I did my usual Saturday morning, pre-client-meeting miracle. I came up with an estimate of taxes due (with so many qualifiers). It was better than my stab in the dark three months ago (very high, just in case), but still conservative. I'm so far behind, but that's normal for this time of year when income tax returns take priority. On top of that, their VISA card got lost, so a new one was issued, and I've morphed into a fraud auditor. Major matchin' o' receipts - one of my least favorite, and therefore, most neglected, tasks. Still, an obvious value-add, so there's a percentage in it.
After the meeting, Deb and I did a major, marathon, Walgreens trip. I had at least 18 prescriptions to pick up, and we did a serious couponing maneuver. Crazy. It sends me into Attention Deficit Disorder Delusions. We came home with enough deodorant, conditioner, Venus razors, Irish Spring body wash, and Revlon makeup to last a millenium. Bottom line: We paid $102 for $258 worth of crap. Thank god I'll have room to put all this shit in the new house. Oh, in case you don't know, this picture shows couponers gone wild in their pursuit of coupons, of course. Deb has discussed dumpster diving for coupons with me. I discouraged it. I might need to arrange an intervention. But that's another post.
We stopped by Dryve cleaners to pick up The D's suit for church tomorrow. We got there right at 5:00. Drove up and dude came out to say they were closed. I told him that it was imperative that I get my clothes. He said he'd already closed out the register. I played the dead mother/grouchy displaced daddy/martyr daughter on the verge of suicide card. Plus I threw in that Mother's birthday was Tuesday and Daddy wanted his suit to wear to church because we'd bought altar flowers in Mother's memory. I said I'd pay cash and he could ring it up Monday. Only problem was the order totalled $30 something. I don't carry cash lately. While he was retrieving my cleaning, I was scrounging through my purse. I came up with $12 and Deb had $3. No cigar. I teared up and he begrudgingly agreed to reopen the register and run my credit card. I gave him a $5 tip. Well worth it.
Then we headed home and Deb wanted to order Steak Out. Even though I had a fridge full of venison chili, beef stew, mushroom burgers, Hebrew National hot dogs, fruit, veggies... The D hadn't eaten lunch. I swear to god, if I don't plop it in his lap, he won't eat. Fuck. So I gave him the other half of the fruit salad I'd made this morning. To tide him over. Deb ordered Steak Out. Medium-well ribeye for The D. Which he pronounced as tasting like shoe leather.
Then her whiny 14 year old daughter (my former niece) complained of being sick to her stomach. I gave her a leftover homemade french fry from last night, and she looked at it like it was a chicken liver or something. I swear, I cannot tolerate picky eaters - want to slap the shit out of them. I was blessed with a kiddo who's adventurous when it comes to food. I'm talkin' anchovies, goat cheese, artichokes, oysters. You name it.
Dammit. I think she has an eating disorder. But I'd never tell Deb that. She wants to be a model. OMG. I'd encourage my child to model if I wanted her to be anorexic, addicted to heroin, and a vapid, narcissistic idiot. But I bite my tongue. I've given up advising parents on child-rearing. I hope Deb skips this post. Not a problem. She spends all her time catering to coupons and kids. No time to read my blog, even though she's a major character.
I made her help me dispense 210 pills for The D's pill box for the next two weeks. She was in her coupon freak mode and tried to tell me how to do it and I said, "Hey, this ain't coupons. It's meds. How many times have you done it?" She said, "Once." Twice when she contradicted me, I explained the complexities. And I said, "You need to understand this in case something happens to me." She didn't seem concerned.
Oh. When we got back, The D came running to show me his bloody thumb. The bulimic cat (who happens to be licking her asshole right now) bit him. Fuck. I've debated for weeks. She's bulimic and therefore, binges and purges. The purging isn't that big of a problem with hardwood floors, but since my new house has light beige carpet, it matters. And it didn't help that I stepped in cat vomit twice today. And that The D was bitching about it. I go round and round about what to do. Run an ad. Give her to Sarita to find a home in the Hood (where cat will no doubt be devoured by a pit bull). Take her to the vet and pay $65 to put her down for some contrived. Or driving down a country road and pitching her out the car window. Anything but take her to the god-forsaken hell hole of a city pound run by miscreants.
Shit. It's a no-win situation. I could probably give her to my country neighbor and he'd turn her into fertilizer for his vegetable garden, but at least I wouldn't know. I have a good story about a frozen chipmunk. But that's for later.
Well, I could go on and on. But now that I have a minute to breathe, I think I'll crank up Evanescence and do something productive. Like read my InStyle magazine, or research stocks, or finish up my February billing. I might need the $$ when I write a check for a 20% down payment Friday...
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