My windows are open. After a miserably hot summer, the cool fall weather is that much sweeter. I'm content. I can't think of a better feeling. Well, maybe one, but it's much more transient.
I've decided to keep mum about that, though. I was scolded for blabbing. So I'll act accordingly. I'm generally an open book, but I also take very seriously the trust placed in me. As an auditor, I had privy to the most confidential information. Namely, payroll.
When I prepared tax returns, I tried not to judge when clients made lots and lots of money and gave nothing to charity. When they complained about owing taxes, I bit my tongue. I wanted to tell them that if they had enough withheld or paid estimates, they'd be ok. I also wanted to say, "If you make a lot, you pay a lot." That would've been a CLM, though. Career Limiting Move.
Gonna quit blogging now. I'll get back to work. So much to do.
But I'll probably just enjoy the bliss and get an early start tomorrow...
Friday, September 30, 2011
Wednesday, September 28, 2011
Nurturing
I think there's an undercurrent of competitiveness. I want The Daddler to love me just as much as the Golden Child. The baby. Deb. I don't cart him around to Sam's and the barber shop and Ghengis Grill, but I manage to scare up some quasi-home-cooked meals now and then.
Soooo, I made a special trip to the grocery store today to buy beef stew meat and the rest of the ingredients. I'm cheating and using the most amazing McCormick mix. It comes with a bag and the seasoning and good directions. It's a short-cut, but it still takes a good 45 minutes of prep time if you use fresh veggies (not frozen), plus 1 1/2 hours in the oven. I made Good Seasons salad dressing (the best) and buttermilk cornbread. Southern Living had a recipe that looked good. It had 1/4 cup sugar, and I think that's better than what I've been doing.
My future mother-in-law invited us to come to dinner tonight. The D doesn't want to go, but I do. And since I'm giving him a veritable feast, I won't mind leaving him home alone. Except I think there's a big game since Atlanta and St. Louis are tied for the wild card. It's time for me to start watching. I hope I can go to the World Series before I die. Spring training would be good, too. Wonder how far the Grapefruit League is from FF's home in FL. Only problem is that he's not a baseball fan.
Time to check on cornbread and beef stew. All for now...
My future mother-in-law invited us to come to dinner tonight. The D doesn't want to go, but I do. And since I'm giving him a veritable feast, I won't mind leaving him home alone. Except I think there's a big game since Atlanta and St. Louis are tied for the wild card. It's time for me to start watching. I hope I can go to the World Series before I die. Spring training would be good, too. Wonder how far the Grapefruit League is from FF's home in FL. Only problem is that he's not a baseball fan.
Time to check on cornbread and beef stew. All for now...
Tuesday, September 27, 2011
Life is Good
In keeping with my other post-vacay blogs, I'm just going to list the things I want to remember. There are plenty of them. Here goes...
Happening on a little diner with a great breakfast - right in the middle of all the touristy places with lines out the door. Eating nothing but Thai seasoned cashews, Trader Joe's peanut butter cups and garlic-stuffed olives for three days straight. Craving fruit on day four. Buying mood rings and seashells at the cool souvenir shop. Wearing the mood rings and competing for the best mood. Loving on Shane - the sweetest red-headed golden retriever in the world. Jumping in the hot tub before heading to the airport on my last day there. Eating crabcakes on the way. Picking tomatoes and cucumbers and peppers and basil and parsley from Mel's garden and concocting a pasta sauce with them.
Hearing FF's ring tone and putting him on speaker phone and listening to Mel tease him (he's just like her husband, Roger). Laughing out loud at Chelsea Handler's trashy book, My Horizontal Life. Reading the New York Times in bed. Drinking good, strong coffee. Staying in my pajamas until noon. Playing in Mel's jewelry box. Sharing clothes.
Best of all, coming home. Feeling loved when The D offered me his Genghis Grill leftovers for dinner. And hugging him. Seeing him smile.
Hearing JoJo's soft Southern voice after a week of distinctly Jewish (loud) accents. Finding myself speaking like a Jewess. And loving it.
Cooking dinner for The Daddler tonight. Tomatoes and onions and okra, garlic toast, lasagna (I'll admit, it was Stouffer's), and celery sticks, plus a Banquet berry pie for dessert. Watching Dancing With the Stars with the cat on my lap.
Finding some semblance of a routine. And remembering crab cakes...
Monday, September 19, 2011
Withdrawal
The good news is that I've taken care of my clients and I think I can forget about work for a week. Or not. Deb is covering The Daddler - he's happy to stay at home and see her every night. I hope to make some cornbread, fry some okra, cut up veggies and plan meals. Out of my comfort zone. But he'll be fine.
And I'll be a new woman when I return.
Better run.
Monday, September 12, 2011
It's Time...
...to put this silly blog on ice. I think it's served its purpose. I'll explain, in my usual, rambling way.
I just woke up from a terrible nightmare. I dreamed that I found Daddy dead in his bed. Cold and still. Like a plastic doll. I tried to call Deb, but the sound wouldn't come out when I tried to tell her. I couldn't stop crying. I wondered whether I should call and tell the Emotional Vampire and her brood. Or forego the obituary and hope none of them found out until after the funeral. In the middle of my tailspin, Daddy came walking out of the kitchen with his coffee in hand. I was stunned. But relieved. Around then I woke up. All sweaty. My heart racing. More relief. This time, that it was just a dream.
Rewind a little to yesterday afternoon. I fell asleep on the sofa. Watched way too many back-to-back episodes of Auction Hunters, then Bar Rescue, and finally, Anthony Bourdain. Did my usual emo thing of missing Mother to tears. I wallowed in self-pity. Repeatedly searched the fridge and pantry for something decent to eat. Considered eating The Daddler's leftover half of Friday's chicken wrap, but decided against it, remembering how mad he got the last time I ate some of his leftovers. Ate stale Cheese Nips. Drank most of a bottle of beer. Felt so bloated before I finished it that I poured the rest out. Seriously. Not like me.
Fast forward to now. Last night I talked to Deb. Sundays are hard for her, too. We always try to figure out why. We settle on a combination of stress over the impending Monday morning, plus being at loose ends without structure all weekend. And for me, there's that panicky feeling of knowing I haven't done all the stuff I'd put off until the weekend.
And then it dawned on me. My most consistent effort over these past eight months has been this crazy blog. I've spent way too much time on it when I should've been doing other, more important things. Sure, I can rationalize and call it therapy. Catharsis. Whatever. The truth is that I can't afford to waste any more time on it right now. And that the truest psychobabble term which applies is avoidance. I'm a grown woman with very adult responsibilities. So for all the pretending that I'm just a carefree raconteuse reveling in my life of adventure, the reality is that I've regressed into an irresponsible kid. And I was always such a responsible kid. So now, I've gotten it out of my system.
A wise person once told me that the definition of maturity is the ability to forego short-term pleasure for long-term benefit. Most of my life, I've been a model of that. I worked my way through college. After I graduated and started my career, I lived at home with my parents until I'd paid off my car and student loans and credit card balance. I saved. Paid my parents back the money I'd borrowed from them. Studied my butt off and passed the CPA exam. I worked hard. And it paid off. I made more money than either of my parents in my first year out of school than either of them did after 25 years of working for the government. But it paid off for them - they have the best health insurance in the world and good pensions. I have COBRA and my dwindling IRA. But I digress.
My point is that I've avoided the harsh reality of my life. Which is actually not so harsh. I have everything I need. A safe, comfortable house. Oh, that reminds me. When JoJo and M and I were sitting out on my patio the other day, M looked up at the bars on my back windows and asked me if I lived in a bad neighborhood. I told her yes, we were in the 'hood. Which we're not. It's a great neighborhood. I love it. And now I have a rental house in this same great neighborhood.
I have a thriving business with great clients. A dependable, honest ex-husband who emails me every month to tell me I can transfer my alimony payment. So thankfully, money is not a worry for me. Well, Kiddo's tuition stretches things a bit, but I manage. With plenty leftover for running around. Shopping at the thrift store. Buying plane tickets to see my friends.
But the truth is, I've been operating on the fly for far too long now. It's causing me incessant stress. I can't keep on like this. I've got to man up, grow a pair, and face my responsibilities. Get my priorities in order.
Which means my long, meandering blog-posting has to drop to the bottom of the list. I think the clarifying moment was when I read an email from a friend this morning. He used the word prolix to describe me. In a teasing way. But still. Since I didn't know that word, I looked it up. Here ya go:
pro·lix (adjective)
1. extended to great, unnecessary, or tedious length; long and wordy.
2. (of a person) given to speaking or writing at great or tedious length.
Ouch. It's true though.
So with that, it's time to move on. This exercise has run its course. Served its purpose. Which was an emotional outlet for me. Among other things. But I've indulged it for way too long. Maybe I'll come back to blogging, but for now, I must neglect it. And stop neglecting the really important things in my life.
Over and out...
I just woke up from a terrible nightmare. I dreamed that I found Daddy dead in his bed. Cold and still. Like a plastic doll. I tried to call Deb, but the sound wouldn't come out when I tried to tell her. I couldn't stop crying. I wondered whether I should call and tell the Emotional Vampire and her brood. Or forego the obituary and hope none of them found out until after the funeral. In the middle of my tailspin, Daddy came walking out of the kitchen with his coffee in hand. I was stunned. But relieved. Around then I woke up. All sweaty. My heart racing. More relief. This time, that it was just a dream.
Rewind a little to yesterday afternoon. I fell asleep on the sofa. Watched way too many back-to-back episodes of Auction Hunters, then Bar Rescue, and finally, Anthony Bourdain. Did my usual emo thing of missing Mother to tears. I wallowed in self-pity. Repeatedly searched the fridge and pantry for something decent to eat. Considered eating The Daddler's leftover half of Friday's chicken wrap, but decided against it, remembering how mad he got the last time I ate some of his leftovers. Ate stale Cheese Nips. Drank most of a bottle of beer. Felt so bloated before I finished it that I poured the rest out. Seriously. Not like me.
Fast forward to now. Last night I talked to Deb. Sundays are hard for her, too. We always try to figure out why. We settle on a combination of stress over the impending Monday morning, plus being at loose ends without structure all weekend. And for me, there's that panicky feeling of knowing I haven't done all the stuff I'd put off until the weekend.
And then it dawned on me. My most consistent effort over these past eight months has been this crazy blog. I've spent way too much time on it when I should've been doing other, more important things. Sure, I can rationalize and call it therapy. Catharsis. Whatever. The truth is that I can't afford to waste any more time on it right now. And that the truest psychobabble term which applies is avoidance. I'm a grown woman with very adult responsibilities. So for all the pretending that I'm just a carefree raconteuse reveling in my life of adventure, the reality is that I've regressed into an irresponsible kid. And I was always such a responsible kid. So now, I've gotten it out of my system.
A wise person once told me that the definition of maturity is the ability to forego short-term pleasure for long-term benefit. Most of my life, I've been a model of that. I worked my way through college. After I graduated and started my career, I lived at home with my parents until I'd paid off my car and student loans and credit card balance. I saved. Paid my parents back the money I'd borrowed from them. Studied my butt off and passed the CPA exam. I worked hard. And it paid off. I made more money than either of my parents in my first year out of school than either of them did after 25 years of working for the government. But it paid off for them - they have the best health insurance in the world and good pensions. I have COBRA and my dwindling IRA. But I digress.
My point is that I've avoided the harsh reality of my life. Which is actually not so harsh. I have everything I need. A safe, comfortable house. Oh, that reminds me. When JoJo and M and I were sitting out on my patio the other day, M looked up at the bars on my back windows and asked me if I lived in a bad neighborhood. I told her yes, we were in the 'hood. Which we're not. It's a great neighborhood. I love it. And now I have a rental house in this same great neighborhood.
I have a thriving business with great clients. A dependable, honest ex-husband who emails me every month to tell me I can transfer my alimony payment. So thankfully, money is not a worry for me. Well, Kiddo's tuition stretches things a bit, but I manage. With plenty leftover for running around. Shopping at the thrift store. Buying plane tickets to see my friends.
But the truth is, I've been operating on the fly for far too long now. It's causing me incessant stress. I can't keep on like this. I've got to man up, grow a pair, and face my responsibilities. Get my priorities in order.
Which means my long, meandering blog-posting has to drop to the bottom of the list. I think the clarifying moment was when I read an email from a friend this morning. He used the word prolix to describe me. In a teasing way. But still. Since I didn't know that word, I looked it up. Here ya go:
pro·lix (adjective)
1. extended to great, unnecessary, or tedious length; long and wordy.
2. (of a person) given to speaking or writing at great or tedious length.
Ouch. It's true though.
So with that, it's time to move on. This exercise has run its course. Served its purpose. Which was an emotional outlet for me. Among other things. But I've indulged it for way too long. Maybe I'll come back to blogging, but for now, I must neglect it. And stop neglecting the really important things in my life.
Over and out...
Sunday, September 11, 2011
Pills, part IXILCMMMM
The pill boxes were empty yesterday. Both of them. All 28 compartments. The D hadn't had his morning doses yet, so I sat down in the living room to do my thang. Then I remembered that the last time, I got him to help me. I counted them out and instructed him as to which side to put them in - blue for P.M. and red for A.M. I use an Excel spreadsheet to keep up. It was kinda like occupational therapy. For each and every pill, I'd tell him red or blue, and he'd touch the first one and say, "This one?" I had to do the blood thinner myself because the dose alternates every third day, but otherwise, it worked perfectly. I checked them at the end and there were no mistakes. It was very sweet.
Then Deb came over for their regular Saturday outing. He so looks forward to that. She's an angel. What in the world would I do without her? I shudder to think. She's going to stay here during my quickly approaching trip to Ocean City, MD. He'll love that. And so will I. I won't have a worry in the world. He could stay with my sister-in-law, but he's much happier at home. It just hit me that this is his home now. Not his and Mother's old house. It's just about empty, and I desperately need to put it on the market, but for some reason (avoidance, I'm sure), I can't get around to it. Just like I can't get around to going through the boxes on my carport.
Oh, well.
I did my once per week thing of making French toast for The Daddler this morning. A labor of love to be sure. A small one. But still. He's happy with his microwaved muffin and it would be easy to skip the FT thing. I admit it. I'm a nurturer. Sometimes. But I need some affirmation. Didn't get it this morning. A healthy dose of sarcasm, in fact. It never fails to sting. Hence my blog. I asked how he liked his FT. In addition to the egg and milk, I use a dash of salt, a splash of vanilla extract, and a healthy sprinkling of cinnamon. And I use real butter. Now, I never eat French toast, waffles or pancakes, (I'm not self-disciplined, just hypoglycemic) so I'm not sure, but I think these are probably at least "pretty good." Not just "all right." But why the fuck do I ask The D how he likes my creations? He wasn't in a generous mood this morning. I can't remember how he replied, but I do know it was a notch below "all right." I repeated his lackluster response, to which he said, "it's all right." I repeated that in the form of a question. Which triggered his sarcastic comment. "It's good." At least he didn't say, "It's swill and I actually flushed it down the fucking toilet and got a muffin instead." And I didn't say, "Fuck you. Fix your own fucking French toast, Old Man." Nope. Instead, I morphed into the little girl seeking, and never getting, her daddy's approval. Nothing was ever good enough. Or ever will be. But I know the truth. It's better than good. And he loves me. He just can't show it. He called Deb "honey" last week. Whoa. I've never heard him say that to anyone other than Mother.
The grouchiness continued. We were waiting on CBS Sunday Morning when I realized that they were just on the "B"s on the September 11th ceremony. I think there were 3,000 names. I didn't extrapolate, but I figured it would take a while. The guide confirmed my suspicions. Since I don't need any more fodder for depression, I asked him if we could change the channel. He said he didn't care. So I put it on Auction Hunters. The thing where they buy the contents of a mini-storage unit sight-unseen. The landlord sells it when the owner disappears without paying the rent. It's pretty cool when they find good stuff. Like Antiques Roadshow. Which I love. I thought he'd like it. Wrong. After about two minutes, right when they unearthed a rare treasure, he declared that he wanted to watch CBS. I switched it and retreated to my den. Whatever Daddy wants...
After he got ready for church, he did his usual thing of waving his offering envelope in my face and counting on his fingers how much he wants me to write the check for. Unfortunately, I've run out of checks for his account and can't find the box so have to write them on mine. I have to fill out the envelope, too. Drop what I'm doing. At 9:30, I told him that it was time to go (he usually asks me around then.) He pointed to his watch and told me that he had five or ten more minutes. Whatever.
One thing I know is that he'll be eating a two day old Chick-Fil-A chicken wrap for lunch.
But I'm ok. Because I know in a couple weeks, when I come pulling into the driveway after six blissful days out of town, he'll be waiting for me. And the love will show on his face. And that is what keeps me going. Mother would be proud.
Then Deb came over for their regular Saturday outing. He so looks forward to that. She's an angel. What in the world would I do without her? I shudder to think. She's going to stay here during my quickly approaching trip to Ocean City, MD. He'll love that. And so will I. I won't have a worry in the world. He could stay with my sister-in-law, but he's much happier at home. It just hit me that this is his home now. Not his and Mother's old house. It's just about empty, and I desperately need to put it on the market, but for some reason (avoidance, I'm sure), I can't get around to it. Just like I can't get around to going through the boxes on my carport.
Oh, well.
I did my once per week thing of making French toast for The Daddler this morning. A labor of love to be sure. A small one. But still. He's happy with his microwaved muffin and it would be easy to skip the FT thing. I admit it. I'm a nurturer. Sometimes. But I need some affirmation. Didn't get it this morning. A healthy dose of sarcasm, in fact. It never fails to sting. Hence my blog. I asked how he liked his FT. In addition to the egg and milk, I use a dash of salt, a splash of vanilla extract, and a healthy sprinkling of cinnamon. And I use real butter. Now, I never eat French toast, waffles or pancakes, (I'm not self-disciplined, just hypoglycemic) so I'm not sure, but I think these are probably at least "pretty good." Not just "all right." But why the fuck do I ask The D how he likes my creations? He wasn't in a generous mood this morning. I can't remember how he replied, but I do know it was a notch below "all right." I repeated his lackluster response, to which he said, "it's all right." I repeated that in the form of a question. Which triggered his sarcastic comment. "It's good." At least he didn't say, "It's swill and I actually flushed it down the fucking toilet and got a muffin instead." And I didn't say, "Fuck you. Fix your own fucking French toast, Old Man." Nope. Instead, I morphed into the little girl seeking, and never getting, her daddy's approval. Nothing was ever good enough. Or ever will be. But I know the truth. It's better than good. And he loves me. He just can't show it. He called Deb "honey" last week. Whoa. I've never heard him say that to anyone other than Mother.
The grouchiness continued. We were waiting on CBS Sunday Morning when I realized that they were just on the "B"s on the September 11th ceremony. I think there were 3,000 names. I didn't extrapolate, but I figured it would take a while. The guide confirmed my suspicions. Since I don't need any more fodder for depression, I asked him if we could change the channel. He said he didn't care. So I put it on Auction Hunters. The thing where they buy the contents of a mini-storage unit sight-unseen. The landlord sells it when the owner disappears without paying the rent. It's pretty cool when they find good stuff. Like Antiques Roadshow. Which I love. I thought he'd like it. Wrong. After about two minutes, right when they unearthed a rare treasure, he declared that he wanted to watch CBS. I switched it and retreated to my den. Whatever Daddy wants...
After he got ready for church, he did his usual thing of waving his offering envelope in my face and counting on his fingers how much he wants me to write the check for. Unfortunately, I've run out of checks for his account and can't find the box so have to write them on mine. I have to fill out the envelope, too. Drop what I'm doing. At 9:30, I told him that it was time to go (he usually asks me around then.) He pointed to his watch and told me that he had five or ten more minutes. Whatever.
One thing I know is that he'll be eating a two day old Chick-Fil-A chicken wrap for lunch.
But I'm ok. Because I know in a couple weeks, when I come pulling into the driveway after six blissful days out of town, he'll be waiting for me. And the love will show on his face. And that is what keeps me going. Mother would be proud.
Saturday, September 10, 2011
Piss and Vinegar
After a late night of salsa dancing, complete with Krystals on the way home (I'm still feeling icky), Jo was raring to go for a trot on the Greenline this morning. Lots of other people had the same idea, so there was a good bit of traffic. That can make it tricky when bikers are passing walkers. See my previous post about my face plant on the GL.
J & I were walking along, bearing to the right side of the path. Two bikes were coming toward us. No problem. A bike came up behind us at the same time that the two oncoming bikes were going past. I'm skittish, so I stepped off onto the gravel, but J held her ground. Which was perfectly appropriate. But instead of using his brakes, the jerk on the bike behind us kept coming and went around J, which put him in the center of the path, dangerously close to the oncoming bikes. He made some rude, unintelligible remark after the near miss. To which J hollered, "You could try slowing down!" To which he shouted something else rude and unintelligible. To which she screamed, "Fuck you!" I was stunned. This was sooo out of character for JoJo. And in spite of my, uh, mercurial personality, I am very uncomfortable with confrontation. I was relieved that the dummy didn't turn around and come back. Not that we couldn't have taken him. He was riding some kinda PeeWee Herman Schwinn bicycle and wasn't even wearing a helmet (how stupid is that?).
Even Jo surprised herself. I decided it was transference. We were talking about someone who'd pissed her off, so asshole-on-bike was a good target for her anger. Sure enough, she felt better!
Another funny thing, involving the F word. At some point, I noticed a mile marker post emblazened with the name of a corporate sponsor, which just happened to be the employer of a former, ummm, mutual friend. The operative word being former. So I pointed at the post with my foot to draw it to Jo's attention, and simultaneously, we said, "Fuck you." To the post. And shared a good belly laugh. We hadn't thought about him in a long time. There's a very complicated, strange story about that, but not worth telling right now.
Then, when we got in her car to leave, JoJo asked me if I thought she should wait in her car at the crosswalk until asshole-on-bike came by. So she could run over him. I mentioned vehicular homicide, and that it would be premeditated if she sat in her car and waited. That as much as I liked her, I wouldn't want to perjure myself for her. And we laughed again about her unexpected bout of road rage.
We got back to my house and sat on the patio all afternoon. Her friend M called so we invited her to stop by. We painted our fingers and toes, designed tattoos, and did lotsa trash-talking. A fun day.
So here I sit. Another Saturday night. In my Enchanted Aerie. Blogging. With the Bulimic Cat for company. Which I don't mind, actually. I'm tired. Which isn't such a bad feeling.
J & I were walking along, bearing to the right side of the path. Two bikes were coming toward us. No problem. A bike came up behind us at the same time that the two oncoming bikes were going past. I'm skittish, so I stepped off onto the gravel, but J held her ground. Which was perfectly appropriate. But instead of using his brakes, the jerk on the bike behind us kept coming and went around J, which put him in the center of the path, dangerously close to the oncoming bikes. He made some rude, unintelligible remark after the near miss. To which J hollered, "You could try slowing down!" To which he shouted something else rude and unintelligible. To which she screamed, "Fuck you!" I was stunned. This was sooo out of character for JoJo. And in spite of my, uh, mercurial personality, I am very uncomfortable with confrontation. I was relieved that the dummy didn't turn around and come back. Not that we couldn't have taken him. He was riding some kinda PeeWee Herman Schwinn bicycle and wasn't even wearing a helmet (how stupid is that?).
Even Jo surprised herself. I decided it was transference. We were talking about someone who'd pissed her off, so asshole-on-bike was a good target for her anger. Sure enough, she felt better!
Another funny thing, involving the F word. At some point, I noticed a mile marker post emblazened with the name of a corporate sponsor, which just happened to be the employer of a former, ummm, mutual friend. The operative word being former. So I pointed at the post with my foot to draw it to Jo's attention, and simultaneously, we said, "Fuck you." To the post. And shared a good belly laugh. We hadn't thought about him in a long time. There's a very complicated, strange story about that, but not worth telling right now.
Then, when we got in her car to leave, JoJo asked me if I thought she should wait in her car at the crosswalk until asshole-on-bike came by. So she could run over him. I mentioned vehicular homicide, and that it would be premeditated if she sat in her car and waited. That as much as I liked her, I wouldn't want to perjure myself for her. And we laughed again about her unexpected bout of road rage.
We got back to my house and sat on the patio all afternoon. Her friend M called so we invited her to stop by. We painted our fingers and toes, designed tattoos, and did lotsa trash-talking. A fun day.
So here I sit. Another Saturday night. In my Enchanted Aerie. Blogging. With the Bulimic Cat for company. Which I don't mind, actually. I'm tired. Which isn't such a bad feeling.
Thursday, September 8, 2011
It's All Good
I guess. It could be worse.
I've worked hard today. The Daddler doesn't want anything for supper. His stomach is upset. I offered cheese toast and/or chicken noodle soup, but he declined. Maalox. Nope.
I've been engaged with client work on Excel, but I'm going to change gears and practice my guitar and paint a little. Maybe hang some pictures. Do some laundry. Find something to eat. Use my hoola hoop.
Maybe take a hot bath. Read. Find a book to download to my Kindle. Draw a tattoo on my skin somewhere. Or crank up the radio and dance, do push-ups, sit-ups and maybe paint my fingers or toes.
Whatever I settle on, the fresh air and my open windows make me happy.
I've worked hard today. The Daddler doesn't want anything for supper. His stomach is upset. I offered cheese toast and/or chicken noodle soup, but he declined. Maalox. Nope.
I've been engaged with client work on Excel, but I'm going to change gears and practice my guitar and paint a little. Maybe hang some pictures. Do some laundry. Find something to eat. Use my hoola hoop.
Maybe take a hot bath. Read. Find a book to download to my Kindle. Draw a tattoo on my skin somewhere. Or crank up the radio and dance, do push-ups, sit-ups and maybe paint my fingers or toes.
Whatever I settle on, the fresh air and my open windows make me happy.
Wednesday, September 7, 2011
Fuck the Hinge
See my earlier post, entitled, "Fuck the Napkin."
The D went on a rant about the "damn door." The door between his bedroom and bathroom. In his master suite. The screws in the bottom hinge came out. So the door wouldn't close. I told him to just close the bedroom door since fixing stripped screws wasn't within my skill set.
Then a whole thing involving the sound on the ballgame on his big ass tv ensued. I tried to fix it, to no avail.
His urologist is working us in first thing tomorrow (so hopefully we won't have to wait), to figure out the blood in his urine. His stupid nurse said he might have to lay off the blood thinner for a few days. Talk about trade-offs. If you had to choose, would you rather have bloody urine or a stroke? Obviously, the former is less onerous than the latter, but after a month of peeing blood, with no improvement, something's gotta give. He had bloodwork last week and his hematocrit is low, so it's not like we can just wait forever.
I'm exhausted. Gonna head to bed.
The D went on a rant about the "damn door." The door between his bedroom and bathroom. In his master suite. The screws in the bottom hinge came out. So the door wouldn't close. I told him to just close the bedroom door since fixing stripped screws wasn't within my skill set.
Then a whole thing involving the sound on the ballgame on his big ass tv ensued. I tried to fix it, to no avail.
His urologist is working us in first thing tomorrow (so hopefully we won't have to wait), to figure out the blood in his urine. His stupid nurse said he might have to lay off the blood thinner for a few days. Talk about trade-offs. If you had to choose, would you rather have bloody urine or a stroke? Obviously, the former is less onerous than the latter, but after a month of peeing blood, with no improvement, something's gotta give. He had bloodwork last week and his hematocrit is low, so it's not like we can just wait forever.
I'm exhausted. Gonna head to bed.
I'm a Believer...
...in my new Oral B electric toothbrush. Wow, it's amazing. I thought two minutes of brushing would seem like forever, but I usually go two and a half or three. I got mine at Sam's (two handles, no less) and sent in a rebate for 50% of the purchase price, so it'll wind up costing me $37 - can't beat that. What makes it so much better than using a plain old toothbrush is that you can get behind your front teeth and behind your back molars. I have the Floss Action heads, which come highly recommended. They're expensive, but since they last three months, it's not bad. I can really tell a difference in the way my teeth feel.
I'm not as crazy about my new WaterPik, but I haven't had a chance to experiment with all the different tips. There are about 10 of them. One to clean your tongue, even. Now I have a four-step oral hygiene process. Brushing, string flossing, WaterPik'ing, and mouthwash. Not counting my occasional white strips and six-month cleanings. Mother taught us to be religious about our dental checkups.
I remember taking Kiddo to his first cleaning. We went to a friend instead of a pediadontist because he knew our dentist. Since he didn't have the kid-sized chairs, Kiddo sat in my lap in the chair. He was about two years old. Funny thing, he fell asleep during the cleaning.
He makes his own appointments now without my reminding him. He started that as soon as he started driving. It just happened to coincide with our dentist hiring a cute young hygenist. I noticed that her breast bumps into my arm when she leans over. I have a feeling that contributed to Kiddo's enthusiasm for his cleanings. Whatever works.
I'm reveling in the cool weather. It's 56 right now. I'm sitting in front of my open window wearing my fluffy fleece tiger print robe. My friend L got it for me. It's totally out of character for me. I'm kinda traditional. L is not. When Kiddo was home for Christmas, he asked me where I got it. I told him, and he said, "That explains it." Funny. I'm loving it.
As much as I'm looking forward to fall, I'm not looking forward to raking the leaves. We have six huge oak trees. Some of which are water oaks and willow oaks, which have many more, much smaller leaves. That makes raking much harder. I need to buy some sort of leaf vacuum. Hopefully they don't cost a fortune. If so, maybe I'll start a leaf sucking biz to pay for it.
In the meantime, I've got my accounting gigs to tend to. Time to close out August books, so it's gonna be a busy few days. Plus, I'm leaving for Ocean City in a couple weeks, so I've got a shitload to do before then. Thank god the housekeeper's coming today.
Over and out.
I'm not as crazy about my new WaterPik, but I haven't had a chance to experiment with all the different tips. There are about 10 of them. One to clean your tongue, even. Now I have a four-step oral hygiene process. Brushing, string flossing, WaterPik'ing, and mouthwash. Not counting my occasional white strips and six-month cleanings. Mother taught us to be religious about our dental checkups.
I remember taking Kiddo to his first cleaning. We went to a friend instead of a pediadontist because he knew our dentist. Since he didn't have the kid-sized chairs, Kiddo sat in my lap in the chair. He was about two years old. Funny thing, he fell asleep during the cleaning.
He makes his own appointments now without my reminding him. He started that as soon as he started driving. It just happened to coincide with our dentist hiring a cute young hygenist. I noticed that her breast bumps into my arm when she leans over. I have a feeling that contributed to Kiddo's enthusiasm for his cleanings. Whatever works.
I'm reveling in the cool weather. It's 56 right now. I'm sitting in front of my open window wearing my fluffy fleece tiger print robe. My friend L got it for me. It's totally out of character for me. I'm kinda traditional. L is not. When Kiddo was home for Christmas, he asked me where I got it. I told him, and he said, "That explains it." Funny. I'm loving it.
As much as I'm looking forward to fall, I'm not looking forward to raking the leaves. We have six huge oak trees. Some of which are water oaks and willow oaks, which have many more, much smaller leaves. That makes raking much harder. I need to buy some sort of leaf vacuum. Hopefully they don't cost a fortune. If so, maybe I'll start a leaf sucking biz to pay for it.
In the meantime, I've got my accounting gigs to tend to. Time to close out August books, so it's gonna be a busy few days. Plus, I'm leaving for Ocean City in a couple weeks, so I've got a shitload to do before then. Thank god the housekeeper's coming today.
Over and out.
Tuesday, September 6, 2011
Clarification
I am not a violent person. Or abusive. Believe me, if that were the case, I would've committed elder abuse many times by now. So yesterday, when I said I'd smacked FF, I exercised a little poetic license. I just pretended to. I did, however, make a little more contact than I'd expected. He acted like I'd given him whiplash. I'll be more careful in the future. He can be a little fragile. But to avoid the need for future clarification, I'll admit that this is a lie. I joke about cracking him like a walnut, but he's stronger than I am. He does have a genetic advantage, after all. And in spite of his cushy desk job, he does lots of heavy lifting. See, he knows how to do shit. I even started a blog by that title. I invited him to co-author it with me. Seems he's too busy for that. Doing shit.
The first thing I want him to explain is how to make yogurt. But first, how to build an incubator to do it. He says people should just google it. And actually, I just did. And found this website: http://www.makeyourownyogurt.com/ It just uses a heating pad. I might have to give it a try. Soooo, maybe FF has a point. Still. That reminds me. I started a blog entitled, Necessity is a Mother. Clever, huh? I haven't posted anything but the title. I wish it were (was?) possible to sell good Blogspot names. I'm sure that's prohibited. I happen to have a great name for kiddo's high school's baseball team and it would be perfect for a university with the same name. Maybe I'll email one of the other bloggers and offer it to them. Because I don't use it any more, obviously.
I'm good at starting things, but I have no follow-through, I'm afraid. Except for this blog. I started it at the end of January and this will be my 290th post. Amazing. It represents lots of hours of therapy. And it keeps me off FaceBook. Not a bad thing. It's very efficient, too. My friends don't have to listen to me blather on about my strange life. They usually catch up on it before we go to lunch.
I need to run. Plan my day. Which involves another trip to the VA. Plus, doing all the shit I should've done this weekend. And didn't.
Later...
The first thing I want him to explain is how to make yogurt. But first, how to build an incubator to do it. He says people should just google it. And actually, I just did. And found this website: http://www.makeyourownyogurt.com/ It just uses a heating pad. I might have to give it a try. Soooo, maybe FF has a point. Still. That reminds me. I started a blog entitled, Necessity is a Mother. Clever, huh? I haven't posted anything but the title. I wish it were (was?) possible to sell good Blogspot names. I'm sure that's prohibited. I happen to have a great name for kiddo's high school's baseball team and it would be perfect for a university with the same name. Maybe I'll email one of the other bloggers and offer it to them. Because I don't use it any more, obviously.
I'm good at starting things, but I have no follow-through, I'm afraid. Except for this blog. I started it at the end of January and this will be my 290th post. Amazing. It represents lots of hours of therapy. And it keeps me off FaceBook. Not a bad thing. It's very efficient, too. My friends don't have to listen to me blather on about my strange life. They usually catch up on it before we go to lunch.
I need to run. Plan my day. Which involves another trip to the VA. Plus, doing all the shit I should've done this weekend. And didn't.
Later...
Monday, September 5, 2011
So Good
I think my chili is gonna be good. It just happened that we had cooler weather today. Who wants to make chili when it's a million degrees outside?
I had a pound or so of ground venison in the freezer (I've been on a quest to use it or lose it). The D loves his deer meat. I had to use it today since I'd thawed it, or I'd kill him with e.coli or whatever dread disease lurks in preservitave-free wild game meat. I decided I'd cook big. So I bought a pound and a half of ground chuck. And other stuff.
So now, I have a huge pot of chili simmering on the stove. I have to admit, I used a mix (False Alarm Chili), and lots of cans, but I still consider it the real deal. I sauteed onions, green bell peppers and fresh garlic in canola oil before I added the meat.
Well, enough about that. Maybe I'll post my recipe.
I feel like I'm in a dream. There's a cool breeze blowing in my window. I mean cool. Not just "not quite as hot." Damn.
Mr. Man has found something new about which to ride me. "Or not." He says it's not needed. I wasn't aware that I used it. Like my gesticulating. Or not.
I swear. He makes me crazy. It's gonna come down to...something. I'm not sure what. I want to smack him. I did that in Boston, once, and I'll never hear the end of it. He deserved it. And I almost never have the urge to hit. So that tells you. He made me crazy. Somehow or other, we kissed and made up at Legal Sea Foods. My treat. That probably helped. It didn't hurt that we had a great day. And that I bought him some very cool souvenirs.
I should go check on the chili. I'll simmer it until time to give the D his supper. And I'll save a little for leftovers. Freeze the rest.
And enjoy this cool breeze. Heaven.
I had a pound or so of ground venison in the freezer (I've been on a quest to use it or lose it). The D loves his deer meat. I had to use it today since I'd thawed it, or I'd kill him with e.coli or whatever dread disease lurks in preservitave-free wild game meat. I decided I'd cook big. So I bought a pound and a half of ground chuck. And other stuff.
So now, I have a huge pot of chili simmering on the stove. I have to admit, I used a mix (False Alarm Chili), and lots of cans, but I still consider it the real deal. I sauteed onions, green bell peppers and fresh garlic in canola oil before I added the meat.
Well, enough about that. Maybe I'll post my recipe.
I feel like I'm in a dream. There's a cool breeze blowing in my window. I mean cool. Not just "not quite as hot." Damn.
Mr. Man has found something new about which to ride me. "Or not." He says it's not needed. I wasn't aware that I used it. Like my gesticulating. Or not.
I swear. He makes me crazy. It's gonna come down to...something. I'm not sure what. I want to smack him. I did that in Boston, once, and I'll never hear the end of it. He deserved it. And I almost never have the urge to hit. So that tells you. He made me crazy. Somehow or other, we kissed and made up at Legal Sea Foods. My treat. That probably helped. It didn't hurt that we had a great day. And that I bought him some very cool souvenirs.
I should go check on the chili. I'll simmer it until time to give the D his supper. And I'll save a little for leftovers. Freeze the rest.
And enjoy this cool breeze. Heaven.
Equal Time...
...for the Dem's. And no, I'm not pandering to my liberal friends. I'm sure I offended them with my political rant yesterday. I hate right-wingers, too. In the immortal words of Ronald Reagan, "It has been said that politics is the second oldest profession. I have learned that it bears a striking resemblance to the first." And yes, I know that RR was conservative. But he was honest. And he loved his wife.
But I digress. I belong to the IDGAF party. Actually, I really do care about important issues. But I'm cynical, too. I don't believe it matters what I think. Sure, I vote. For the big elections, anyway. If the weather's nice. Just kidding. Kinda.
Speaking of nice weather, OMG, it is so incredibly, amazingly, cool. It's something crazy like in the 70s. I can open my windows. Golly, the fresh air smells so good. I love this time of year. I wonder if the hurricane caused this. Talk about a dark cloud with a silver lining.
My friend L, who lives in Gulf Shores, seems to be surviving. My heart breaks for her. Her momma died a little over a week ago, a few days before her birthday. Like poor Deb. Hers was six days after Mother died. I missed it. She did, too, I think. What a blur. Thank god we're through it. Almost. I have fewer than six weeks to write thank you notes. That reminds me. Why doesn't anyone know when to say "fewer" v. "less." They almost always say the latter. But I'm in a glass house. It seems like I don't know the difference between the objective and nominative case. As in, "She's less political than me." I think that is nominative and I should use "I" instead of "me." I guess I do that (hopefully, not any longer) because I hate it when people say "I" instead of "me" when it's the objective case. Or "she" and "her." Or when they say "their" instead of "his or her." But I am clueless about hyphenation, and commas, and I abuse ellipses and parenthesis. Oh, one last peeve and I'll finish the grammar lesson. Why, oh why, do people say "quote, unquote" with nothing in between? Maybe it's ok to do at the end of the sentence. I'm not sure. One thing I know, though, is that I'd rather see them do the finger quote thing than say, "quote, unquote." Oh, well.
The politics. I care. Lots. And I'm actually quite liberal when it comes to some social issues. But I don't follow party lines. At all. And I'll be the first to admit that I'm influenced by my vocation, and my avocation, which I liberally call "investing." And my tax bracket. Not that it's all that high. But still.
As for the aforementioned "socialists" (wow, I'm abusing the quotation marks today), I'd be remiss if I didn't say that some of my favorite people are liberal. Which is why I refuse to argue with them. When they start in on politics, I sing a little song in my head. If you substitute, "I don't give a fuck" with "Row, Row, Row your Boat," it works nicely. And it helps me smile. Oh, if they have a sense of humor, I say, "I voted for Sarah Palin because I liked her hair. And who doesn't love a good makeover? Her handlers did amazing things." Usually, they just reply, "You voted for Sarah Palin??????"
Well, I should get busy. I'm going to make venison chili now. And load some shit for Goodwill in my car. Try to get rid of at least one box on the carport. Practice my guitar with my new CD-ROM. Play with my watercolors (love the resist!) Open every window in this entire house. And pick JoJo up at the airport this afternoon. She's off pursuing her long-distance lover, who happens to be 550 miles away, too. In the opposite direction of FF. Whom I miss.
But I digress. I belong to the IDGAF party. Actually, I really do care about important issues. But I'm cynical, too. I don't believe it matters what I think. Sure, I vote. For the big elections, anyway. If the weather's nice. Just kidding. Kinda.
Speaking of nice weather, OMG, it is so incredibly, amazingly, cool. It's something crazy like in the 70s. I can open my windows. Golly, the fresh air smells so good. I love this time of year. I wonder if the hurricane caused this. Talk about a dark cloud with a silver lining.
My friend L, who lives in Gulf Shores, seems to be surviving. My heart breaks for her. Her momma died a little over a week ago, a few days before her birthday. Like poor Deb. Hers was six days after Mother died. I missed it. She did, too, I think. What a blur. Thank god we're through it. Almost. I have fewer than six weeks to write thank you notes. That reminds me. Why doesn't anyone know when to say "fewer" v. "less." They almost always say the latter. But I'm in a glass house. It seems like I don't know the difference between the objective and nominative case. As in, "She's less political than me." I think that is nominative and I should use "I" instead of "me." I guess I do that (hopefully, not any longer) because I hate it when people say "I" instead of "me" when it's the objective case. Or "she" and "her." Or when they say "their" instead of "his or her." But I am clueless about hyphenation, and commas, and I abuse ellipses and parenthesis. Oh, one last peeve and I'll finish the grammar lesson. Why, oh why, do people say "quote, unquote" with nothing in between? Maybe it's ok to do at the end of the sentence. I'm not sure. One thing I know, though, is that I'd rather see them do the finger quote thing than say, "quote, unquote." Oh, well.
The politics. I care. Lots. And I'm actually quite liberal when it comes to some social issues. But I don't follow party lines. At all. And I'll be the first to admit that I'm influenced by my vocation, and my avocation, which I liberally call "investing." And my tax bracket. Not that it's all that high. But still.
As for the aforementioned "socialists" (wow, I'm abusing the quotation marks today), I'd be remiss if I didn't say that some of my favorite people are liberal. Which is why I refuse to argue with them. When they start in on politics, I sing a little song in my head. If you substitute, "I don't give a fuck" with "Row, Row, Row your Boat," it works nicely. And it helps me smile. Oh, if they have a sense of humor, I say, "I voted for Sarah Palin because I liked her hair. And who doesn't love a good makeover? Her handlers did amazing things." Usually, they just reply, "You voted for Sarah Palin??????"
Well, I should get busy. I'm going to make venison chili now. And load some shit for Goodwill in my car. Try to get rid of at least one box on the carport. Practice my guitar with my new CD-ROM. Play with my watercolors (love the resist!) Open every window in this entire house. And pick JoJo up at the airport this afternoon. She's off pursuing her long-distance lover, who happens to be 550 miles away, too. In the opposite direction of FF. Whom I miss.
Sunday, September 4, 2011
Doing Nothing, Part II
I wound up playing with my watercolors last night. So much fun. Time flies when you're having fun. My sleep hygiene is horrible. I'm not sure when I turned out the light, but I didn't wake up until 8:30. So based on my fucked up circadian rythm, it had to be at least 5:00 when I finally met Mr. SandMan.
I probably would've gone back to sleep if not for CBS Sunday Morning. I love, love, love that show. Today they interviewed Keith Richards. I'm sure you know that Captain Jack Sparrow is based on him. So appropriate. You gotta love him. He's honest. At least it seems that way.
After my fave show, Face the Nation came on. I watched it for a few minutes. Wish I hadn't. I'm dreading the election. Especially since I seem to find myself surrounded by socialists. One of these days I'm going to lose it and tell them to shut the fuck up and move to a Kibbutz. Seriously. No MiracleGro for these assholes.
Since I'm in a tailspin, I'll close. Head to the kitchen and cook for The Daddler. I printed a recipe for Al Roker's chili. I have ground venison thawing in the fridge. I think I have all the other ingredients. He will be beside himself. Maybe I'll try the Jacob & Esau thing and make him cut the Emotional Vampire out of the will before I give him the porridge. Or not. Believe me, I've thought about it a thousand times. Mother would've done it if she'd seen how things went. But that's neither here nor there.
Later...
I probably would've gone back to sleep if not for CBS Sunday Morning. I love, love, love that show. Today they interviewed Keith Richards. I'm sure you know that Captain Jack Sparrow is based on him. So appropriate. You gotta love him. He's honest. At least it seems that way.
After my fave show, Face the Nation came on. I watched it for a few minutes. Wish I hadn't. I'm dreading the election. Especially since I seem to find myself surrounded by socialists. One of these days I'm going to lose it and tell them to shut the fuck up and move to a Kibbutz. Seriously. No MiracleGro for these assholes.
Since I'm in a tailspin, I'll close. Head to the kitchen and cook for The Daddler. I printed a recipe for Al Roker's chili. I have ground venison thawing in the fridge. I think I have all the other ingredients. He will be beside himself. Maybe I'll try the Jacob & Esau thing and make him cut the Emotional Vampire out of the will before I give him the porridge. Or not. Believe me, I've thought about it a thousand times. Mother would've done it if she'd seen how things went. But that's neither here nor there.
Later...
Doing Nothing
Wow. I've just spent too many hours shopping online. Didn't buy a thing. Looked at a million things. Several thousand, at least. Watches. Watercolor paints. Sterling seashell jewelry. Cameras. Coin bezels. More, I'm sure.
This is my thrilling life. I don't mind it though. I sat in the living room with The Daddler and did the crossword puzzle and Jumble while he watched the old-time gospel singing show. When I couldn't take it any more (around the time I finished the puzzle), I headed back to my office and started farting around on my computer.
Now it's almost 11:30. I think I'll go upstairs and play with my paints a little while before I hit the rack. I bought some resist, which is also called Colourless Art Masking Fluid. Windsor & Newton. The good stuff. In case you don't know, you paint it on the paper anywhere you don't want the paint to go. Then when the paint is dry, you rub it off.
Hey, I wonder if that glue we used in elementary school would work that way. Mucilage. Hmmmm, I haven't thought about that in forever... Ok, after another 30 minutes spent searching for mucilage, I discovered that they don't make it any more. At least Elmers and LePage don't. Here's a picture. It's selling on eBay in 9 hours and 25 minutes. The highest bid is $10.99. Wow. It probably cost a nickel back in the day. And this is why I have hoarding tendencies.
Well, it's after midnight now. I think I'll wait to paint until tomorrow. Good night.
This is my thrilling life. I don't mind it though. I sat in the living room with The Daddler and did the crossword puzzle and Jumble while he watched the old-time gospel singing show. When I couldn't take it any more (around the time I finished the puzzle), I headed back to my office and started farting around on my computer.
Now it's almost 11:30. I think I'll go upstairs and play with my paints a little while before I hit the rack. I bought some resist, which is also called Colourless Art Masking Fluid. Windsor & Newton. The good stuff. In case you don't know, you paint it on the paper anywhere you don't want the paint to go. Then when the paint is dry, you rub it off.
Hey, I wonder if that glue we used in elementary school would work that way. Mucilage. Hmmmm, I haven't thought about that in forever... Ok, after another 30 minutes spent searching for mucilage, I discovered that they don't make it any more. At least Elmers and LePage don't. Here's a picture. It's selling on eBay in 9 hours and 25 minutes. The highest bid is $10.99. Wow. It probably cost a nickel back in the day. And this is why I have hoarding tendencies. Well, it's after midnight now. I think I'll wait to paint until tomorrow. Good night.
Saturday, September 3, 2011
My Exciting Weekend
So far so good. I had fun at happy hour last night. Stayed until 10:00, catching up with some friends I hadn't seen in forever. I ate 168 chicken wings, which equals one thigh (a chicken's, not mine). I refuse to eat them properly, which is to chew on them like corn on the cob and consume everything but the bone (including skin and tendons). Consequently, my host took my discards from my plate and gleaned the remains from them. We're good friends and it was a casual thing, so it wasn't weird. They were good, but I just don't get the whole hot wing hoopla. Same with ribs.
They also had yummy crostini. They credited me with inspiring it since I frequently take it to their house for happy hour. Good cheese and spicy crab dip, and of course, lots of adult beverages and fun convo. My kinda Friday night. Especially since I love having party food for dinner. I'd picked up Wendy's for The Daddler, so he was happily ensconced in his recliner with his favorite chili and frosty and the big-ass TV with a Cards game blaring.
Speaking of feeding The Daddler, I've outdone myself this week. I've made the following: baked tilapia, pan-fried rosemary potatoes, black bean soup, white chicken chili, and pork tenderloin. Nothing too labor intensive, except for cleaning up the mounds of dirty dishes. Which still remain on my kitchen counters. Waiting for me. Ugh.
After a couple weeks of sandwiches and other boring stuff, D was happy. He even praised my cooking by saying it was "good", not just "pretty good" or "all right." I think my spate of cooking was inspired by the phone call from my bitchy aunt earlier in the week. The same homeopath I caught getting him to try to spell the name of his new prostate medicine. The same one on whom I unleashed a torrent of pent up vitriol.
I was suprised she called again. I wouldn't have answered if the caller id had displayed "Aunt Bitch from Hell" instead of "private number." She was all business when she asked to speak to her brother. I sat and listened to the whole convo. Should've put it on speaker phone. Wasn't hard to figure out, though. Especially when I heard The Daddler say, "Yeah, she cooks pretty good." He's not stupid. I refrained from snatching the phone away and shouting that if she was so worried about his nourishment, why didn't she drag her ass up here from Red-Neck-Bigotopolis, Mississippi with a casserole. And telling her that he'd gained 15 pounds since October, thank you very much.
Back to last night. Everyone was gathered around the kitchen island and there were lots of people and the atmosphere was very convivial, and consequently loud. All of a sudden, I had a sort of panic attack. Where my ability to filter sound disappears and everything turns into a noisy cacophony. So I retreated to the family room to try to find a baseball game. Their sorry-ass AT&T U-Verse did NOT have a baseball game. How could that be? So we settled on the TCU-Baylor football game. Which turned out to be good. Soon I found myself in a room full of men. I was about to head home when my host told me that some very good mutual friends were on the way. So I hung in there.
Oh, an aside. I'm sitting here at the window in my office and I just saw one of the usual neighbors strolling past. He's a sixty-ish man with a cute dog and a huge gut, which he doesn't deign to cover with a shirt. How have I not blogged about him before? And what's up with men without shirts? If women can't show their nipples in public, why do men get to? Not that I want to see nipples of any sort. Ok, back to the party.
Finally, the crowd dwindled and it was just the five of us (host and hostess, mutual couple friends and moi) watching the game. It was cozy. We knew each other from our boys growing up together. I fielded the usual questions about ex-husband's dating status. Unless he's had a major personality shift, I can't imagine he's "out there." In fact, Kiddo observed that he still wears his wedding ring. Ex's life is consumed with work and sports, and I suspect he's quite content. I'd wager that he'll never marry again. Unless some determined woman comes along and hog-ties him. Which is what I did approximately 25 years ago. Wow, it would've been our silver anniversary in just a few days. Very tarnished silver.
Then the next logical questions. What about me? Was I dating anyone? I gave my usual response. A breezy little discourse about FF. The unusual circumstances of our meeting. That a long-distance relationship was perfect since right now, since The Daddler comes first. Then the next question about the status of our relationship. And my usual response. Two great trips and one visit home for him. That have fun together. He makes me laugh. And that right now, I don't have the energy or inclination to date. But if they know some eligible bachelor, I might be open to a look-see.
Not the truth about how I'm a one-man woman. All or none. And that I'm crazy about him.
But wait, I'm in pull-back mode. Forgot about that. Woke-up feeling the love. Anticipating his ring-tone. This, just 12 short hours after trying to figure out how to block calls from specific contacts on my cell phone last night (I can't). I did, however, leave my phone at home. I never do that. But there were no missed calls. And it was too late to call him when I got in.
He'd called that afternoon when I was about to enter the I-240 pre-holiday rush hour fray to take JoJo to the airport so I couldn't talk. Funny thing. One of J's Spanish speaking friends called while we were in the car and I told her to give me the phone (since I've decided to abandon Polish and learn Spanish) so I could practice. I started spouting out random phrases. Some of which I knew from reading bilingual signs. No fumar, por favor. Plus the vestiges of my 10th grade Spanish semester. Dangerous. When I handed the phone back to her, he said I'd told him he was my daddy. Go figure. Kinda like when I told my Japanese client that lunch was ass (I meant delicious).
Ok, The D is up and I need to clean up the kitchen. Do a couple loads of laundry. Go for a run while the giant oven of our lovely southern climate outside is preheating. Read the paper. Drink more coffee. And be thankful that I don't have a client meeting to get ready for. Fart around and enjoy the holiday. And wait for that distinctive ring-tone and the tiny, handsome face on my phone...
They also had yummy crostini. They credited me with inspiring it since I frequently take it to their house for happy hour. Good cheese and spicy crab dip, and of course, lots of adult beverages and fun convo. My kinda Friday night. Especially since I love having party food for dinner. I'd picked up Wendy's for The Daddler, so he was happily ensconced in his recliner with his favorite chili and frosty and the big-ass TV with a Cards game blaring.
Speaking of feeding The Daddler, I've outdone myself this week. I've made the following: baked tilapia, pan-fried rosemary potatoes, black bean soup, white chicken chili, and pork tenderloin. Nothing too labor intensive, except for cleaning up the mounds of dirty dishes. Which still remain on my kitchen counters. Waiting for me. Ugh.
After a couple weeks of sandwiches and other boring stuff, D was happy. He even praised my cooking by saying it was "good", not just "pretty good" or "all right." I think my spate of cooking was inspired by the phone call from my bitchy aunt earlier in the week. The same homeopath I caught getting him to try to spell the name of his new prostate medicine. The same one on whom I unleashed a torrent of pent up vitriol.
I was suprised she called again. I wouldn't have answered if the caller id had displayed "Aunt Bitch from Hell" instead of "private number." She was all business when she asked to speak to her brother. I sat and listened to the whole convo. Should've put it on speaker phone. Wasn't hard to figure out, though. Especially when I heard The Daddler say, "Yeah, she cooks pretty good." He's not stupid. I refrained from snatching the phone away and shouting that if she was so worried about his nourishment, why didn't she drag her ass up here from Red-Neck-Bigotopolis, Mississippi with a casserole. And telling her that he'd gained 15 pounds since October, thank you very much.
Back to last night. Everyone was gathered around the kitchen island and there were lots of people and the atmosphere was very convivial, and consequently loud. All of a sudden, I had a sort of panic attack. Where my ability to filter sound disappears and everything turns into a noisy cacophony. So I retreated to the family room to try to find a baseball game. Their sorry-ass AT&T U-Verse did NOT have a baseball game. How could that be? So we settled on the TCU-Baylor football game. Which turned out to be good. Soon I found myself in a room full of men. I was about to head home when my host told me that some very good mutual friends were on the way. So I hung in there.
Oh, an aside. I'm sitting here at the window in my office and I just saw one of the usual neighbors strolling past. He's a sixty-ish man with a cute dog and a huge gut, which he doesn't deign to cover with a shirt. How have I not blogged about him before? And what's up with men without shirts? If women can't show their nipples in public, why do men get to? Not that I want to see nipples of any sort. Ok, back to the party.
Finally, the crowd dwindled and it was just the five of us (host and hostess, mutual couple friends and moi) watching the game. It was cozy. We knew each other from our boys growing up together. I fielded the usual questions about ex-husband's dating status. Unless he's had a major personality shift, I can't imagine he's "out there." In fact, Kiddo observed that he still wears his wedding ring. Ex's life is consumed with work and sports, and I suspect he's quite content. I'd wager that he'll never marry again. Unless some determined woman comes along and hog-ties him. Which is what I did approximately 25 years ago. Wow, it would've been our silver anniversary in just a few days. Very tarnished silver.
Then the next logical questions. What about me? Was I dating anyone? I gave my usual response. A breezy little discourse about FF. The unusual circumstances of our meeting. That a long-distance relationship was perfect since right now, since The Daddler comes first. Then the next question about the status of our relationship. And my usual response. Two great trips and one visit home for him. That have fun together. He makes me laugh. And that right now, I don't have the energy or inclination to date. But if they know some eligible bachelor, I might be open to a look-see.
Not the truth about how I'm a one-man woman. All or none. And that I'm crazy about him.
But wait, I'm in pull-back mode. Forgot about that. Woke-up feeling the love. Anticipating his ring-tone. This, just 12 short hours after trying to figure out how to block calls from specific contacts on my cell phone last night (I can't). I did, however, leave my phone at home. I never do that. But there were no missed calls. And it was too late to call him when I got in.
He'd called that afternoon when I was about to enter the I-240 pre-holiday rush hour fray to take JoJo to the airport so I couldn't talk. Funny thing. One of J's Spanish speaking friends called while we were in the car and I told her to give me the phone (since I've decided to abandon Polish and learn Spanish) so I could practice. I started spouting out random phrases. Some of which I knew from reading bilingual signs. No fumar, por favor. Plus the vestiges of my 10th grade Spanish semester. Dangerous. When I handed the phone back to her, he said I'd told him he was my daddy. Go figure. Kinda like when I told my Japanese client that lunch was ass (I meant delicious).
Ok, The D is up and I need to clean up the kitchen. Do a couple loads of laundry. Go for a run while the giant oven of our lovely southern climate outside is preheating. Read the paper. Drink more coffee. And be thankful that I don't have a client meeting to get ready for. Fart around and enjoy the holiday. And wait for that distinctive ring-tone and the tiny, handsome face on my phone...
Friday, September 2, 2011
Amusing Myself
I'm excited about the holiday weekend for the first time in a very long time. Because I have new stuff to keep me busy. Plus, I had my usual Saturday client meeting today so I'm feeling relieved.
I'm just in from my airport shuttle gig for buddy who's getting the heck outta Dodge. I'm heading to happy hour at a friend's house in a few minutes. I love friends who live a quarter mile away, especially if happy hour's involved. I've had friends inHooterville Collierville and it's a pain in the ass. Happy hour or no. Bill Morris Parkway (aka Autobahnconnah) is not my friend.
I stopped and got The D Wendy's chili and a Frosty for din-din. I have plenty of stuff here, but he doesn't like to eat the same thing more than twice in a week. Path of least resistance.
So, my new stuff: Kindle came. Soooo cool. I went to my Utopia - the thrift store. Bought a few things without trying them on. It's always fun when I get around to doing that. My own little fashion show. I bought three books at said thrift store. Plus an old milk bottle to add to Mother's collection. Some old Ball/Mason jars. One of my new books is called Breaking Bad News with Baby Animals. It's a collection of postcards and they're hilarious. I intend to send them to all my friends. I'm debating which ones to send to FF. Believe me, there are several. It'll be a good test. Especially if I send them to his office.
I'm slightly pissed at him (he deserves it - he's getting complacent). So I'll summon up some apathy, replenish my confidence, and work on the five year plan. Get busy with other pursuits. Make myself scarce. And the whole fucking cycle will repeat. Seriously, I think it's time to hedge my bets.
Unfortunately, that takes work. And I'm plumb wore out. But I have three days to recover.
Back to my weekend fun. I bought some watercolor resist (masking fluid). I've been jonesin' for a creative outlet. This stuff is fun. I have lots of great cold press watercolor paper, a new paintbrush set, a bag of natural sponges, and most important, lots of ideas for subject matter. I might need to spring for some primo watercolor paints. I have a silly Prang paint box and some good watercolor pencils, but you really need the tubes. I need to track down my fountain pen and India ink, too. Golly, this stuff is so much fun. It creates a major shift from left brain to right and makes me forget all my worries. Including my five year plan. And FF. And health insurance. Which has been paid twice this month. Probably a good thing because I need to make an estimated tax payment on the 15th. Whoa, so much for forgetting my worries.
Ok, better go powder my nose and head to h. hour.
I'm just in from my airport shuttle gig for buddy who's getting the heck outta Dodge. I'm heading to happy hour at a friend's house in a few minutes. I love friends who live a quarter mile away, especially if happy hour's involved. I've had friends in
I stopped and got The D Wendy's chili and a Frosty for din-din. I have plenty of stuff here, but he doesn't like to eat the same thing more than twice in a week. Path of least resistance.
So, my new stuff: Kindle came. Soooo cool. I went to my Utopia - the thrift store. Bought a few things without trying them on. It's always fun when I get around to doing that. My own little fashion show. I bought three books at said thrift store. Plus an old milk bottle to add to Mother's collection. Some old Ball/Mason jars. One of my new books is called Breaking Bad News with Baby Animals. It's a collection of postcards and they're hilarious. I intend to send them to all my friends. I'm debating which ones to send to FF. Believe me, there are several. It'll be a good test. Especially if I send them to his office.
I'm slightly pissed at him (he deserves it - he's getting complacent). So I'll summon up some apathy, replenish my confidence, and work on the five year plan. Get busy with other pursuits. Make myself scarce. And the whole fucking cycle will repeat. Seriously, I think it's time to hedge my bets.
Unfortunately, that takes work. And I'm plumb wore out. But I have three days to recover.
Back to my weekend fun. I bought some watercolor resist (masking fluid). I've been jonesin' for a creative outlet. This stuff is fun. I have lots of great cold press watercolor paper, a new paintbrush set, a bag of natural sponges, and most important, lots of ideas for subject matter. I might need to spring for some primo watercolor paints. I have a silly Prang paint box and some good watercolor pencils, but you really need the tubes. I need to track down my fountain pen and India ink, too. Golly, this stuff is so much fun. It creates a major shift from left brain to right and makes me forget all my worries. Including my five year plan. And FF. And health insurance. Which has been paid twice this month. Probably a good thing because I need to make an estimated tax payment on the 15th. Whoa, so much for forgetting my worries.
Ok, better go powder my nose and head to h. hour.
Thursday, September 1, 2011
Hell
I'm on my way. It's an inferno out there and I'm headed out in about two minutes to take The D to the VA Hospital for not one, but two appointments for him to qualify for some veteran's benefits. I cannot imagine how bad it'll be on the hot pavement in the medical center surrounded by all the concrete buildings radiating heat. But even worse is the thought of being in beaurocratic purgatory all afternoon. He's excited, though. He loves going to doctor's appointments. Plus, this'll probably be reminiscent of his years in the Air Force.
Too bad my damn Kindle isn't here yet. It's supposed to come today. I hope they'll leave it at the door if we're not here. I think I'll put a note on the door and ask them to put it on the carport. It'll blend in with all the other boxes, so I won't have to worry about it getting stolen. I wish someone would steal some of that shit out there so I wouldn't have to go through it. Oh, well. Off to hell...
Too bad my damn Kindle isn't here yet. It's supposed to come today. I hope they'll leave it at the door if we're not here. I think I'll put a note on the door and ask them to put it on the carport. It'll blend in with all the other boxes, so I won't have to worry about it getting stolen. I wish someone would steal some of that shit out there so I wouldn't have to go through it. Oh, well. Off to hell...
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