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  • Stand Like Trees

    Stand Like Trees
    6 Nov 2026
    Drop us a line or two . . .## LONG SUMMARYIt's Halloween — and also, apparently, a Saturday wedding day, a leaf-peeping letdown, and the eve of a midterm election that has at least one of our hosts white-knuckling it. So basically: a lot going on.Queenie kicks things off trying to get the podcast's transcription software to register "TT" as two letters and not a string of tees or something far more inappropriate. Once that's sorted, we're off to the races. Queenie's heading to her niece's wedding at the Franklin Plaza in Troy — a Halloween wedding that is decidedly not a costume situation, despite Queenie's brief fantasy about sneaking in the Minkman glasses. Her husband Honey, meanwhile, is staying home to field trick-or-treaters and has been wearing the same black fleece and witch's hat for years, which somehow still works. TT's attending a pumpkin carving party with her son's friend group, possibly dressed as a butterfly, and trying to get her husband into vampire territory. Classic.The leaf peeping report is mixed. TT flew in from San Diego, looked out the window over upstate New York, and saw a lot of bare branches. Still beautiful, she notes, but not the full immersive experience. Northeast leaf peepers may need to manage their expectations.Then Queenie drops the week's first genuine wildcard: a Flipboard scroll that led her to a fully autonomous, clamp-mounted, AI-enabled, remote-controlled pleasure device for men. Two hundred dollars, rechargeable, five-star reviews, syncs to VR porn, and yes, it comes with a companion dildo so long-distance partners can share the experience in real time. The ladies are impressed, mildly horrified, and cautiously optimistic that the female-engineering pipeline will eventually deliver something comparable. No clamping confirmed, but the suction chair concept is floated.From there: the "Wait What" segment, which this week serves up a tidy little piece Queenie found via HuffPost — a rundown of things grandparents really should stop doing around their grandchildren. TT, freshly minted grandmother-to-be, is all ears. The list includes encouraging kids to keep secrets from their parents (a hard no), forcing hugs and kisses (Queenie has visceral memories of a grandfather with a bristly mustache, unfiltered cigarettes, missing teeth, and a wet face — nobody was winning there), commenting on children's bodies or weight (Queenie's granddaughter fractured her wrist being tossed around by kids making fun of her height; bodies are off-limits, full stop), speaking for grandchildren instead of letting them find their own words, and playing the "I raised three kids so I know better" card.This sparks a broader conversation about navigating the gap between how you parented and how your kids are parenting — particularly the rise of gentle parenting, which neither Queenie nor TT fully understands but which seems to involve long explanations delivered to people whose prefrontal cortexes are nowhere near online. Queenie makes the sharp observation that highly verbal kids can fool you into forgetting you're talking to a four-year-old, and that mistaking verbal sophistication for emotional or developmental maturity is its own kind of harm. The practical advice: if you think your kid is struggling, offer to take the grandkids so they can get a dinner and a massage. Slide the message in sideways.TT picks number 99 for this week's "What If" question — and it's a banger: *If you were given the opportunity to know the complete, unfiltered truth about yourself — your motivations, hypocrisies, hidden desires, the ways you've hurt people without realizing it — but you could never again believe the comforting stories you tell yourself, would you choose to know?* Both women answer almost immediately: yes. No hesitation. TT says she'd use it to cause less harm going forward and would atone where it felt right — not for her own benefit, but for the people she'd hurt. Queenie says she'd dig into all of it, then wonders aloud what the protocol is for actually doing something with that information once you have it. They agree that not everyone would choose this — some people are conflict-avoiders for whom comfort is the whole point — and that for both of them, it was basically a no-brainer. Which itself feels like information.Then: the Fuck It List. Queenie has a live, real-world entry this week. She's been working as an independent contractor with an organization that recently brought in a new manager who promptly started inserting herself into Queenie's client communications — without context, without introduction, scheduling duplicate meetings in the wrong time zones, and responding to client emails about ongoing issues without looping Queenie in. After one too many backtracking sessions at eight o'clock at night, Queenie sent a clean, professional, fluff-free email informing the organization she wouldn't be taking any new assignments. She CC'd the new manager. The new ...
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    51 dk.
  • Don't Waste Your Time

    Don't Waste Your Time
    30 Oct 2026
    Drop us a line or two . . .We open in the dark at 7 a.m. California time, because TT is visiting her friend Marianne east of San Diego — and she is *living* for it. Mountains, cacti, endless sky, and a wildlife sanctuary that made her feel like she'd accidentally wandered into the actual wilderness. Queenie, tuning in from wherever it is decidedly *not* that scenic, is living vicariously and doing a decent job of it. The two bond over the shared knowledge that Southern California rain is, against all meteorological logic, more dangerous than ice. Nobody slows down. Nobody adjusts. Marianne confirmed it. Liz confirmed it. Moving on. The San Diego tour continues — Point Loma, Shelter Island, the yachts, the cantilevered houses on cliffs that made TT actively nervous just *looking* at them. Old Town gets a visit too, and TT does a quick existential inventory in front of a covered wagon that apparently made the trip from San Francisco to San Diego on one axle in three months. One woman. One axle. Three months. TT's verdict: she would not have survived frontier life, mostly because she was, in her own words, blind as a bat and would have been staggering around with a tin cup. Fair. The real highlight of the stay, though, is Marianne herself — cooking fish every night because she knew TT doesn't eat meat, making homemade pizza dough from scratch ("the best pizza I've ever had in my life"), and sharing family stories about TT's grandmother that TT had never heard. Marianne knew her as Aunt Tina. Stories about Italy, about being the oldest of nine kids, about stepping up when the great-grandfather died. The kind of family history that only surfaces in the right kitchen, at the right table, with the right person. TT is visibly moved even through the audio. Then — the news. Queenie sets it up diplomatically. TT delivers it like someone who has been sitting on the best secret and can barely contain it: she's going to be a grandmother. Her oldest son, the one she was *convinced* would never reproduce, is expecting a boy with his partner Lisa in May. TT cannot find a word other than "amazing" and she owns it completely — "I keep repeating that word, amazing, but I just can't come up with another." Queenie, who met Lisa once on the Cape and immediately clocked the rightness of the pairing, is thrilled. Honey, TT's husband, is also thrilled — he thought the family name was done for with his branch of the tree. There's a twig now. A boy twig. The name lives on. The due date is May the fourth, and both Queenie and TT are *fully* aware of what that means. Star Wars geeks, the two of them. Luke gets floated as a name — sensible, not too on the nose. Queenie pushes for Anakin. Possibly Darth. R2-D2 gets mentioned. TT draws a line at Luke with Skywalker as a middle name and then immediately clocks that a kid with that middle name is in for a lifetime of explaining himself. From there, the pod pivots to its "Wait, What?" science segment, which this week earns its name with full commitment: scientists put human poop into concrete and let it sit for 91 days. The compressive strength jumped 42%. Queenie walks through the actual science — wastewater sludge gets heated to 660–1400 degrees Fahrenheit with no oxygen (pyrolysis, not peristalsis, though TT's confusion is understandable), becomes biochar, and gets mixed into cement at different percentages. The 10% mix turned out to be the sweet spot for strength and stability. TT immediately coins the phrase "shitty roads" and this is the high point of the segment. The conversation spirals out into a genuinely enthusiastic exploration of poop-as-resource. Dog poop collection services. Septic tank trucks. The agricultural and composting uses of biosolids. The question of what happens to the sludge that *doesn't* get pyrolyzed — landfill, incineration, spreading on crops, apparently. The study of all this is called, after some collaborative Googling, *infimo* — from the Latin *fimus*, meaning agricultural manure. TT endorses the whole enterprise. "I think it's a great idea. Why not use this stuff we consider to have absolutely no value?" Exactly. Either/Or time. TT picks number 38: a toxic friendship that's endlessly entertaining, or a perfectly healthy one that's kind of boring. TT goes healthy without much deliberation — she's been in a toxic relationship and knows the word "entertaining" doesn't belong anywhere near it. Queenie wrestles with it a little more, softening "toxic" to "challenging" before admitting that at this point in life, with a shrinking social circle and a clearer sense of where time is going, she doesn't need or want that either. They land on the same side: at some point, being selective with your time and your emotional energy stops being selfishness and starts being sanity. There's more life behind them than ahead, and neither of them is wasting the good years on someone who drains the tank for sport. The Fuck It List makes its ...
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    42 dk.
  • Where's Our Geritol?

    Where's Our Geritol?
    23 Oct 2026

    Drop us a line or two . . .

    Welcome to the Closet Disco Queen Pot-Cast, a #1 ranked Women in Cannabis (Feedspot, Million Pods; 2025) comedy podcast with music and pop culture references that keeps you laughing and engaged. Join our hosts, Queenie & TT as they share humorous anecdotes about daily life, offering women's perspectives on lifestyle and wellness. We dive into funny cannabis conversations and stories, creating an entertaining space where nothing is off-limits. Each episode features entertaining discussions on pop culture trends, as we discuss music, culture, and cannabis in a light-hearted and inclusive manner. Tune in for a delightful blend of humor, insight, and relatable stories that celebrate life's quirks and pleasures.
    Our Closet Disco Queen Pot-Cast deals with legal adult cannabis use and is intended for entertainment purposes only for those 21 and olderVisit our Closet Disco Queen Pot-Cast merch store!
    Find us on     Facebook and Green Coast Radio
    Sound from     Zapsplat.com, https://quicksounds.com, 101soundboards.com #ToneTransfer
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    54 dk.
  • Limbo Ankles, Limbo Knee

    Limbo Ankles, Limbo Knee
    16 Oct 2026
    Drop us a line or two . . .We open mid-coffee, mid-chaos. Queenie is on her second decaf (which, she notes, doesn't really count), her hair is doing something, and TT is fresh off a long weekend in Milwaukee with her twenty-year dinner group — yes, twenty years of the same rotating cast of couples, one of whom has since become a singleton, and at least one pair that does, apparently, wife-swap. Queenie clocks that immediately. TT insists it's a dinner group. Moving on.Milwaukee turns out to be genuinely lovely — walkable, scenic, better than Laverne and Shirley led anyone to believe. There was a Laverne lager. TT sang the theme song on the river walk. The group hit the Third Ward, which is basically Milwaukee's version of Quincy Market, wandered through surprisingly undeveloped riverfront land, and stayed at a bed and breakfast that was just theirs for the weekend, which felt appropriately celebratory for two decades of committed monthly dining.The dinner at Cassis — a French restaurant, five-star-ish, very expensive — was a bit of a letdown. TT ordered scallops. Three scallops. Forty-five dollars. Everyone at the table quietly agreed it was too salty. Their Uber driver, who turned out to be originally from Dijon, France, asked if they'd had the beef. When told it was sixty dollars, he could not let it go. Every time the conversation shifted, he circled back: "Sixty dollars." Queenie, for her part, is already doing the math — fifteen dollars per scallop — and while she understands the labor economics in theory, the disappointment was real. A previous dinner on the Cape at Prince of Wales? That, apparently, delivered. This did not.Then the tone shifts. Queenie's been navigating her mother's transition into skilled nursing care — a situation she describes as being in "the limbo of limbo." The good news, genuinely: the facility is exceptional. Queenie has worked in senior housing, has served as an ombudsman, has seen the full spectrum from wonderful to facilities that were eventually shut down for violations. She's seen residents parked in geri-chairs in front of nurses' stations, hollowed out versions of the people they were. She once had a woman grab her by the arm in a lobby and say, with total desperation, *get me out of here.* This place is nothing like that. The staff have longevity, the culture is warm, and that comes from leadership that understands you cannot care for residents without genuinely valuing employees. Queenie gives it the highest marks without hesitation.Her mother isn't directing her own days — there's no self-initiation, no spontaneous decision-making — but she's cooperative when guided, she's doing her word puzzles, she's being cared for. TT gently reframes it: for someone who spent her whole life being the caregiver, being on the receiving end of that care isn't a diminishment. It's what she deserves. Queenie agrees. The relief is enormous. The next question — what does Queenie's own life look like now? — is still open.From heavy to unhinged, as CDQ does: Queenie introduces the "Wait, What?" segment with a story about Class Soire Steakhouse in Hollywood, Florida, where chef and owner Marod Ali runs a clothing-optional fine dining night on the first Monday of every month. Men pay $250. Women pay $150. Couples save a hundred. The hostess greets guests in the nude. A city spokesperson has ruled it legal because the staff wear clothes — which is a position that falls apart the moment you remember the nude hostess. There is a no-touchy-feely rule. It is a steakhouse. You check your clothes with your coat.TT's primary concern: where does your bare bottom go? Because someone else's bare bottom was just there. Also: armpit hair. Also: she is always cold in restaurants and brings a sweater. She would be naked and shivering and the restaurant would not accommodate her request for a cardigan. Queenie, who is less troubled by the hygiene logistics, looked up the actual etiquette — which turns out to be, in some ways, quite civilized. You bring a towel or the organizers provide a seating barrier. Eyes up. No commenting on bodies. No assuming nudity is a sexual invitation. Napkin on the lap is, in nude dining, more important than ever. Do not order sizzling fajitas. These are reasonable guidelines and Queenie endorses them. She would actually go, she decides, if she knew at least one other person there and the food was Jacques Pépin-level. TT remains unconvinced, citing cold temperatures, flying body hair, and the general chaos of chairs. Queenie notes that the psychological research actually suggests that seeing other ordinary people naked tends to improve your body image more than having others see you. For people over fifty, nude dining in a non-judgmental setting is less about exposure and more about refusing to hide. She finds this unexpectedly compelling. TT remains skeptical.The "TT's Choice" either/or lands on: financial security doing work you tolerate, or ...
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    49 dk.
  • Good Manners and Bad Breath Get You Nowhere

    Good Manners and Bad Breath Get You Nowhere
    9 Oct 2026
    Drop us a line or two . . .The episode kicks off mid-chaos, as usual — Queenie confesses she spent a solid twenty minutes deep in a Temu rabbit hole pricing out pet rocks, gable boxes, and crinkly nesting paper for what she envisioned as a charming craft activity at their upcoming fiftieth high school reunion. Markers, rocks, a time capsule element, maybe something for guests to take home and paint with their grandchildren. TT gently points out that Queenie had, in fact, sourced the entire operation before thinking better of it. From there, the reunion planning devolves into a delightful inventory of what amenities might be required: a puzzle table, a medication reminder station, and — critically — a Rollator Corral. Because, as Queenie notes with zero apology, they are pressing up on 70, and someone is showing up with a cane. And that's the thing about this episode: aging keeps ambushing them from every angle. Queenie describes the daily cognitive dissonance of being 68 — nothing in her head matches that number, even if the body is starting to get the memo. TT echoes it: late 30s and early 40s now read as genuinely older to her, which is disorienting in a way that's hard to articulate until you're living it. Queenie works with aging adults professionally and still gets blindsided — realizing that her clients' adult children are the same age as her own kids, that the grandkids are younger than people she remembers being young herself. It smacks you in the face everywhere, she says. They both agree: you hear about this disconnect happening. You never actually believe it will happen to you. And then it does, and all you can do is say, out loud, what the fuck? The conversation pivots with Queenie's full and heartfelt endorsement of Chicken Salad Chick, a franchise that apparently opened its sole New York State location nearby and immediately ruined her for all other takeout. She breaks it down like a woman who has thought about this a lot: the Fancy Nancy chicken salad (grapes, nuts, the works), the croissant, the pickle, the grape salad drowning in sour cream and brown sugar and pecans, the sugar cookie. TT is visibly moved and ready to eat chicken again for the first time in years. They bond over the philosophy of proper chicken salad texture — not big chunks, not fully shredded, something in between — and the conversation achieves a kind of zen. Then Queenie delivers this episode's funniest story, served in perfect deadpan: dinner with Mumsy. The logistics alone were a production — navigating which dining room allowed wine for residents, arranging for the tray to be delivered to the grill room so Mumsy could have her four-ounce juice glass of red wine with ice. And then, with Dan and Queenie watching, Mumsy reaches for that wine glass, aims it directly at her decaf coffee, and begins to pour. Queenie and Dan — completely unrehearsed — simultaneously unleash a chorus of no no no no no no no no no. Mumsy is unimpressed. Is there something wrong? she asks. Try explaining why red wine doesn't go in coffee to a woman who has already been caught putting blueberries in her Pinot Noir (which Queenie initially mistook for black olives). Mumsy's defense, delivered like a queen from a throne: No. Like Queenie is the unreasonable one. TT's verdict: she's earned it. The episode ends with a full original song about Mumsy — and it absolutely slaps. The "No Way José" featurette this week goes double: marshmallow root and Listerine, the odd couple of throat remedies. Queenie leads with marshmallow root — not the Jet-Puffed situation, the actual botanical root that humans have been using for over 2,000 years because it contains natural mucilage (yes, they say it, yes, they appreciate the word) that coats the throat and calms a cough within about ten minutes. TT's first instinct is a big spoon of Fluff, which Queenie validates emotionally before steering back. Honey and pineapple juice also get their due, and then the conversation drifts to their mothers' shared devotion to Listerine — specifically the original, which TT's mother called "not that sissy stuff" and which Queenie associates with her father's lifelong gargling practice. Queenie goes full deep-dive: Listerine dates to 1879, was developed as a surgical antiseptic named after Joseph Lister, and spent its early decades cleaning floors and treating dandruff before pivoting to mouthwash. The 1920s ad campaign that popularized "halitosis" as a social death sentence — with the genuinely diabolical "Often a Bridesmaid, Never a Bride" tagline — gets the commentary it deserves. They essentially invented a problem and sold the cure. Peak marketing. Another way of taking advantage of women. Listerine's biggest current demographic? Boomers. Gen Z is not interested. Nobody is surprised. TT's Choice serves up question 15 from their running "What If" feature: would you rather remember everything you said while high, or forget everything but ...
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    40 dk.
  • So Why Should I Be Ashamed

    So Why Should I Be Ashamed
    2 Oct 2026
    Drop us a line or two . . . Pull up a chair, queens, because this one's got everything: migraines, gummies, hashables bumping microphones, shame lips, and a landlord who needed to be put in her place. Just another day at the Closet Disco Queen Potcast. Queenie enlightens us about a movement in Europe called Schamtalus (the shameless movement) campaigned for years to replace it with the neutral term, eventually winning a spot in the leading Dutch dictionary. Similar campaigns happened in Germany. In Sweden, the word for hymen, which translated to "virginity membrane," was replaced in the academic dictionary with "vaginal corona." And in the UK, a podcaster is currently petitioning to rename hysterectomy to uterectomy because the original word traces back to hysteria — a diagnosis that was dropped in 1980. Other terms under fire: "incompetent cervix," "hostile womb," and framing for C-sections that implies anything other than a surgical birth is the default. TT and Queenie go there. TT recalls being told she was "too young" to use a tampon. "Not too young to bleed, but too young to use a tampon. Okay, I gotcha." Queenie remembers the mythology that using a tampon would cost you your virginity — that only "the fast girls" used them. Her husband, who had four sisters, still can't hear the word tampon without flinching. Words matter, they agree. The anatomy doesn't change, but the language around it absolutely shapes what women do — whether they examine themselves, talk about changes, seek care. Shame, it turns out, is a public health issue. TT's shopping habits come up — she's been on a bit of a demo/spin-the-wheel ordering spree, surprising even herself. Honey keeps finding packages at the door and getting no useful information about their contents. A welcome mat arrived that turned out to be roughly dollhouse-sized. Queenie diagnoses this correctly: it's her online Ocean State Job Lot. TT is filling a void. A bottomless one. "This is why I can never get involved with gambling. I'm okay with weed." Then comes the Fuck It. Queenie has been dealing with a landlord's representative — weeks of unanswered texts, repeated requests for information she'd already sent, general professional mediocrity — until, on the day her mother was being transferred to long-term care, this woman texted: "Can you be so kind as to respond to my emails?" Queenie responded with the full truth: her 93-year-old mother, the injury, the hospital stay, the subacute placement. Professional and factual. The woman came back the next day: "I had no idea. I am so, so very sorry. I can do laundry, I can run errands. Tell me what you need." TT cannot stop laughing. Queenie calls herself a bitch for playing the guilt card. TT disagrees — you didn't walk all over her, you just told her the truth and let her reckon with it. "I think what you did was tell her the truth and there's nothing wrong with that." Queenie's takeaway: being direct and honest doesn't mean being mean. They're not mutually exclusive. It can be done. The episode closes out with TT gently nudging Queenie toward using some of those spa and massage gift certificates she's been sitting on. Queenie's not quite there yet, but she's hearing it. Her mom, meanwhile, is already working on befriending her roommate — both on oxygen, sharing that particular hobby, and apparently competing to see who can get the curtain opened first. Welcome to the Closet Disco Queen Pot-Cast, a #1 ranked Women in Cannabis (Feedspot, Million Pods; 2025) comedy podcast with music and pop culture references that keeps you laughing and engaged. Join our hosts, Queenie & TT as they share humorous anecdotes about daily life, offering women's perspectives on lifestyle and wellness. We dive into funny cannabis conversations and stories, creating an entertaining space where nothing is off-limits. Each episode features entertaining discussions on pop culture trends, as we discuss music, culture, and cannabis in a light-hearted and inclusive manner. Tune in for a delightful blend of humor, insight, and relatable stories that celebrate life's quirks and pleasures. Our Closet Disco Queen Pot-Cast deals with legal adult cannabis use and is intended for entertainment purposes only for those 21 and olderVisit our Closet Disco Queen Pot-Cast merch store!Find us on Facebook and Green Coast RadioSound from Zapsplat.com, https://quicksounds.com, 101soundboards.com #ToneTransfer
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    41 dk.
  • All Our Times Have Come

    All Our Times Have Come
    25 Sep 2026
    Drop us a line or two . . .This episode is part time-warp, part grief journal, part "would you rather" game night — and somehow all of it hangs together the way only a real friendship can hold contradictions. Queenie kicks things off with a piece she read about time compression — why the years feel like they're moving at warp speed the older you get. The culprit? Routine. When your brain isn't learning anything new, it stops making new memories, and without new memories, your days blur into one long beige smear. The fix, apparently, is annoyingly simple: reverse your walking route, switch up your morning routine, eat tapas instead of Tuesday's meatloaf. TT's immediate reaction is basically "absolutely not, I love my routine," which, same. But she concedes she could maybe do her exercise before her morning games-and-tea ritual a couple of days a week. Which decade felt longest? TT votes for roughly ages eight to eighteen — all that learning, all that brain expansion. Makes sense. Queenie says her forties, no contest — action-packed, full, dense with life. But since hitting fifty? Whoosh. She can't believe Mia is in high school. TT adds that grandchildren help you mark the years in a way nothing else does; without them, twenty years can just feel like a blur you walked through. There's something quietly sad about that observation, and neither of them lingers on it, because that's not really the CDQ way. Then Robert Frost slides in to close the loop: "In three words I can sum up everything I've learned about life. It goes on." Whether you want it to or not. Queenie delivers this like a period at the end of a very long sentence. The episode's emotional center of gravity, though, is Queenie's mother. She's been in rehab at Sunnyview for nearly two weeks after a fall — 93 years old, fractured bones she's literally walking on, cardiac and pulmonary issues, now oxygen-dependent around the clock. Four hours of therapy some days. The woman is working. But the picture is complicated. The oxygen dependency isn't resolving. Discharge is coming fast, and the original plan — home with an aide — has quietly given way to a harder conversation about assisted living. Not as a defeat, but as a reality check. Enhanced assisted living it is. But the truly raw part of this conversation is what's happening at the edges of the medical logistics. Queenie's mom keeps pointing up — toward heaven — when asked where she wants to go. She talks about Andrew, the child born and lost decades ago, the one she never got to hold because she was under anesthesia the entire time he was alive. Hyaline membrane disease. She tells Queenie she can't wait to see him, even though he doesn't know her. Queenie relays this moment with a stunned quiet that doesn't need elaboration. Her mother is also, apparently, one of the more spiritually pragmatic 93-year-olds out there: when Queenie mentioned medical aid in dying — a relatively new law in New York — her mom's first response wasn't shock. Queenie herself didn't hesitate when her mother asked if she'd use it personally. Yes. No pause. The broader grief of all this hangs in the room. Queenie's whole day used to be structured around her mother — the camera checks, the reminder calls, the timed check-ins. Now there's a gap in the day that doesn't know what to do with itself. She misses her mom's presence in her daily rhythm even while her mom is still alive. TT names it: this is slow grief. Letting go, both of them, at the same time. The person dying and the family, both suffering in silence in a culture that doesn't have rituals for dying — only rituals for after. Queenie: "It's a sausage of grief." That is the most accurate description of anticipatory grief anyone has ever given on a cannabis podcast. From there, the episode pivots with the grace of a woman who's had enough heavy lifting for one morning. TT's Choice lands on number 36: "What if your most difficult family member was suddenly easy to get along with? Would you trust it?" TT's answer is immediate and unambiguous: no. Not only would she not trust it, it would actively irritate her. Queenie, high on a pre-roll from the Sunflower Collection No. 9 variety pack (four strains, color coded, picked up by TT from Haven dispensary in P-town on her behalf), takes a more circuitous route to the same answer — she has trouble identifying her most difficult family member on the spot, which TT clearly finds unconvincing, and eventually lands on: probably not, but she might be an idiot for it. The Fuck It List this week: TT is saying fuck it to stressing about the state of her home before having people over. Queenie backs her up hard, citing a reel she stumbled across of a real family home — magnets on the fridge, dishes in the sink, vacuum out, shoes by the door, freezer crammed to capacity. Just life. The contrast with the endless influencer stream of perfect organization and aspirational tidiness is stark and ...
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    51 dk.
  • Love Is Like Oxygen or Gloria Hallelujah

    Love Is Like Oxygen or Gloria Hallelujah
    18 Sep 2026
    Drop us a line or two . . .## LONG SUMMARYThis episode opens mid-life, mid-mess — which is pretty on-brand for CDQ. Queenie kicks things off with a life update that's equal parts exhausting and quietly heroic: her mom, Mumsy, has been transferred to Sunnyview Hospital for acute rehabilitation following a pelvic fracture complicated by pneumonia. And it has been, to put it mildly, a week.The opioid reaction alone is a whole story. Mumsy — described as a tiny little bird of a woman at 105 pounds — went full superhuman after being administered medication that did not agree with her, requiring five adults (including two men, Queenie is quick to note) to safely get her back into bed. She was subsequently assigned one-on-one monitoring with what Queenie cheerfully describes as "a robot looking thing" watching her around the clock. Thursday was, in Queenie's words, a completely lost day. But by the time they're recording, Mumsy is up with a walker, fully participating in therapy, and apparently chatty as ever — which, given the steroid-fueled word avalanche Queenie witnessed upon transfer, seems to be something of a baseline.The path forward is genuinely uncertain: subacute care may follow, options are limited while oxygen stays in the picture, and Queenie is doing what she can, which right now means taking it a day at a time and trying to get to her grandchildren when she can squeeze it in.From the heavy to the delightful: TT received a birthday gift while the two were celebrating on the Cape, and it's a game called Ganja Land — a cannabis-themed Candyland knockoff from the brand Lightly Toasted. TT, who has not yet played it, gives an enthusiastic rundown: eight character pieces (including Mary Jane Mermaid, The Royal Highness, and Weedly Wizard, all dressed appropriately for the occasion), a board full of hidden objects for timed scavenger hunts, trivia cards, fun facts, and a Spotify playlist to set the mood. The goal is to reach the Cannabis Castle and claim the cannabis crown — a bedazzled, marijuana-leaf-encrusted upgrade on the Burger King paper crown. Gameplay involves passing a joint to the left per Ganja Land tradition, and turn order follows the same direction. TT and Queenie immediately begin plotting to play virtually or in person come October.Then Queenie brings an article she'd flagged from Time magazine: what to do when someone gives you the silent treatment. The timing is personal. She'd reached out to a friend she'd lost touch with — wrote a note, explained a difficult five-year stretch, opened the door. Got nothing back. Not even, as she puts it, a fuck you. The article's framework is practical: distinguish between a healthy pause and a deliberate withdrawal, send one calm non-accusatory message, do not chase, do not retaliate with more silence, don't apologize just to get a reaction. When contact resumes: lead with curiosity, describe impact without assuming intent, and if the silence is a pattern rather than a moment, maybe look hard at whether the relationship is worth the real estate it's taking up in your head.Queenie's takeaway is quieter than the article's framework. Reading it gave her permission to let it go — to acknowledge she'd done her part, fulfilled what she calls "the social contract," and move on. TT points out, warmly but pointedly, that reaching out at all was the brave move. It was. And the non-response is its own answer.Which connects to the Fucket List addition: you do not have to respond to everything. Queenie originally pulled this out as a parenting tool — when kids are being fresh or challenging or saying things that don't actually require your engagement, you give yourself permission to just not. She's had to resurrect it lately, for adults. For family situations. For the nurses at the hospital asking her how Mumsy likes her nasal cannula. (Her answer: "What would you do if I wasn't here? Do that.") The relief of not needing to be the one with every answer — not needing to fix, explain, defend, or respond to everything lobbed at you — is, it turns out, just as applicable at 60-something as it was when her kids were teenagers.The episode closes on a more tender note. While the women were on the Cape, two significant losses happened: Dolly Parton and Gloria Steinem. Both are acknowledged with the kind of genuine warmth you can't fake. For Steinem, Queenie has a specific recommendation: Netflix's Final Words — a pre-recorded interview filmed in the last couple of years, designed to air only after her death. Remote cameras, no crew, just Steinem knowing this would be her last on-camera words. Queenie watched it the night Steinem died. She calls it powerful. Forty minutes, not overlong, completely worth it.The conversation turns briefly political — because it has to. Women couldn't get credit in their own names until 1977. Physicians could discuss a woman's health directly with her husband, without involving her. Queenie and TT were already ...
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