The PBJ Cafe is home to a number of inhabitants euphemistically called UDOs, short for Ugly Doll Objects. We are often the butt of cruel jokes and unkind comments by the proprietor. For example while watching a Scottish film, I remarked that I would like to be a Laird and she remarked that that was only reasonable because I was already Lard. She thought it was funny. This is a little payback.

This post will describe the slothful and slovenly way she spent her weekend. She sat upon the couch eating a DiBella’s Chicken Sub followed by Cousin Vinny’s pizzas while she immersed herself in the extensive library of BBC films offered by Netflix. At the end, she locked onto the Monarch of the Glen (all six seasons worth) although she only made it most of the way through the first year. Yes, this was the Scottish program the prompted the unkind remark.

As to the composition of the UDO emigres that haunt the PBJ, there are icebats (both blue and red), Guido (the black ninja bat) and about ten more.

Actually, she usually is quite nice when she is not trying to sharpen her wit by slicing poor defenseless little UDOs. Other than the occasional nasty remarks, it was enjoyable weekend.

Can’t be anything fancy – I’ve got my jeans with the tattered cuffs on, not to mention my so very often worn red knit shirt. I suppose I’ll change the vacuum bag. Yes, it’s that type of mood that has embraced me – sort of akin to laziness. I believe it may be a chronic case.

I’m planning to go to Fairborn tomorrow; haven’t cleaned out the car yet. I mean it was frozen shut Monday night and I guess I’ll just keep the winter provisions – as scattered and cluttered as they have become – in the backseat and trunk.

Oh, wait, I’ll put on my parrot necklace and that may work some magic.

My, it seems that I need more than magic – time for facial muscle exercises. You don’t want to see pictures of those.

After careful consideration, I have decided to spend the rest of the day sofa-ing and reading. It was a tough decision, but it had to be made and, so I bit the bullet and did.

I downloaded the song in the post title from the itunes store and now I think it may be replacing Count Your Blessings as my go to song. Or maybe it is a flash in the pan – a hit and run encounter, two ships in the night and other cliches of that ilk.

It is a short trip back from the nursing home, but last night I came out to find my car frozen shut. After repeated gentle, but frigid, attempts, the back passenger door opened, so I climbed in and over the console. The windshield had giant blobs of ice on it and I lied to myself about there being a scrapper (Mar. 25: ACK, I meant scraper) on the passenger side floor.

I just sat behind the wheel and shuddered while the car warmed up and the defroster convinced the windshield to shed the ice. Had I looked in my rearview mirror at  myself, I would have seen the word PMIW.

The high today is a predicted 31 degrees. Snow is predicted. The headline on the weather page referred to two major snowmakers on the way. The major thrust of the alert: SLICK ROADS. And there, in the illustration, we were right in the middle of the path. Of course, it is only March and snow is frequent in March in Northern Indiana, but we have been so cold and so constantly snow-pelted that I am ready for a break.

Of course, last year I was up to my thighs in the driveway with snow and this year has not been so bad, especially since I was in Fairborn when one storm bore down on the house here. It wasn’t me out there with shovels fighting to connect the driveway to the road. I was ensconced in an apartment wondering when I would be able to get back. To be honest, that was so much better than the thigh deep snow and the frigid windchill.

Der Bingle and I sat and watched Netflix and read and I phoned back instructions involving lamp oil and firewood and salt. Oh, and we might have ventured out for a lunch a City Barbeque with the wooden beaver at the door and the Cheerwine in the cooler.

Oh, well. At least the soda in the vestibule will be cold, but won’t freeze and explode. Pretty soon I will feel safe in standing on a ladder, washing cola fizz off the beadboard ceiling without fear of a recurrence.

Today, despite the snow and grey skies and overall winterness of it all, is Kathryn Feller’s 98th birthday. So I am going to not only shower and put on clean clothes, I am going to try to find something a bit more spiffy to wear than my lucky jeans with the pocket torn in back. Unfortunately, I did not think of this earlier and am going to have to scrounge around. This could be a bit of a challenge. Actually, more than a bit. Heck, I’m starting to panic. Rose!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

A few days ago, I posted a picture of LZP from 1975. I remarked when I asked permission to do so, that he made me think of a Brad Pitt type in the back of Thelma & Louise’s car. Well, the post title was misleading; I really don’t know how T & L landed, but I got a message from Der Bingle to check my email.

This is what he sent:

An acquaintance of Lon’s from college days found a picture of him on line and asked if she could use it in an art show. She is a graphic artist out in San Ysdro. His only condition was that he got a copy. She asked what medium he wanted it on — he said black velvet.  Fed Ex delivered this to North Liberty this morning.

And here is the artwork:

Well, I don’t suppose anyone would name a restaurant about the sunset on the woods in Albion, but in the spring and fall, this happens within about five minutes.

No, I did not forget about the Mystery Box from LZP; I just kept forgetting to forward my iphone pictures to the ipad or my mac. Finally, I did.

The box:

Der Bingle opening the box – note, this picture and the one above taken from a distance with the lens zoomed.

The mother lode, found under some other things I need to take pictures of. I forgot at the time because I was too busy hugging my new bubble light night light. I do not have a picture of it yet because I wanted to do so in the dark, and it has been slipping my mind. Soon though.

Some of these Peeps are mystery-flavored. I don’t know how many are left by now, but I’m guessing a lot of mysteries have been solved. Of course, I’m sure at least one box was put up for “aging.”

And, finally, Der Bingle at the Mongolian Grill. He then took a picture of me but I think it makes my face look really long, and it’s my blog.

Some of the redheads here are not laughing – they don’t seem to get the humor. I’m going to be smart and tell them I don’t either.