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...

Monday, January 31, 2011

Pretty Good Monday

After drowning in a pool of angst the last few days, I was rescued with resolution today. Amazingly, I'm learning to breathe when the panic sets in. It also helps that I'm making progress. Still, everything is much harder than it should be.

Like today when I called the VA. I applied for benefits for Daddy for aid and assistance, upon the advice of his elder law attorney. Barely got the letter in on December 31st. They replied last week, saying my letter served as an informal application, but that I needed to fill out "the" form. They didn't tell me which form. I looked online yesterday, but couldn't figure it out for the life of me. So today I called. Went through the whole fucking phone tree - not sure if I was on the right branch. Pushed zero to talk to a real person. Got a message that my approximate wait time was one minute. 45 minutes later, I had to hang up to get The D to his dentist appointment. That reminds me. His old (quack)dentist called and woke me up to discuss the accusations of fraud and incompetence I made to his office manager Friday. Amazingly, he charmed the pants off cynical, skeptical me. It helped that the $975 bill he'd kept sending past due statements for was a double billing and I owed nothing. I knew if Mother didn't pay it, there was a reason.

Took The D to my dentist. Told him what quack said and realized that quack shaded the truth. At this point, I'm done with him. Got a few errands done but got called back to consult with dentist. He wanted to ask me to choose between two options to fix the quack's fucked up, jury rigged device. I deferred to his judgment. It didn't take long.

Since The D is a man's man, he didn't need nitrous oxide or even novocaine (crazy, huh?), so we stopped by Chik-fil-a. So good to take care of supper.

By the way, I love my dentist, who's a long time friend. He asked how Daddy was doing. Then he asked how I was holding up. Wow. No one ever asks me that. It's all about The D. I felt affirmed.

Got home. Chatted on phone with some friends. Feeling clear-headed and focused. Funny thing is that two people (who happen to be love-interests) appeared from nowhere today. I didn't have time to talk. So without a doubt, they're hot on my trail. What is up with that? Glad I don't care. Gotta get through April 15th and then I'll think about finding my Prince Charming. Even though I feel like Cinderella more often than not, I'm not gonna wait around for Prince Charming to save me. I'll rescue myself.

That's it. Over and out...

Sunday, January 30, 2011

Finding Bliss

After swimming in a big ol' pool of angst, I had an epiphany. I was telling a client about my worries and frustrations with my newfound responsibilities. But then I told her that The D loves to check the mail, water the pansies, bring the garbage cans and recycling bins back from the curb. That he makes his bed and puts away his clothes (I don't even do that!). Thinking of that reminded me that I really do love him. Lots. I've lost sight of that lately.

When I was a kid, he was impossible to please. Critical. Emotionally distant. Even though he loved all four of his kids, he wasn't able to show it. For some reason, I was the only one who worked hard to win his approval.

I loved to go fishing with him. Hard to believe, since I never shut up and texting wasn't an option, but back then, I was really shy and quiet. I even had notes from my teachers saying I needed to speak up in class. Ok, no one who knows me believes this, but that's ok. Back to Daddy.

There was something so comforting about sitting with him on the bank of a lake, watching and waiting for the bob to move. The contrast of the stillness of the water and the excitement of seeing that little red and white ball suddenly disappear beneath the surface and bounce back up, and feeling the tug on the line, hearing the spinning of the rod, was like nothing else. Nothing was sure, though. Sometimes the fish got away. Or turned out to be a log hooked by the current. But once and a while, it turned out to be a real fish. Big enough to eat. Catfish, crappie and bream – they were treasures.

There was an element of danger and that added to the adrenaline rush. Had to watch the catfish – they’d fin you – flip that tail up and cut your hand. Daddy taught me how to grab them in just the right spot so they wouldn’t get away or fin me.

Like life, though, the anticipation was sometimes better than the actual experience. There’d be some small but feisty fish on the end of the line. Felt like a ten pounder, but maybe weighed 4 ounces. So disappointing to throw it back.

But if there were enough small catches, it could add up to an impressive string of fish. More often than not, though, there was the empty feeling of having nothing to take home.

I’m squeamish, but there was something visceral and satisfying about handling the poor, desperate fish and the bait used to catch them. Daddy showed me how to put minnows, worms and crickets on the hook. Worms were pretty easy. Minnows were yucky if your hook came out of their eye. Same with crickets if you pierced their abdomen and creamy gunk oozed out. But it was worth it. I knew my Daddy was proud of me even if he never said so.

I guess I was a tomboy. I’ve always been proud of not being the stereotypical, delicate southern lady. It causes me problems sometimes, but mostly, I don’t give a shit.

My mother was not a southern lady, either. She was born and raised in Covington, KY – just across the river from Cincinnati. Fiercely independent. She joined the Air Force when she was 19. She loved hardware stores. She hated fabric stores (the dyes made her break out in hives). She was a terrible cook, except for her great spaghetti sauce which she learned to make from Mary Ann, her good (Italian) friend at Whiteman AFB, Missouri. She taught me how to make it, and now I fix it for The D. Real meatballs and everything. Talk about visceral. If you’ve never squeezed a canned whole tomato and felt it explode in your fist, you haven’t lived. And mixing the ground beef, sausage, garlic, cracker crumbs and eggs with your hands to make the meatballs. Somehow, it's so therapeutic.

Back to The D. We gardened together. He started his tomato plants in the window in my bedroom. I gorged myself on those unbelievable things when they finally got ripe. We picked strawberries. Funny story is that he had an apple tree at the end of our driveway. I was in college and every afternoon when I got home, I’d pick a little green apple and eat it. I loved how sour they were. One day I heard him telling Mother that the squirrels must’ve gotten another one of his apples. He had been counting them. I fessed up and we had a good laugh.

We fed the horses at my Aunt Elaine’s. And then went fishing with her. We went down to Senatobia to feed Taffy, our cow. Little sis refused to eat Taffy after we had her slaughtered. Didn’t bother me. I love red meat. The bloodier the better. But that’s another post.

As an adult, it became so clear to me that The D had been an incredible dad, even though he couldn't express his affection. When I thought about how awful his childhood had been, I understood. His family was dirt poor. His father was an ironworker. Always away, working on the latest bridge but never sending much money home. The D dropped out of school in 8th grade to go to work. He was the oldest of seven. It’s funny – all his siblings love to tell funny stories about growing up, but Daddy doesn’t talk about it. I guess because he never had a chance to be a kid. I found a notebook of my grandmother’s, and she never called him by his name. He was “Good Son.” You gotta love that.

So tonight, I’m not cynical or swimming in a pool of angst. I’m blissful. Loving The D. He’s a gift. And I can feel my mother’s love.

Saturday, January 29, 2011

Friday, January 28, 2011

Friday So Far

Strange start to my day. Had a weird dream. Probably from that jar of baby kosher dills I ate before bed last night. Thankfully, almost no calories, but lots of sodium. I’m a little puffy this morning.
About the dream. A toddler was looking for his mother in a supply closet somewhere and I picked him up and carried him up and down Madison Avenue looking for his mother. I asked a lady what I should do and she looked at him and said “Look up to the trees. Your mother is in the leaves and branches. In the wind and the sunshine.” When she started waving her arms like a rainbow, I backed away. Then the toddler and I wound up walking right into a shootout and unfortunately, the child served as a human shield for me. While the paramedics were scraping up the dead and wounded, the po-po approached me and asked about the child. I explained about his missing mother and they said it was good we were there because they followed his eyes and he saw his mother with the perp, leaving the scene of the crime. They even replayed the surveillance tape for me in slo-mo. Shit. His mother wouldn’t be back to claim him and I’d be stuck with him. Luckily though, since kiddo was a material witness, the police took him off my hands. Still, I was sad for him. But relieved. I couldn’t handle a toddler AND The Daddler.
I’m all about dream interpretation. Missing mother (mine died in October), causing me to take care of the toddler (Daddler). The human shield thing has to do with my evil former sister (long, long story) and way too much Law & Order (I love Vincent D'Onofrio). The similarities end there.
I woke up with a start, and it was exactly 5:00. Odd that it was the very same moment Becky and Joe start Squawk Box.
I stumbled to the bathroom and the tie to my robe fell into the toilet. Ugh.
Just now, Joe Kernan said Ford (one of my favorite stocks) released earnings and missed the consensus by a mile. Dammit. Luckily I’m not too heavy in it. Might buy some more if it drops much today. I’m a contrarian when it comes to investing. And a few other things. Like the evil sister. She’s a control freak and she got so pissed off when I didn’t follow her orders. Like refusing to put The D into assisted living 2 ½ hours away (conveniently, in her city). I promised Mother he’d live with me. And in spite of all my flaws, I keep my promises. And I do love The D. He’d die of a broken heart if he had to move to assisted living.
Now I should get busy. Client meetings this afternoon and tomorrow. Not ready at all. Luckily, I work well under pressure. I’m extremely deadline oriented. Which is my clever way of making my horrible procrastination sound like a good thing.
It’ll be a long, busy day, so I’ll probably have lots to report in tonight’s recap. Stay tuned…

Thursday, January 27, 2011

Nothing Thrilling Thursday

Drug my ass out of bed at 8:47. 13 minutes before opening bell. 47 minutes after Becky & Jim went off the air. Dammit.

The D was up. I asked him he wanted French toast for b-fast. He said no. I asked him if he’d had breakfast (he usually makes his coffee and nukes a frozen muffin), and he said no. I asked him if he wanted coffee and a muffin. He said no. I asked him if he wasn’t hungry (hoping he wasn’t bound up again) and he said no – he’d already eaten. Whoa, talk about a communication gap. He said he’d gotten up early and had already taken a shower. He was dressed complete with tennis shoes, ready to bound from the recliner. I’d made the mistake of telling him we were going for his blood-clotting test today. He was raring to go. I told him it would be another hour. He was mad. At 9:54 – still in my pajamas, I realized I’d never make 10. I told him 10:30. Look of disgust crossed his face. Jumped in shower. Had to put on makeup. Always a chance of meeting cute doc w/ good health insurance (my COBRA runs out in August), so can’t go looking like an albino rabbit. I admit it. I’m eyeliner and mascara dependent. Lipstick, too. Luckily, my hair’s long enough to put in a ponytail. Only because I haven’t gone to my hairdresser in months. I’ve cut my bangs 12 times since then. There’ll be hell to pay when I finally go. Why do I put up with his shit? If he gives me too much grief, I’ll threaten to get a FlowBee. That’ll shut him up.

Slapped eyeliner on, looking dangerously like Cleopatra. Took The D to Baptist East, cruised around prowling for handicap spots (damn, he walks more than I do, but it’s a coup to get a special spot), but they were all taken. Imagine that – handicapped people at a hospital. I used my little trick to find a spot by exiting the garage instead of going up, up, up. Found a great one, but saw a mirage of one a little closer, but the cars were just pulled in too far. I threw it in reverse and his head was spinning like Linda Blair’s character in The Exorcist. Got the best spot. Without a myocardial infarction.

Walked to professional building and argued over which elevator to take. No fist shaking, but I think he was close. I signed us in. Got him a Field & Stream – asked him how many points were on the cover deer and he said it was an elk. Then he threw it across the room and knocked the pile off. I gave him Rachel Ray and that made him happy for about 3 minutes. More tossing. And picking up. Distracted me from InStyle. Why do they have Field & Stream, WebMD, Diabetes Today, Town & Country and Travel? How about Cosmo and Playboy? I guess PB would reduce their revenue from ED. It’s all about money.

Oh, that reminds me. I saw a doc in the hall. Asked him if he was the one I’d seen in the paper who charges a jillion dollar for a package deal of unlimited visits, including extra time to chat. He said that it was his brother. I couldn’t help it, but I asked him if that decreased his revenue. He thought I was asking about insurance reimbursement, and I finally had to tell him that I was a CPA and was curious about the effect on income. I was thinking it was a labor of love, but he told me that it was actually very lucrative because most people don’t go to the doc that much and that lots of them die and then they’re no trouble at all. With the thoughts I’ve had re The D, I can’t stand in judgment.

I guess that’s it for today. Oh, except the cutoff notice from MLGW at my church client. My biggest nightmare. The lights going off during Sunday morning worship service. But maybe it would be better than popping two beers and taking the slide, which I think about frequently. I did the right thing though, and drug the sweet 120 year old lady to the church to sign the check. She loves me though, and sometimes I slap her on the butt and tell her I love her. She seems to like it, so I don’t feel guilty. I’ve thought about trying to get her to marry The D. I took the check to the grocery store so it would get there sooner.

Cutoff notices are the bane of my existence. Main client got two of them in 2009. All MLGW’s fault. I swear. Just after I told him they hadn’t gotten any in 2010, he asked me if I’d covered a big check he’d written. I assured him I had. Two days later, he forwarded me a notice from the bank re overdrawn account. Shit. Fortunately, the banker honored the check and reversed NSF charges.

Ok, I know I’ve lost my entire audience with my accounting adventures.

I’m sure tomorrow will bring more interesting content. I’m overdue for some craziness.

Wednesday - Part II

The rest of the day wasn't so terrible. My bartender/biz-degreed interviewee stood me up at Panera, but I picked up lunch for The D, so not a total loss. Brought it home and he said it was too early but he ate it anyway. Then Shernitra's replacement came. He was mad. Shook his fist at me behind her back. He'll just have to get over it. She's really sweet - a self-professed neat freak. She even sorts the laundry before she does it – maybe my whites won’t be so dingy. Except she said she’s trying to cut back on her use of bleach, dammit. I think she sees my house as a project - a very good thing. She doesn't mind housework - says she likes to stay busy. And she’s cool with the F-word. I showed her my underwear drawer and told her how much I appreciate finding clean ones there. She didn't blink an eye. Love her already. She has a pomeranian - might ask her to bring it. The D loves dogs, but for some reason, he wasn't crazy about Shernitra's shih tzu. Said she was knocking fleas. I think he was right. Bulimic cat started scratching not long after.

Brenda, my contract helper for my biz stuff, came and helped me sift through stacks and stacks of papers. I had 8 big plastic bins labeled for each of my clients, and one for The D's stuff and my personal papers. Big relief. Not having to play twister any more. She came again this morning and I got her to buy the URL for my new LLC. It wasn't taken. Not surprised. That's when it helps to have a weird spelling of your name. Which reminds me, Shernitra's replacement has a weird spelling and it confuses me. I think I'm going to ask her if I can just call her T.

Back to Weds. Actually, it was pretty uneventful. I fell asleep on the sofa, woke up at 9:30. Summoned the strength to brush teeth & wash face. Maybe it was the Morning Citrus Burst Foaming Scrub that woke me way up. I listened to talk radio, and the topic somehow strangely intertwined Noah’s Ark, Intelligent Design, Egyptian artifacts found in the Grand Canyon, pyramids and some weird thing about their alignment with the sun, the Tower of Babel, why Egyptian cave paintings show women with alligator heads and the symbolism of serpents. It took me forever to fall asleep and then I overslept. Ok, that’s all for Wednesday.

Today was interesting, but nothing exciting. It’s only 4, though! That reminds me – gotta figure out supper for The D…

Wednesday, January 26, 2011

Wednesday Part I

Woke up at 4:30. That's good because I have so much work to catch up on after yesterday's bout of blogorrhea. So I'm gonna finish here and watch Squawk Box. I missed Becky and Joe yesterday because I slept past 8. Becky Quick is my celebrity girl crush and Joe Kernan is really funny. Oh, good, futures are up!

My mood is way too dependent on the market. I think it would be less stressful if I weren't in charge of The D's account. I put him in HOG (Harley Davidson), and it was up 8% yesterday - huge! Must've had positive earnings surprise. But since he doesn't know what I'm doing, it's not as stressful as the two other accounts I influence. My main client lets me make trades in his Schwab account. We strategize about it though and I get his approval before I do anything significant. Since he's an attorney, he knows that I have no business doing this. You're supposed to have a license to give investment advice. But it's not a big chunk of his savings, and I tell him not to be mad if I lose it all (I had IndyMac right before it went belly-up). It helps that I've crushed the benchmarks in the year or so I've been playing with his money. And there's my friend Shlomo, the conservative bank attorney. Same thing. Both of them have a couple of dogs I put them into, but I won't let them sell. The winners more than make up for them. And to quote Warren B, I eat my own cooking.

Last night's talk radio topic was something crazy about the 12 dimensions (I thought there were only three) and chakrah with a little about extra-terrestrials thrown in. Needless to say, I went right to sleep. That's why I woke up at 4:30. Only problem was my weird cat crying during the night. I thought she was locked in a closet (she slips in sometimes). Before I could summon enough consciousness to go look for her, though, she jumped up on my bed. I think she has an eating disorder. She's constantly crying for more food, even though her bowl is always full. Come to think of it, she does throw up all the time. And I've seen her standing in front of the mirror with a worried look on her face. Can a cat be bulimic? I refuse to take her to a cat shrink. My housekeeper told me she saw The D pull her tail. Wonder if that could be a factor.

I did it again. Double booked. Care manager coming at 10 to introduce Shernitra's replacement. And I scheduled an interview at Panera with the cute bartender from Huey's - she has a biz degree and I want her to come to work for me part-time. I've got to have help with my work now that I have a great new client. Plus, I'm meeting with a start-up biotech company next week.

About that. I already schmoozed in an email about how I'm passionate about biotech companies and that I've learned so much about that sector from my shrewd investing. I'll be sure to tell them about hitting the jackpot with Human Genome Sciences stock. I paid $7, but quit watching it when it dropped to 45 cents. Until one day when it jumped 242% (it was up to $3.50 at the time.) FDA approval of new lupus drug. It's over $24 now. Should I mention Rosetta Genomics even though I've lost my shirt in it? It's a company in Israel which develops microRNA-based diagnostic stuff. I think it's something to do with RNA slicing (or is it splicing?). It could be a chance to drop the word deoxyrybonucleic acid - DNA for short. Take off the dexoxy prefix and you've got RNA. I imagine it would seem stilted to use the long version. Maybe I could mention that my love of genetics started a long time ago when I read The Double Helix in my Mensa book club. But the truth is, it was required reading in h.s. biology. I did reread it a year or so ago, though. It really was pretty exciting. It was a page-turner. Suspenseful. Turns out the research world is extremely competitive and is full of intrigue - kinda like a Clancy novel. Ok, now I'm sounding like a major geek, especially after my Master Tax Guide thrill yesterday. Which reminds me. I forgot to mention a free flash drive from the payroll guy. Hope he didn't think I was rude when I asked if one gig was the best he could do. Actually, he got my weird sense of humor - he's a little weird, too. Which is good in my book. Oh, and just for the record: I have never belonged to Mensa - that would just be geeky, and arrogant, too. Plus, I'm sure I wouldn't qualify.

Back to prospective client. I'm already worrying about what to wear. And whether I should wear my glasses. Is it better to look cute or smart? Hey, Becky Quick is really smart and very pretty. And she's a financial guru with only a poly-sci degree. So is it that far-fetched that an accountant has a huge interest in the human genome? I have lots of reading to do first. But the prez/CEO (who's a doc) probably won't expect that from an outsourced CFO. Still, it might make an impression. Back to what to wear. Hate to admit it, but I do own a Hillary-esque black pantsuit. It looks professional but it's SOOO boring. If I wear it, the glasses are definitely out.

Last but not least. The D told me he had a good poop last night! Huge relief. Better get busy. I'm sure I'll have lots of weirdness to report later...

Tuesday, January 25, 2011

Too Good to Be True Tuesday

Didn't expect it, but the day turned out great. But it's only afternoon. Still.

Last night, I followed my regular routine of falling asleep on the sofa, waking up at 1:46 a.m., dragging myself to bed, brushing teeth, washing face, and hoping to fall back asleep in less than two hours. Thank god for talk radio. Last night it was extra-terrestrials, crop circles and UFOs. Soothing. The electromagnetic ones scare me. Especially since The D has a pacemaker and I use cordless phones. Hey, just thought of this. Isn't the radio sent through EM waves? Why else would you hear it through your fillings?

So this morning, I dragged my ass out of bed when I heard The D's footsteps. Damn these hardwood floors/conventional foundation. Maybe I should install shag carpet like whatever the previous owner had which resulted in the bottoms of the doors being shaved off three inches. Talk about no privacy. Not that I need any these days.

I met The D in the kitchen. He told me we were out of coffee. I thanked my lucky stars when I found some in the fridge. After all, doesn't that help with constipation? While he was making coffee, I held out a granny smith apple and asked him if he wanted it with his muffin. He asked me what it was. Sad commentary that he hasn't seen an apple since we've been cohabitating. I told him it was an apple. He said ok. So I washed it and cut it up into slices (a toddler thing). Then I started this stupid blog. Next thing I knew, it was 10:30. I got a text from the payroll service guy confirming our 1:00 meeting. Good thing - I thought it was at 2:00. Quick shower. Then I got a call from the home health manager asking me to meet with her and a new version of Shernitra. By then it was 11:30. Time to fix The D's lunch. He didn't want Corky's. He wanted the three day old half hot dog from Sam's. I loaded it with kraut (fiber), gave him a few potato chips (no fiber), a fruit cup (fiber) and some four day old Wendy's chili - is there fiber in kidney beans? Hopefully fiber, without e coli.

Supper: Corky's w/ cole slaw and corn on the cob. When kiddo was a toddler, it seems like it came out looking just like it went in. So that says lots of fiber. TTTG. Too Tired To Google it. Just checked and I'm out of fiber wafers. I guess I should cut up more celery sticks. Dare I give him banana puddin'?

Ok, enough about fiber and poop. On to the good stuff. Met with payroll service sales guy. They love CPAs. Didn't tell him my license is inactive. I just promised lots of new biz. Scored major swag: cool, earth friendly aluminum water bottle; not one, but two mouse pads complete with anti-carpal-tunnel syndrome gel pads; a calculator which magically folds up into a great anti-carpal-tunnel-position when you push the on-button; and last but not least - a CCH Master Tax Guide, complete with online access - a $677 value. I was screaming - Oh My God - a Master Tax Guide - I love you!! Right after that, I heard two men talking in the adjacent conference room through the a/c vent. Damn. I skulked out. But happy with my swag. I swear, dude swaggered as he walked me to the elevator. Screw my reputation, if it gets me more swag! Parking lot was a river and I played twister trying to avoid deep puddles, made the mistake of stepping on gravel which looked solid and dry, but instead, was quicksand. Still, it didn't get me down.

Then I headed to paint store to pick up five gallon bucket of paint for Mother & Daddy's house - GOTTA fix it up to sell or rent. I gave the asst. manager my usual sad saga re dead mother and grouchy daddler, and smiled sweetly and did my best job of flirting (I'm terrible at that, but when money's involved, I have no pride). It worked. I scored a 44% discount - just by asking. Plus he threw in a free paint roller cover ($5 value). Instead of spending $293, it was just $165 - I saved $128. Feeling kind of slutty though. Had to endure leers of two old men who stood back while cute asst mgr rang me up. They said crap under their breath, but I just sang a song in my head. The good news is that cute asst mgr didn't proposition me when he carried 150 lb bucket of paint to my car - what a mensch!

Finally, home. The stock market wasn't a blood bath for me - big relief. The D was really spry. Didn't ask if he'd pooped. He ran in with the mail and told me to take care of the Important Tax Return Document Enclosed thing from the bank. Then asked me if I was going to use the people who did their return for $25 last year. I told him I'd get it done for free. I admit it, I shaded the truth a little bit. I can't fuck with tax returns, even with my handy-dandy Master Tax Guide. Not driving to Cordova to get it done, though. Plus, they made a mistake last year. A few minutes later, he ran in with a heavy box from UPS. I couldn't remember my latest Amazon order, so grabbed the scissors. He was extremely interested in the heavy contents. As I held it over cat's head, he said "Don't drop it on the cat", and then he snatched her from the jaws of death in the form of his clumsy daughter. Big let-down - QuickBooks checks for client. Oh, well.

Oh, more good news. Got a letter from VA acknowledging my Poor Pitiful Me letter dated December 31, 2010 and sent by FedEx at 9:30 p.m. that same day (Last-Minute Lucy, I know). They actually considered it an application. Now gotta write letter for incompetent doc to sign when I take The D for bloodwork Thursday. Just to explain why he needs "Aid and Assistance" and can't live independently. Should I mention the poop issue?

Ok, fixed dinner for The D. Feeling like Daughter Theresa. Corky's, toasted bun, cole slaw, fresh corn on the cob (I sliced it off - major labor of love), and nanner puddin. Now, gonna dance around the den to stupid pop songs with good beats. A few pushups and situps, and I'll feel complete...

My Messed-up Monday

Yesterday was the day from hell. Lots of those lately. Actually, it was just a continuation of the weekend from hell. Quick rundown. Of Monday. Not enough time to tell about the weekend. Maybe later.

First mistake. Started my day composing long letter to funeral home. Let's just say the whole visitation/funeral/grave thing for mother was a cluster-fuck. Seriously, they put another dead person's name under mother's picture in the program. It didn't help that his name was Larry Wayne Hicks. Then they put my mother's marker in the wrong place and The Daddler thought they had buried some "black boy" in her grave. Sorry about the racial thing, but The D is a 79 year old Southerner. Believe me, he's not as bad as he could be - I nipped the N word in the bud when my kiddo was little. Threatened to not let The D see kiddo - it worked. Let's be clear. I love black people. I mean African Americans. And Asians, Jews, Muslims and Indians - both kinds. Oops, I mean Native Americans. I love people of every race and religion. Except Baptists. I can say that because I used to be one. And I'm not particularly fond of religions which think they are the only way - like Church of Christ, Jehovah's Witness (what happens when the 144,000 spots get filled?), or haters of any kind. But I digress. Back to the letter. I tried to get the right mix of forlorn, loving daughter and tough business woman on the verge of suing their asses off if they didn't refund the 12 bazillion dollars we paid for the stupid thing. Needless to say, that exercise contributed to my funk.

Cried in the shower. Then got a call from Shernitra, the home health companion who's saved my life and is happy to cook for The D and do dishes, laundry and anything else I need and hate to do. She even puts my underwear away. I feel like a spoiled princess every time I open my underwear drawer and there are actually clean underwear there. Now I almost never have to get them off the floor or out of the dirty clothes when I'm getting dressed.

Back to phone call. Shernitra was very depressed and overwhelmed. After four whole days of being out (stupid snow Thursday and Friday, then the stupid weekend), I was desperate. She told me she was just going to drop her classes and start back in the summer. I didn't hear right and thought she said she would just drive her car off the bridge on Summer Avenue. I was relieved when I realized she wasn't contemplating suicide. But irritated that she wasn't going to work that day. Told her not to worry and to take care of herself instead of channeling Leona Helmsley.

I answered some client emails. One of them asked me to fix the balance sheet I'd screwed up and I emailed back that I already had and I looked back to resend the corrected balance sheet and realized that I'd sent it before I got the email from him asking me to fix it. So I quickly emailed him again and said I hadn't fixed it but would take care of it in the next hour or two. While I was making lunch for The D, I got an email on my phone and it was from me. Then I realized I'd sent the second email to myself - client's name starts with a C, too, dammit. But he'd already sent an email telling me it wasn't right. So I emailed back (this time to him, not myself), and felt like an idiot.

Next, The D didn't eat his lunch. I asked him if he didn't like it and he said he wasn't hungry because he hadn't pooped in three days. He started rummaging around in the countless bottles of fiber and laxatives my mother had accumulated for him. He came up with a bottle of something that people take before colonoscopies (I'd gotten it for him before in desperation after his doctor's incompetent nurse suggested it, and it did the trick). I contemplated calling the bitchy nurse, but just wasn't up for it. I mixed up the fiber/lax combo with OJ and gave it to him. I think he's become dependent on laxatives so I didn't want him to take the heavy duty stuff. See where the toddler element comes in? Remember when you had extreme interest in your baby's poop record?

So I went to the client's office, fixed the balance sheet, dropped something off at another client's office and forgot to make my bank deposit. I think I'll be ok but I'm a little afraid to check my balance online. I'll try to remember the deposit today.

After that, I went to the pharmacy to pick up his dementia medicine, and asked if they had cole slaw and they didn't. I was planning to heat up frozen Corky's BBQ for his dinner that night and had to have cole slaw. Then I went to the liquor store to get Vella Burgundy in the box. He drinks a glass every night and I'd noticed the empty box on the kitchen floor. He never tells me when he's running low on coffee, wine, prunes... I went to an upscale liquor store and was embarrassed to ask for the cheap wine, so I told them I needed it for The D and that I was a beer girl (they didn't care). They didn't have Vella boxes at all. I headed to another liquor store (which happened to be next to a grocery store which happened to have cole slaw). They had Vella boxes but only merlot and cab - not burgundy. I asked which was closer to burgundy and the guy explained that Vella was not actually french burgundy but a blend. Wow, I'd never have guessed that. Didn't give a flying fuck. I made my speech about just needing it for The D and he didn't like things to be different but that I didn't want to keep going to liquor stores but I didn't want him to get mad at me. Dude suggested the merlot. That night, I fessed up and told The D it wasn't the same and after he and I struggled to get the spout out of the box. He tried it and said "Shew, this is strong". But he drank it.

I told him I was going to make BBQ with cole slaw, and he said he didn't want it because he hadn't gone to the bathroom. Then he said if he didn't poop soon, he would have to go to the hospital. I asked him if he needed an enema, with no idea whether my mother used to help him. Where can you find someone to help with an enema? It's not in Shernitra's job description and I sure as hell am not going to squirt something up The D's butt. So I just started worrying about a hospital stay and how it would cramp my schedule.

I tried to get him to drink a beer (it always works for me), but he refused. I cut up some celery, carrots and red bell pepper with ranch dressing and took it to him. He ate it. I drank the beer.

I sat down to watch tv. I have the attention span of a fruit fly so I texted my friend Donna. Me: "Missing mother. Daddy's constipated & mad at me for fucking up his pill box" Donna: "Out for dinner w/ client - just shot tea out of my nose" Me: "Better than beer - it foams"

I left out the pill box snafu. I guess I got confused when I did my weekly loading since I didn't have all the refills. He came into the den and shook the pill box in my face. I realized there were only 2 pills in the Monday p.m. compartment instead of eleven. And two in Sunday p.m. Me: "Daddy, did you forget these last night?" The D: "No, didn't take them - they were wrong"

Shit, he missed his blood pressure and blood thinner meds. Recipe for a stroke or heart attack. Especially with the constipation - I figure your blood pressure goes up when you strain. After all, Elvis died of a heart attack on the toilet. Narcotics constipated him. I spent 30 minutes fixing the pill box, including adding the dementia med I'd picked up that day. I double checked them and gave them to him. He questioned each pill and I explained each pill. Dammit. Oh, forgot the part at the drugstore where they charged me $189 for the pills instead of $3. She had to call a manager to void the transaction. He took forever. Glad I noticed - I usually don't look at the total. Should probably do that. The clerk wouldn't give me the two receipts, just the last one. I told her if the big charge showed up on my statement, I would come back and cut her throat. Luckily she got my sick sense of humor and didn't call the po-po. Also, I realized my doc hadn't mailed my adderall prescription this month. Gotta call for that. Thank god I'm not out of those. You have to have the paper scrip for that one, so I'll have to drive to Cordova, then back to the drugstore. Maybe I'll notice my bank on the way and remember my deposit.

So much for my quick rundown. Maybe tonight I'll be able to report cash in the bank, a big settlement from the funeral home, a supply of adderall in my medicine cabinet, and most importantly, a successful poop for The Daddler!