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...

Saturday, November 1, 2014

Things of the Past - Part I (and Color Coding)

It just dawned on me today.  It's no longer necessary to remind people to remember to spring forward or fall back.  In order to break the habit, I'm going to substitue the following:  "Enjoy that extra hour of sleep!"  I guess in the spring, it'll be something else.  Hmmm.  Not sure how to put a positive spin on that.  I have some time to think about it, though.  An extra hour, tonight.

One other thing.  I recently realized that it's no longer necessary to say, when describing a person from the south Asian country of India, that they're "Indian, from India."  Best I can figure, there are two reasons for this.  First, it seems that around here, there are more Indians from India than those who are of the "indigenous peoples of the Americas."  Which it turns out, are no longer called "native Americans."  Maybe the word "native" is offensive?  Not sure, but interestingly enough, my cursory googling turned up quite a few answers indicating that the proper terminology is "Red Indians" for those from around here, and "East Indians" for those from South Asia.  So confusing.

I won't even get started on the whole "African American" thang.  Or "Gay/Lesbian/Bisexual/Transgender."  Or, while we're at it, whatever it is we used to call retarded people.

Except, I will start on it.  I'll just throw out an idea.  What if, for simplicity's sake, we assigned color names to groups of people.  Hell, the disease people have gone nuts with it.  By the end of October (thank god it's over), aren't we all sick of pink.  Even the fucking newspaper showed up printed on pink paper.  How many products are slathered in pink and hawked in the name of breast cancer research?  I swear, everywhere I turn, something reminds me of this dread disease.  Yogurt.  Lipstick.  T-shirts. Dura-Flame logs.  Go figure.  Except, don't go figure.  The insidious answer is that it's a marketing ploy.  Since ploy implies deceit, let me explain.  When a company uses the word "proceeds," (as in "a portion of all proceeds goes to support breast cancer research,) this means nothing.  Proceeds is not a real term in the financial world.  I won't bore you with the details, except to give you an extreme example.  I could sell $2 billion in pink maxi-pads, and give one penny to any cancer charity, and I'd be perfectly justified in boldly proclaiming the fact that I'd give a portion of all proceeds to charity.

Let's be clear.  There are some good guys out there.  The ones who say, "10% of sales support the Susan G. Koman Foundation," for example.  So be alert.  Think.  Or better yet, ignore the hype and the pinkness, and send a little check directly to a legitimate organization.  I think you'll make a bigger difference that way.

Back to my color coding idea.  Maybe that song had it right.  Red and yellow, black and white...  We could add some other things.  Think pink for breast cancer survivors (FYI - "remission" is out "cancer-free" is in.) Rainbow for our GLBT friends.  The possibilities are endless.  For the record, though, I call aqua for my thing. 

Wednesday, October 22, 2014


All of a sudden, I can understand Jihad.  And I have Comcast to thank for that.  They are evil incarnate.  Worse than the following:

  • Charles Manson
  • Ted Bundy
  • Vlad the Impaler
  • Jack the Ripper
  • Nero
  • Stalin
  • Bin Ladin
  • Hitler
  • Mengele
  • Chris Brown

I could list more, but these are my top ten...not counting Comcast.  Hmmm, who could they replace?  Nero, I guess. Just because he's been dead the longest.  No other reason.  Which is not to say that Chris would be the last one I'd delete.

Gotta go.  I'm waiting for a call from The Evil One.

Sunday, September 7, 2014

My Personal Ten Plagues

It's been so long since I last blogged.  So much has happened.  That damn day job is eating into my computer time.  That, and the raging mildew colony that's invaded my home office.  Which I just realized, yesterday, is NOT my fault.  It all started when I got a brand spankin' new (very expensive) HVAC system.  Three years ago.  When I first reported the problem to the vendor, I was told that I was blocking the vents (thanks to former housekeeper who shoved shit in corners in an effort to assuage my hoarding tendencies.)  I could write pages and pages about this subject, but I won't.  Not now, at least.  Bottom line is that I think Dude oversold me on the HVAC system.  I just learned that if the unit's too big for the area being cooled, this kinda shit happens.  Got some Googling to do, but I have a sneaking suspicion that I've been had.  Which makes sense of the fact that I've called those guys out not once, but twice, to my rental property to repair the HVAC, and never received a bill.  Even though I've asked for it more than once.  And left messages for Dude to call me.  Hmmm...

Well, I've bleached the hell out of one mildew-ridden vent and the surrounding wall, carpet, baseboard, etc.  Got a fan blowing fumes out the window, so as not to asphyxiate The Daddler (my office is adjacent to his bedroom.)

More on that later.  But to keep your breath bated, I'll tell you that including the toxic fungi, I've been dealing with my own little version of the ten plagues of Egypt.  My version includes infestations of rats, squirrels, cicadas, spiders, flies (I don't know why,) snakes and roaches.  Truth be told, I've only seen one snake, so I won't declare that a plague yet.  Same with roaches - killed one the other night, but haven't seen one since.  Really, the rat thing was the worst, and I thought I had it conquered, but I've been seeing suspicious-looking, small, black, turd-shaped objects around the house again.  It makes me itch just thinking about it.  Which reminds me of the fact that I was convinced I had pubic lice, because my lady parts continued to itch even after I'd taken the prescription yeast infection pill I received from the ER doc when I got my thumb nearly bitten off by a neighbor's cur.  (He prescribed some big-gun antibiotic, and I had the presence of mind to ask for a Diflucan script, which I got refilled when the second round of itching started.)  Again, more about that later.  Including an embarrassing episode at Costco when a fellow shopper interrupted my vigorous labia-scratching to ask if I knew where the peanut butter was.  I cringe when I think about it.  Thank god for my face-blindness.

Oh, and just to be clear, you CAN catch pubic lice from public toilets. 

Ok, better run.  I need to go set some traps and put out some poison.  Load The Daddler's service revolver (forgot to mention the lawn-mower theft in my list of plagues.)  And teach my new dogs some old tricks.  Love those girls.  Gotta put some flea and tick stuff on them.  Because if we got infested with those, that would make TEN.  And we all know what happened to the Egyptians after that...

Sunday, March 2, 2014


I can't believe I haven't posted since October.  I've been kinda busy.

Made it through the holidays (although I still have a couple boxes of ornaments I need to take to the attic,) and hopefully, the worst of the long dark winter.

I started a new job a month ago, and the jury is out, but I think it'll be a good thing.  I'm working about 20 hours/week, the hours are flexible, and the money is decent.  They gave me what I asked for, which means I could've gotten more, but fortunately, it's not my bread and butter.  It IS nice to have the extra moolah coming in, but more than that, getting out of the house and feeling like a professional again.  The social aspect of working is good, but unfortunately, there've already been a few, ummm, difficulties.  As unpleasant as it was, I suppose it was good to get it out of the way.  After a week or so of walking on eggshells around a somewhat territorial, bossy, snappish, passive-aggressive co-worker, I finally stood up to her and explained that I knew what I was doing even if I didn't do it exactly the same way she thought I should.  I also told our boss about it and said that if she wanted to look for someone who would mesh better with said co-worker, I would completely understand.  I didn't intend this to be an ultimatum, but it probably served that purpose.  But it was also the truth, and after spending way too much time stressing out over it, I figured it would be better to cut my losses.

Sooo, I guess they want me to stay, because it's been peachy keen ever since.  A little saccharine, even.  There's still the passive-aggressive shit just under the surface, but I'm being careful and I think she knows not to push me too far.  I hate that this kind of stuff inevitably happens, because I really don't have a hidden agenda and I'm not trying to prove anything, so I don't know why these bookkeeper types feel so threatened by me.  It's not the first time this has happened.  I wonder if I'm just too nice, and therefore, they think they can bully me.  After 20 years of therapy, I think I'm finally learning to set boundaries, but it's still incredibly anxiety-provoking for me.  Maybe the worst is over and I'll settle in, do good work, and be happy there.

At times like this, I always remember the immortal words of Rodney King:  Can we all get along?

Take 17 seconds and watch this - It always brings me to tears...

Rodney King

Wednesday, October 16, 2013

Something Beautiful

This is so random, but I just have a minute, and I'm excited about this!  I just ordered it from Etsy.  It's kinda pricey for me, but I'm sure it'll be worth every penny, because it's just so incredibly lovely.

Wish I could write more, but it's been crazy and I have to go.  Out in the rain.  To buy milk for The Daddler, plus stuff to make beef stew.  It's a perfect crock pot day.

Over and out...

Tuesday, September 17, 2013

The Cold Blooded Killer Among Us

Sally.  She's a bad seed.  Full of blood-lust.  She shredded a poor squirrel Saturday.  I was lounging on the sofa when Lucy and The Daddler came strolling in from their daily walk.  Lucy ran to me and commenced her lascivious licking.  The D said, "He just eat a baby squirrel."  I recoiled in horror at the thought of squirrel-carcass-laden saliva being lavishly slathered on my forearm and face.

It took a full 10 minutes of cross-examination, complete with a game of Charades, to determine that it was Sally, not Lucy, who'd brutally murdered a cute little squirrel with his life stretching out before him.  I asked The Witness if he'd interred the remains of the victim.  He said, "Naw.  I told you, he eat 'im!"  I found it hard to believe that the dog had devoured ALL of the squirrel, and I had flashbacks to the explosive diarrhea episode from a few weeks before, so I grabbed two blue plastic newspooper bags (I coined that term) and high-tailed it to the back yard.  I explained to The D how to put his hand in the bag and grab the body and turn the bag inside out.  He said, in the rudest tone possible, "I know how to do it."  Keep in mind, he's only picked up dog poop ONCE.  And that was after he saw a story on the local news that it was illegal to let your dog shit around town.  And the only reason I know that is because I happened to see him stroll up the driveway after a walk with the Queen of Turds, Lucy, holding the shiny blue package of poop.  That was cool.  Until I encountered said sac swarming with flies at the end of the driveway.  I guess he didn't want to stink up the garbage can. 

Back to the back yard.  Turns out, Sadistic, Satanic Sally hadn't eaten the entire squirrel.  Because after she did her usual Tigger imitation upon seeing us, she grabbed the remainder of the rodent and started sprinting around the yard.  I let out a blood-curdling scream.  I even scared myself.  And I kept screaming.  Something about seeing the bloody entrails of a cute baby animal being slung around playfully, like a Frisbee, in the jaws of a member of my family, triggered a visceral, guttural reaction in me.  When I finally caught up with the killer, who was loving every minute of the chase, I snatched her by her harness (it was reminiscent of how I'd stopped her from severing Lucy's aorta not two weeks earlier,) and she dropped her quarry.  I was queasy.  The Daddler took over.  I don't know what he did with the squirrel.  All I know is that garbage pickup was two days later and the weather was cooler.  And I didn't see the blue body bag.

Monday, September 16, 2013

Sometimes Justice Prevails


I just got my latest ComCrap bill.  My credit balance is down to $416.73.  I'm not finished with them yet, but I've had bigger fish to fry.  In the form of Lowe's and AT&T.

By the way.  If you're ever in the market for a major appliance, go to Sears.  If you value your sanity, that is.  I needed a refrigerator for one of my rental houses.  I called Lowe's to see how long it would take to get a fridge delivered, and after pressing 8 for appliances (had to listen to 1 through 7 first, of course,) someone answered.  When I said I wanted to check the delivery wait for a refrigerator, I was told to hold for the appliance department.  Why the FUCK did I have to suffer through the phone tree?

Surprisingly, an "associate" answered within a minute or two.  The operative syllable being "ass."  Dude was channeling Barry White.  I told him I needed a fridge, and asked him if they had any good deals on a dented floor model.  He said, and I quote, "Come see me and I'll show you something good."  I said, "How much is it?"  He said, "It retails for $2,800, but I can give it to you for $1,400."

I told him that was out of my budget, but I asked him how long it would take to deliver an in-stock model.  He said three to five days.  I asked if that was three to five business days or three to five real life, powdered-milk and peanut butter days.  He told me to come see him and he'd see what he could do.

So somewhere in the primitive portion of my brain, there sprung a vision of Sears.  Which was especially appealing since there's still a Non-Mall Store about 3 miles from my house.  So adorably anachronistic.  Which makes me think of Gimbels.  Horn and Hardart Automat.

The Sears Christmas Wish Book.  Quick Curl Barbies.  The picture in the 1972 fall catalog's men's underwear section with an unfortunately (or not - depending on how you see it) well-endowed male model's member descending below the level of decency. 

Wow.  I digress.  Bottom line, though, is that there's a real refrigerator residing in the rental right now.  Hallelujah.