Welcome to my world!

My life's been crazy since my Daddy moved in with me immediately after my mother's death in October 2010. My one and only kiddo headed to college at Carolina at the end of August. So...I lived on my own, for the first time in my life, for a total of a blissful six weeks. Then, I started the parenting gig with my dad. He's a combination of a grouchy old man, a surly teenager and a temperamental toddler. Needless to say, I get very close to the brink of insanity sometimes. I get through life by finding the humor in difficult circumstances. And for some reason, I wind up in the weirdest situations. I couldn't make this stuff up. So I wind up having lots and lots crazy adventures which make great stories to share with my friends. Writing about my life is so therapeutic. My ramblings range from funny to sad to angry (full of cuss words) to sweet. While my focus is dealing with the trials and tribulations of being a parent to my Daddy, I have lots of random, totally unrelated posts. Whatever's on my mind. I love to make people laugh, and I'm happy to think my readers will get my strange sense of humor. And maybe, people who are in my situation will be encouraged. That's all I can hope for...

Friday, April 15, 2011


...it's a problem. I haven't mowed since late last summer. I've raked leaves. Mainly in the front. Except for the big pile which has turned to mulch and smothered my carefully chemically treated zoysia.

After an incredibly difficult day full of curve balls of angst, I decided to become one with the earth. That can be dangerous. Like life, a simple little suburban quarter-acre yard can be loaded with danger. It looks safe from a distance. But it's not.

My yard is full of risks. Poison ivy - mowing it is the worst thing you can do - it sprays its powerful urushiol oil into the air, and wreaks havoc on my skin. My body, my brain, my mood. I'd rather be tear-gassed. Seriously.

Then there are the gumballs. I hate those bastards. That's what they are. The female sweetgum tree indescriminately drops a bazillion zygotes. Fuck her. I keep meaning to call an arborist - I've heard there's a birth control shot for those fuckin' bitch trees. Why they're so dangerous - when you're mowing, they shoot in random directions like pinballs, and can come dangerously close to putting out an eye. Plus, stepping on one can totally screw your ankle. My dear friend Lundy tripped and fell and scraped her knee on one of those mother fuckers at Christmas. Somehow, The D is immune to that danger.

Ok, enough about that. I went out, all full of frustration, intending to finish both the front and back yard. Then I decided I'd just tackle the front. Then I gave up half-way. Garbage can was full. No bags. Plus I wimped out. The D came out to instruct, but since I had my brand new Non-Apple MP3 blasting into my ears full blast, his mouth was moving but nothing was coming out. A good thing. He'd have been an easy target.

So here I am. No social life. Weighing my choices. Should I stay or should I go? I think I'll cook a hamburger for D, take a shower, and head to Good House to escape. My CDs are there. Maybe I'll organize them. Or try to. Or I'll take my guitar and try my new method. Or work on my incredible new groundbreaking idea of guitar finger prosthetics. Or fall asleep in the bathtub. Or the front yard.

Anything is better than this...

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