)

When I bought my bedroom furniture, there was a couple looking at living room displays.  The man picked out a couch that looked quite comfy (one of those things with beer can holders in the armrests).  The wife immediately said, “But it’s the wrong color – it won’t match the room.”  They were apparently purchasing items for the basement rec room (I guess now they’re called media rooms or something) – who really cares if the furniture matches in a room only the family is likely to see?  In this case, the man acquiesced – I never did learn what they ultimately chose, and I can only hope it was both comfy and color appropriate.


I could go on forever about the male/female dichotomy.  Let me just end with this:

Men – Never buy your spouse/girlfriend a piece of clothing.  Even if you miraculously get the color right, chances are the size will be wrong.  Or even if the size is right, you will insult her because you bought a “medium” that fits instead of the “small” that makes her feel better about herself – or, if you bought the small you thought would make her feel better, she’ll complain that you wasted your money and her time because she’ll have to take the darn thing back.  There’s no winning this one, guys – stick with jewelry, you can never go wrong with that!


I love to hear from my readers.  You may comment on this post, comment on my Facebook page, or email me at


Images by: Brittney Bush Bollay, and Victor Hertz, and Michael Cory, and Chelsea Flowers, respectively

Posted in Relationships, That's Life | Tagged , , , , , , | 15 Comments