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...

Thursday, August 11, 2011

I Feel Stupid

I was telling Sarita about the stupid cat today.  She walked over to my fucked-up door, did a little somethin' somethin', closed the door, and it clicked shut.  Damn.  It was better than Seifgried and Roy.  David Blaine.  The guy who does Bar Mitzvahs.

Except she told me her secret.  She just pulled out the brass thingie on the door jamb.  The female to the male lock.  It seems so crude to put it that way, but it's self-explanatory.  Unless you're a seahorse.  Or a starfish.

I met my friend, Rich, for a late lunch today at the kitschy Mexican restaurant around the corner.  Unfortunately, I mentioned to "Miss Dolly", the ancient waitress, that I'd just had a birthday.  Dammit if they didn't sing some royalty-free version of Happy Birthday.  But no flan.  Miss Dolly didn't think it would go well with my beer.  So she said.

I explained to MD that R was a Yankee.  From New York and all.  Jewish, to boot.  She regaled us with the story of her son's Navy friend from New York who demolished her kitchen looking for a wok.   He burned up her nice skillet trying to make some sort of exotic asian dish.  Long story short, she kicked him out.  And when she did, he tore up her yard doing doughnuts in the rental car.  It had rained.  I don't know if he was Jewish.

Just so you know, every time I stereotype Jewish people, I follow it with, "I love the Jews.  They're God's chosen people."  I'd hate for anyone to think I'm anti-semitic.  Same with African Americans.  Black men love me.  I have a big butt and thighs.  They like big legs.  If I need a confidence builder, I just go to the Kroger on Summer (the same one with carts that lock up if you go past the yellow line).  I get lots of affirmation there.

And that's hard to come by at The Good House...

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