Today in Queen Bess's Life

King Erick XIV of Sweden

Elizabeth had many suitors.  And why not?  She was rich, articulate, accomplished, and the leader of the most powerful nation in the Western World.  Why do all the work when your wife can do it for you?  One of her most ardent pursuers was King Erik XIV of Sweden.

On this day in 1560, Elizabeth finally doused the flames of his love with the following letter:

Most Serene Prince Our Very Dear Cousin,

A letter truly yours both in the writing and sentiment was given us on 30 December by your very dear brother, the Duke of Finland.  And while we perceive there from that the zeal and love of your mind towards us is not diminished, yet in part we are grieved that we cannot gratify your Serene Highness with the same kind of affection.  And that indeed does not happen because we doubt in any way of your love and honour, but, as often we have testified both in words and writing, that we have never yet conceived a feeling of that kind of affections towards anyone.  We therefore beg your Serene Highness again and again that you be pleased to set a limit to your love, that it advance not beyond the laws of friendship for the present nor disregard them in the future.  And we in turn shall take care that whatever can be required for the holy preservation of friendship between Princes we will always perform towards your Serene Highness.  It seems strange for your Serene Highness to write that you understand from your brother and your ambassadors that we have entirely determined not to marry an absent husband; and that we shall give you no certain reply until we shall have seen your person.

Thought for the day...

If my car window is frozen shut, how am I supposed to get breakfast?

(This may be just a little bit of the reason for my current condition...  Just a little.)

Vicodin and Temper Tantrums

The week started out pretty okay...  Then went into the crapper pretty fast.

I found myself in a city two hours away with a freaking gallstone attack.  If you've had one, you know the fun of which I speak.  If you haven't had one, you do not want to know the fun of which I speak.

I don't even want to talk about the details because I've had to repeat them several times already to my boss, clients, loved ones, and the nurses/doctors.  I'm rather tired of talking about the details.  I'm rather tired, actually.

And not entirely proud of myself.  When I got to my doctor's office, I had the preliminary bs with the nurse.  She was not one of his two regular nurses.  In fact, I think she must be the spare that is kept in the back of the clinic to do paperwork because compassion and common sense are not in her skill set.

First she weighs me -- which always makes me hate the nurse for thirty seconds.  Although -- today -- showed I'd lost some weight.  yay.  Before she takes my vitals, she wants to know why I'm there.  Again, I don't feel like sharing all the details since all you need to know is that, by the time my fanny is in that chair, I've been dealing with this pain for ohhhh .... 33 hours (which I told her) and I've slept for maybe ohhhhh .... five hours during that 33 hours (which I told her).

Onto the vitals and the interrogation:

Nurse:  Wow.  Your blood pressure is high.  Do you take blood pressure medicine -- should we be looking at that, too?

SS: [sliding my bleary, red rimmed eyes to her and trying to desperately telepathically communicate to her that she is a stupid bitch]  I do not take blood pressure medicine.  Do you see that on my chart?  And wouldn't I have elevated blood pressure because I've been at a level 8 pain for 33 hours?

Today is National Margarita Day

There was a time in my life when I was known to make a very tasty margarita...  That was the same time in my life that I would dress in a turkey suit and smoke cigars on our front steps during our parties...  Ohhhh...  To be young and stupid...

That was back in the 'olden' days when there weren't many mixers on the market, so I had to do it from scratch.  Doing it from scratch is kind of a pain in the rump.  That's why I suggest using a mixer...  Or get a Margarita in a Bag!

I'm not sure how it tastes.  I don't think I want to know.

(In)Appropriate Spinster Behavior

Very cute, very smart, very attractive 25 year old male walks into hotel bar and chooses the seat next to the 41 year old spinster:

25YO:  What's good to eat?

SS: [slurping her cosmo and surveying the scenery]  They say the seafood here is good.  I don't like seafood, but I've witnessed people losing themselves over the Red Snapper soup.

25YO:  [grinning]  Sold.

Two hours later:

SS:  What's your IQ?

25YO:  I don't know if I believe in those tests.  Do you?

SS: [shrugging]  I took one once.  It was supposed to take 90 minutes.  I finished in 45 while I was watching TV and scored a 148.

25YO: [gulping]  That's like a genius.

SS:  [shrugging again]  More like an evil sexy genius.

25YO:  How old are you again?

SS:  41.

25YO:  [choking on water]  Not even possible.

SS:  [as she signs her bill]  Totally true.  Terrifying, isn't it?

---------------------------------

Embrace it, my sweets.  They are eager to learn and we are the best teachers they could hope for.  More importantly, our younger sisters need us to teach these young men the ways of the world.

Today in Queen Bess's Life

In 1547, Elizabeth's younger brother, Edward was crowned and became Edward VI of England.  He was only nine years old, but it would make sense that he was ready to be King since his father had signed the Treaty of Greenwich in July of 1543 which formally betrothed his young son to the then seven month old Mary Queen of Scots.

To help the boy with the task of ruling an entire country, his father had names sixteen executors who were to act as Edward's Council until he reached the age of 18.  And, in keeping with any monarch's reign during that time, the boy found himself surrounded by scoundrels and schemers.

Stay tuned...

The Best Use of Email

Email has a ton of great uses.  But the best so far?  Emailing your doctor.  The world of online appointment scheduling and emailing my doctor has just arrived in my corner of the world.  I don't just like it, I LOVE it.  A person always feels their worst on the weekend or at night when the office is closed.  To be able to log in and see if there is an appointment available for the next business day is consoling.  To be able to log in and send an email saying, "This is my deal.  Call me back." is even better.

Yes, yes.  One can call and be on terminal hold until someone answers and tells you there isn't anything available for a week -- oh, but you feel really bad?  Let me leave a message with your doctor's office.  Then you wait for the doctor to call you back.  This way, it goes right to the doctor -- or, rather, his nurse and she takes care of calling you back and doing what needs to be done while you do the other things that need to get done when you aren't feeling well -- like sleeping or those urgent work emails.

Sunday, February 17, 4:15pm:  E-Mailed Dr:  Here's my problem.  I'm going out of town for a week.  Any way you can beam a prescription to my pharmacy before I have to leave town on Monday afternoon?  If you can't get it to them before I leave, this is where I'm staying and this is the closest pharmacy.

All the information is there -- no rolling my eyes while the nurse has to write it all down.  I'm sure she appreciates not having to write it all down, too.

Monday, February 18, 2:26pm (which is about the same time I would have heard back if I would have called and sat on hold and then been transferred to talk to the nurse):  Call back from Dr.'s Nurse.  I talked with the doctor.  We didn't get the prescription to your local pharmacy in time.  We're calling the one you gave us the info for in your email.  Also consider 800mgs of ibuprofen for this matter.

Monday, February 18, 4:07pm:  Prescription in hand.  Problem going to go away this week instead of next week.

Bing.  Bam.  Boom.  Best use of email.

The Reluctant Tampon Shopper

He just wanted to pick up some candy canes to give out at work during the past Christmas Season.  Mr. Man asked me to accompany him to Walmart.  He knows I hate Walmart.  I know that's un-American, but my father frequently tells me I'm a communist because I don't like:  brussels sprouts, pie, Jeopardy (Aaron Rodgers likes Jeopardy), or fishing.  Basically anything I don't like that he likes means I'm a communist.

Anyway, we went to Walmart and I worked to control my hyperventilating.  Mainly, I don't like Walmart because it's usually merchandised in such a way that the shelves are stacked high and very close together which makes me claustrophobic.  If the shelves are not close together, they seem flimsy and like they are going to topple at any moment.

While he went in search of someone to help him with the massive number of candy canes he wanted, I went to see if Walmart actually had my brand and size of tampons.  See, in December 2010, my brand of tampon (ob) experienced a 'temporary supply interruption'.  It was four months of bitching and complaining -- Mr. Man was sympathetic, but sick of hearing, "You don't use a brand of tampon for 25 years and just switch!  It's inhumane!"  The only reprieve he had was the two weeks succeeding the Packers' win of the Superbowl.  It was the Great ob Tampon Shortage of Winter 2010 (or was it 2011 -- I don't know what it's supposed to be when winter straddles two years).

Buy Yourself Some Flowers!

This started as, "Ten Nice Things to Do for Yourself" when I snuggled into my bed for a nice nap yesterday afternoon.  I was looking at the vase of roses on one of my nightstands and thought, "Awww...  That would be a good entry."  Then, as I thought of more things, I realized I sounded like a Cosmopolitan article.  So, instead, I thought I would share my thoughts on buying flowers for yourself.

As I've discussed, Mr. Man is not a Valentine's Day guy.  So, on Thursday, when I found myself in the grocery store to pick up some cheesecake for the two of us to share later, I was amused by the number of men lurching through the store clutching cellophane wrapped flower arrangements.  Their eyes were bugging and confused as they looked for something else to add to the Valentine's Day offering that was going to be given in the hopes of getting laid.

I decided to indulge myself.  Why not?  I like flowers.

ALERT! Tomorrow is RAK Day!

What in the heck is RAK Day?  It's 'Random Acts of Kindness Day'!  That's one of those made up holidays that I can get behind -- though we should strive to do something randomly kind every day.  There's actually a  whole non-profit organization dedicated to Random Acts of Kindness.

They have tons of resources and ideas to perform kind acts every day.  Can't hurt, right?  Consider each act a deposit in your Karma Bank.

Famous Spinster Birthday -- Susan B. Anthony

"I declare to you that woman must not depend upon the protection of man, but must be taught to protect herself, and there I take my stand."  -- Susan B. Anthony

Born:  February 15, 1820
Died:  March 13, 1906  

Best Job in the World!

Last Friday I had the pleasure of getting my annual mammogram ... MMM ...  MAMMOGRAM!  MAMMOGRAM!  MAMMOGRAM!  YAY!  That was supposed to be a cheer because they're so much fun.  You know what, they're not that awful either.  They're just a few minutes of discomfort.

I got my first mammogram twenty years ago when I was preparing for breast reduction surgery.  I was a EE cup back then.  I have distinct memories of that mammogram -- so with a B cup now, they're not so bad.  Does that mean I sought them out just for giggles?  Hell no!  In fact, I made a face at my gynecologist last year when she said, "You're 40!  That means you get to start having annual mammograms!"  She was cheerful and stuff about it.  I was like, "Eh."

So this was my second annual.  I had scheduled it at a different clinic than I went to last year because they had the earliest available date.  I was cursing that a bit because the clinic is five miles away and it took twenty minutes to get there with morning traffic that was trying to navigate new snow and people that still don't understand they are supposed to YIELD when traffic is coming from your left in the roundabout.

Dogs and Rats and Sharks -- OH MY!

Dogs because Mr. Man has gotten himself out of the dog house because he spent some time pampering me after I reinjured myself and had to go back on the pain killers.  We also had a talk and cleared up some misunderstandings.

Rats (really big ones) and Sharks because it was my stupidity that caused the reinjury.  When it's snowing and the walk is icy, one shouldn't slip on a pair of clogs with worn soles when going out to the car...  And so it goes:


MM:  I have to go now, but you aren't allowed to go outside tonight.

SS: [pouting]  I'll be fine.

MM:  There's no need for you to go outside.  The refrigerator is stocked and you have an entire case of Diet Coke.

SS:  [sighing]

MM:  [holding up a warning finger] Just to be sure, I'm going to put a whole bunch of rats -- really big rats -- and sharks in the hallway.  That way, if you even try to leave, they will CHOMP you!

SS:  [laughing despite herself]

MM: [opening the door]  Remember, really big rats and sharks! [bending to my ear and growling] CHOMP!

Then a quick peck and he was gone.

He didn't say anything about going out in the morning when I was out of smokes ....

Spinster in the News!

Today in Queen Bess's Life

Portrait of Elizabeth c1560
Artist Unknown

On this day in 1559, Elizabeth responded to Parliament's request that she marry.  It was the first of Parliament's delegations that she marry.  Her response was measured and finely crafted.  In fact, she suggests that it is God that does not want her to marry and that it has nothing to do with her own desires.  That if God wanted her to marry, he would incline her heart toward a man she should marry.  Ever proper, she ends her speech very politely:

"And here I end, and take your coming unto me in good part, and give unto all eftsoons my hearty thanks, more yet for your zeal and good meaning than for your petition."

The speech can be read in its entirety here. 

Spinster's modern spin:

I know that your codpieces are all in a twirl.  What can I say?  God has not yet provided me with a man that can keep up with me.  Seriously, I speak five languages, am an accomplished writer and horsewoman, escaped execution by my own sister, and became the friggin' Queen of England!  Who do you think can possibly live up to that?

Go home and worry about your own shit, I've got things to do.

Peace,
Queen Lizzilicious

Because I cannot find the date of Elizabeth's response to Parliament's second entreaty to marry in 1566, I will include it here as this speech is the one that receives more attention -- likely for the change in tone and the solid tongue lashing that it is unleashed upon the Members.

This makes me happy

I've really been restrained, you know.  I love the Packers so much that I could probably write about them every single day.  I was even reserved and did not write about my sob fest when my favorite player of all time (not Aaron Rodgers) retired on Wednesday in a historic sports moment as fans were allowed to be at his retirement ceremony...  If you're a fan of Dancing With the Stars, you might recognize him.  If you're a fan of Dancing With the Stars who complained that Donald only won because of all the Packers fans ...  Well, there's a reason why we all started voting right at the show's start even though he hadn't even danced yet.  He enjoys wild popularity among Packers fans (and that's saying something) because of his tremendous ability on the field, but more because of things like this:

If you didn't watch Dancing With the Stars, here's a taste of what you missed ...

Yes I picked this one because of the gratuitous nakedness on his part...  If he'd come to my door to give me a hug, I might have asked he remove his shirt ... Then pass out.

Today in Queen Bess's Life

Tomb Effigy of Mary Queen of Scots

On this day in 1587, Elizabeth's cousin, Mary Queen of Scots, was executed upon Elizabeth's orders.  For what?  Basically for plotting the assassination of Elizabeth.  What would Mary gain by Elizabeth's death?  The English throne as she was the eldest descendant of Henry VIII's sister.  Roman Catholics believed she was the rightful heir since Elizabeth was both illegitimate and a Protestant Heretic.

Mary became the Queen of Scotland when she was six days old and her father died.  When she was only six months old, Henry VIII tried to propose a treaty with Scotland that would wed Mary to his son Edward.  Some of the Regents left in charge of Scotland didn't like this idea and, eventually, Mary was sent to France.  It was in France that she was raised with the Prince Dauphin and they married when she was sixteen (and he was fifteen).

My Subconscious Is Just Laughing At Me Now...

A few months ago, I reported that my subconscious is broken because, when I had a dream about my celebrity crush, Aaron Rodgers, the most 'action' I got was holding hands.  I will again submit that I still do not have any naughty thoughts during my waking hours.  However, this time, my sleep was induced by the magical muscle relaxer my doctor prescribed for my back.  I'm off all of the other prescriptions except for that tiny little piece of heaven that has made sleep possible and ... dreams a little more vibrant.

So one would think that, finally, I could have some fun...  Not at all.  In fact, my dreams told me, "You don't have a snowball's chance, baby."  Lookit Aaron here... It's like he's saying, "Go for it Spinster!  Let loose!"

No such luck.

It's right around the corner...

I'm going to get this out of the way a week early... Valentine's Day is around the corner.  Bleah. I've never liked Valentine's Day -- even when I've been with someone.  Maybe even especially when I've been with someone.  Why?  Because there are so many expectations of gestures of romance and love and chocolates and roses and jewelry.  Since I seem to pick men who are either poor or just not romantic, I am always disappointed.

It doesn't help that, at this particular moment, I'm pretty pissed off at Mr. Man.  I won't go into the reasons, I'll just say that he's a butt head and I don't see it getting better in the next week -- unless he has a lobotomy.  Unfortunately, you can't just order those up.  A professional has to say you need one and I guess it's a pretty big deal and stuff.  So ...

In years past, I always wore black on Valentine's Day in protest.  But it's not really a protest.  It's a billboard proclaiming, "I'm bitter because this holiday has always sucked for me so I want to suck any joy that you might have on this day."  That's why I'm getting this rant out early.  Even though I hate the day, I know a lot of people love it and even look forward to it.

Or maybe I just have a really bad past life memory from Ancient Rome and the Lupercalia Festival.  Getting hit by men bearing thongs made out of goat skin doesn't seem all that romantic or alluring.

At least my History major gave me something -- the ability to rationalize my own bitter attitudes with the help of knowledge about obscure, ancient pagan rituals.  I wonder where a girl could get a goat skin thong ...  Or maybe I need to get on a plane to Edmonton:  Lupercalia MMXIII.  Probably after a weekend of this kind of celebration, I just might long to be underwhelmed by the lack of effort of any of my Valentines.

Is that scale of yours accurate?

You might recall my triumph at finding out that I weighed 11 pounds less than I thought I would two Sunday's ago.  I shared that good news to anyone who would listen because everyone cares, right?  Of course I told Mr. Man.  Of course, he has no frame of reference because I've never told him how much I weigh.  He's seven inches taller than me and I know I weigh more -- or, on good days, the same.

So, later that week, Mr. Man and I were enjoying a snuggle under my newly cleaned down comforter.  The conversation went a little like this.

MM:  Is that scale of yours accurate?

SS:  Yeah.  Why do you ask?

MM:  I dunno, I just saw it in the bathroom and wondered if it's accurate.

SS:  It has to be because I always weigh myself before I go to the doctor and it's only two pounds off their scale.  If anything it must be heavy because when I weigh myself at home, I'm naked, I've peed, and I've had nothing to eat or drink yet that morning.  When I go to the doctor, I've had breakfast and am fully clothed.

MM:  [nodding]  Makes sense. [throwing back the comforter and getting out of bed] I gotta pee.

I'm not sure this is so cutting edge...

Ooof.  It's Monday morning and I find myself with another hangover.  Not a HBB induced hangover, but a LMN Movie Hangover.  A 1996 piece of artistry called Mother, May I Sleep With Danger? starring Ms. Tori Spelling.  I can't resist me some Tori Spelling or Jennie Garth or Shannen Doherty.  Don't get me wrong, I love Tori, but I think she might have been in porn if she wasn't Aaron Spelling's daughter.  She really gets into kissing her costars.  Sometimes I can't watch it -- other times I'm fascinated that her jaw can move that way.  So ... kind of like porn.  Sometimes it's just gross, sometimes it's fascinating.

LMN can't get all the credit, however.  I managed to twist my back last Wednesday afternoon.  I laid in bed all night alternately crying and dozing -- mostly crying.  I had to make a 2.5 hour drive home the next morning to see the doctor.  Let me just say he set me up.

I've never had the pleasure of prescription pain killers.  I had 400 stitches across my chest after breast reduction.  I used regular Tylenol.  I had a kidney stone.  Midol worked that time.  This was something entirely different.  I was expecting Vicodin, but instead received a nice little cocktail that involved two pain killers and a muscle relaxant.  Oh, and an antibiotic for my sinus infection along with a nose spray (which I only used once because it was grody feeling).

From Goddess to Groundhog

from: authorlauradelua.blogspot.com

Happy Imbolc!  What the heck is that, you say?

Well, if you didn't or don't feel like clicking the link that would bring you to my favorite Wikipedia, here is the short story:  It's the third Sabbat of the eight Sabbats of the Wiccan year.  Oooh!  Did I say 'Wiccan'?  Indeedy I did.  I'm not coming out of the witchy closet here because I can't really say I'm Wiccan...  I do little witchy things every day, but because I'm not disciplined and doing full blown rituals, am not a member of a coven, etc.  I don't want to say, "I'm a Wiccan." because I think it's disrespectful to those who are very devoted to the Craft.  I just kinda do it my way.

It's kind of funny too, considering I'm a Spinster.  I would have been a certain target of the Inquisition what with my unmarried, childless, hairy chinned status.  Oh, and I love baking sweets for the little kids.