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, July 29, 2013

Why me?

I just can't understand why I keep finding myself in the middle of a crime scene.  As if the poor pit bull nightmare weren't enough, I stumbled upon an even more sinister situation this past weekend.

Once again, no one gave a flying fuck.  I wish I didn't.

I stumbled into this weird thing Saturday.  I made three phone calls to organizations I had previously thought highly of, and I expected them to care.  But as usual, I was wrong.   Because who, in her right mind, would worry about a freshly dug shallow grave in her back yard?  And why in the hell would anyone look askance at a pair of little girl's lavender sweat pants turned inside out and torn at the crotch?  With a stuffed rabbit, wearing a purple crown, smashed into the mud, eight feet away.  And in between, a 2x4 and a splintered board.  And a water bottle.   All within a back yard, completely enclosed by 6' wooden fences.

I expressed my concerns to my business partner, who just happens to have a 50% interest in the scene of the crime (our rental property.)  He was pretty sure that the water bottle had blown over the six-foot fence in a gust of wind.  And that the torn garment and abandoned toy were also the result of an act of god.  Never mind that he'd (that very day) walked past a car in the Kroger parking lot with two or three kids strapped into a car seat in 90+ degree weather, with no adult in sight.  He thought the car was running with the A/C going, and that the driver was just gone for a flash.  Fuck that.  Fuck him.  Fuck every single fat-ass who doesn't give a fuck about the pain and misery of an innocent, helpless child or animal.  Fuck them.  I hate them.  Intensely.

I want to forget about this, but I can't.  So for now, I'll just list the organizations I'm frustrated with. 

To start, I will never give one red cent to:  The Humane Society.  Mid-South Spay and Neuter.  The Center for Missing and Exploited Children.

I hate the idiotic, fat ass, apathetic excuse for a police department who I pay (with my hard-earned tax dollars) to serve and protect my community.

I have no confidence in our fucking excuse for law enforcement.  I guess they're too busy arresting people operating stills and possessing small amounts of marijuana.  Parking illegally.  Failing to decelerate from 60 to 40 mph on the downhill slide from the interstate called Sam Cooper to the avenue called Sam Cooper.

Fuck all those fucking bureaucrats.  I'm done.

Friday, July 19, 2013

I'm in love.

I never thought I could love this way again.  Until today.
I was working at the rental house this morning.  I heard a dog barking.  I assumed the dogs next door.  But it seemed closer than that.

When I looked out the back door, I was surprised to see a dog running around in the yard.  Which was completely, hermetically fenced and sealed.  What made it weirder is that this dog looked exactly like a Lucy/Sally combo.

But as cute as she was, I tried to avoid getting attached.  The fact that she was covered in cockle-burrs, which looked like a colony of parasitic trilobites, kept my emotions in check.

The trilobites turned out to be cockle-burrs.  Because this sweet dog had been lost in the wild for seven months.  She had a tattoo and a chip, and a Nancy Drew of a foster mom (that would be me.)  I solved the mystery with a visit to the vet. 

So she's set to reunite with her owner in the morning.  I have half a mind to snatch her, though.  Because I'm so in love.  The Daddler was crazy about her, too.  I hate to say it, but I wish I could trade Sally in for Sassy (that's what that negligent bitch-excuse for a mistress named her.)  Sassy's a year old, and about Lucy's size, and the same sweet temperament.  And, as The D observed, she has the same light brown eyes as Mother had.  Like Lucy's. 

I'm gonna go to bed.  Because I need to get up early, so I can go to the vet's office, and say my farewell to this sweet, sweet girl.  With any luck, her lazy excuse for a mistress will forget about coming to pick her up, or will have a family emergency which prevents her from showing up, and I'll swoop in and gather this adorable baby to my bosom.

I should sleep.  Because this is sounding kinda crazy.  Still.  She is soooo, soooo cute.  And sweet.

Happy 82nd Birthday!

Big day at our house today!  Being the sweet daughter that I am, I sang Happy Birthday to The Daddler when he got up.  Then I fixed pancakes for him - it's been a while since he's had his usual muffin for breakfast.

His brother and sister-in-law are taking him to lunch - I know he's excited about that. 

July is a big birthday around here.  Kiddo's birthday was a couple days ago, and I'm having one in less than two weeks (yes, that's a hint!)

Not that my friends need reminding.  Last year I was really surprised by how many gifts and cards and calls I received.  Especially because I never remember anyone's birthday.  Except Kiddo's and The D's, and of course, mine.  But I do give my besties things at random times throughout the year.  When I see something that makes me think of someone I love, I buy it.  And I get so excited about giving it to them that I just can't wait until a real occasion.  Besides, isn't it much more fun to get a gift out of the blue than all at the same time on Christmas or your birthday?   Also, there's the scary possibility that one or the other of us would drop dead before the usual gift-giving occasion. 

That reminds me.  I need to redo my will.  Because if I don't spend all my money before I die, or lose it in the stock market or real estate investments, I like the idea of spreading my wealth around to the people I love.  More than just Kiddo.  Of course, he'll get some, but since he's frequently rude to me and he's gonna make a boat-load (it's boat load, not butt load, by the way) of money when he graduates next year and becomes a Gordon Gekko.  Since he's doing an internship in NYC  at Morgan Stanley, more than likely, he'll go to work for them next June.  And since he's making four times what I made when I graduated almost 30 years ago (as a college junior intern, no less), I don't expect he'll need much of my paltry fortune.  Plus, he's the only kid, and I'm sure his dad will give him everything.  Unless he never got around to changing the beneficiary on his life insurance, which is a real possibility, knowing him.

The best reason, though, for giving away my money post-humously, is that people will be extra nice to me.  And if they're not, I'll change my will accordingly.  Would it be mean if I left them a penny?  That reminds me of a story.  When I paid off my Regions home equity loan a long time ago, the following month I received a bill for $ 0.01.  That's right.  One cent.  I ignored it, and I kept getting invoices every month for over a year.  Finally, I decided to pay off my sizeable debt to them.  So I taped not one, but two pennies to the remittance advice and mailed it.  Just as I expected, the next month I received a statement which showed a credit balance of one cent.  That went on for another year.  I suppose they finally realized that they'd spent lots more than one cent on postage, printing, and other administrative costs for those bills.  If I hadn't had such a bad experience when they bought my loan from NBC, I wouldn't have been so devious.  It felt good though.

Well, I'm gonna close now.  It's time to wrangle with Comcast.  They finally came through with a nice big credit for cheating me for the last two years.  But I'm not sure it's right, so I'm going to continue the massive spreadsheet I started.  When I get it all straight, I'll prepare a bill for my time.  I have a little leverage with them, in the form of complaints to the SEC and FCC, so I'll try to strong-arm them without crossing the line into extortion.

All for now...

Friday, July 12, 2013


The second photo (lumpy lipo candidate) in yesterday's post was NOT me.  For that matter, neither was the first (penguin.)  Both pictures, though, reflect how I felt.


Thursday, July 11, 2013


This pretty much sums it up.   A/C works.  Life is good.  My brain is no longer about to implode, and I've gone a whole 36 hours without a rant.  Unbelievable.    
Unfortunately (for you - my voyeuristic loyal readers,) my angst fuels my blogs.  So this will be short and sweet.
I have so much more to tell, but for now, I have other pleasant pursuits.  In case you care, what's trending in my cranium is as follows:  bald nudism as the cure for global warming; how foxes must be a dog/cat hybrid; dogs who prefer dead voles, dog vomit and cat poop to premium, organic, expensive puppy chow; whether it's incestuous to have a romantic relationship with someone who must be a twin separated at birth or a reincarnation of one's self (which is why I find him irresistable.)   Whether I should be worried about The Daddler because he forgot how to change the TV volume on the cable remote control - those damn TIAs - such a nuisance. 
Or if I should spend the proceeds from my pending refi on "Tickle Lipo" to suck out the huge flap of fat I've been left with after having three "bikini" cuts to remove large masses from my abdomen (an 8lb 13oz baby, a grapefruit-sized ball of mucous, and a useless uterus.)  Bikini cut, huh?  As in, you'll never wear a bikini again.  Why don't they call it a natural chastity belt?
Wow.  And I said I wouldn't rant.
On that note, I'm gonna go. 

Tuesday, July 9, 2013

A Living Hell

I'm in hell.  It must be bad karma.  All these angry blog posts I've written are coming back like a blasted (pardon the pun) boomerang.  Blast furnace - get it?

Now that I think about it, it's so apropos that my upstairs is nice and cool - so heavenly, and downstairs is unbearably, hellishly hot. 

In case you haven't been keeping up, my A/C has been out since Friday, or maybe Thursday.  When the weather was unseasonably cool.  Or not hot.  But every day, it's gotten hotter and more humid.  And the holy grail of air conditioner parts is still eluding my crusaders.  Where is Indiana Jones when I need him?  That reminds me of the Shia LeBouf lookalike I made out with on an airplane a few years ago.  Turned out he was married - there's a whole embarrassing story involving email and a snoopy wife.  But that's for another time.

As I recall from my 11th grade physics class, heat and pressure are directly proportional.  And I have too much of each.  To put this in layman's terms, I'm living in a pressure cooker.  About to blow a gasket.  Throw a rod.  Trigger a solar flare, and consequently, global warming and the end of the world as we know it.  Spontaneously combust.

As if the whole ComCrap debacle and the shallow grave in my back yard weren't enough, yesterday I encountered another windmill.  Of course, I tilted at it.  Here goes:

Against my better judgment, I stopped by Office Depot.  I've had shitty experiences therein the past, but it was on my way home and I knew exactly what I wanted (which they didn't happen to have,) but I found a suitable replacement.  In fact, I was pleasantly surprised that two or three employees asked me if I needed help, and I didn't have to wait in line to check out.  It didn't hurt that I was the only customer in the store.

I bought my stuff.  So far so good.  Until I almost walked through the naked glass wall directly in front of the cash register.  Fortunately, it was kinda dirty so I realized that I needed to turn 90 degrees to the left to exit the store.  Once before, a long time ago, I walked into a glass wall.  I was with The Daddler.  My forehead ricocheted off the glass.  I stood there, stunned and disoriented.  Instead of asking me if I was ok, The D said, and I quote, "It sounded like a cannon went off in here,"  while shaking his head the same way he did when I backed into the bay window and crunched the fender of my car.  Or pulled into the carport and hit the post and sent it flying.  Fortunately, it wasn't load-bearing and neither he nor Mother were crushed by the the roof or hit by schrapnel.  In retrospect, though, the thought of The D being impaled by a cedar post isn't altogether unpleasant.

Back to my near miss.  Being the bleeding heart, good citizen I am, I decided to go back in the store and tell someone that they might want to put something in front of the glass so that other people wouldn't walk into it like I nearly did.  As an aside, I was actually elected "Good Citizen" my senior year of high school.  It was kinda like being awarded the Miss Congeniality sash at the Miss America pageant.  Or being described by a match-making friend to prospective boyfriends as having a good personality.  Still, I got a full page picture in the yearbook, on the arm of the biggest, smokiest druggie guy on campus.  And to dilute the honor that much more, for each category, there were four winners, not two.  An African-American boy and girl, and a Caucasian boy and girl.  And since I was in the minority in my school, graduated third in my class, and was on the yearbook staff (a decided advantage in these contests) it was pretty lame.  I figure by the time Mr. & Miss Whitehavens, Smartest, Most Likely to Succeed, Most Popular and Best Dressed (WTF is up with those stupid categories? - why not have Thinnest Girl and Most Cut Boy, Best Nose/Boob Job, Sluttiest, Heaviest Makeup, Longest Rap Sheet, Worst Acne & Greasiest Hair - I coulda been a contender for that one, Fattest Ass -my biology teacher once told me that I had a "bottom" that boys like to look at - I'm cringing to this day, and last but not least, Most Likely to Wind Up on Death Row and/or on the Sexual Offenders Registry.  Actually, at our 30th reunion, I was advised not to FaceBook friend a guy who was a known pedaphile.  Hmmm.  Is a pedophile a foot lover?  I wish I'd taken latin.)

Damn, is this one incoherent rant or what?

Back to the Office Depot thing.  I'm embarrassed to admit that I spent way too much time trying to get some corporate drone to care.  But I finally found success.  With the help of an attorney friend who revealed the secret of a great (legitimate) lawyer directory website - Martindale.com.   I emailed the General Counsel of the company, and she emailed back.  I was incredulous.  She delegated me to three underlings who actually seemed to be more qualified than the usual script-reading, automaton I regularly encounter.

They all "reached out" to me (mark that square on your Buzzword Bingo card) and did a convincing job of caring about my concerns.  So now I can forget about it.

And focus on harrassing American Standard - the manufacturer of my lemon of an air conditioner.  And ComCrap.  And United-Fucking-Health.  And Verizon. Ad nauseum...

Stay tuned.

Monday, July 8, 2013

Rules to Live By

Don't ever buy cheap garbage bags.  I spent 20 maddening minutes trying to open one.  Without success.

I'm about to go in the back yard and set the whole box on fire.  And then I'll call the cops and report a hate crime.  Because I hate cheap shit.  And I hate cops (at least fat-ass apathetic ones like the loser who refused to investigate the shallow grave in my back yard.)

Damn.  I'm sounding like a lunatic.  I'll continue to blame it on the heat.  The rare and elusive part to my state of the art HVAC system won't be here until tomorrow, and my brain is swelling.  I'm feeling vengeful.  On so many levels.

Thank God for blogging.

Sunday, July 7, 2013


Wow.  I'm full of it tonight.  I think the heat is getting to me.  While The Daddler was at church, I let the dogs in and regaled them with two of my favorite songs from Oliver!  Namely, I'd Do Anything, and Food, Glorious Food.  They seemed subdued by my performance.

I was channeling Julie Andrews.  If she'd been in Oliver!  One can only imagine.

What a great movie!  So formative for me.   I had the biggest Tiger Beat-fueled crush on Jack Wild.  Who, by the way, was nominated for an Oscar for Best Supporting Actor.  On a sad note, I recently googled him, and discovered that he'd drunk and smoked himself to death.  What a buzz-kill.  How could that adorable man-boy die?  If only I'd known before it was too late.  I could've swept in to be his Florence Nightingale/Mother Teresa/Nancy-Cougar.  Swing low, sweet chariot.  I know.  That makes no sense at all.  I blame it on the heat.  I just walked through the den and I felt like I was an extra in Apocolypse Now.  Or Beyond the Thunderdome.  Or one of those crazy movies whose trailers trigger terrible nightmares.

Even though my dreamboat was cheated, the movie won the Best Picture Oscar (and best soundtrack and director) for 1968.  Now that I think about it, I was just seven years old.  Wait.  Make that six.  Because I didn't turn seven until July of 1968.  That's a little crazy to think about.  There's something wrong about a six year old girl mooning over a ficticious, orphaned member of a major crime-ring, whom she's never met.

Now.  Back to the point of this post.  Indulgence.  After my Obie-worthy performance, I was flushed with feelings of fondness.  Which I expressed by spoiling my two spoiled adorable baby girl dogs who I love more than life itself.  I spread peanut butter (Choosy Mothers Choose Jif, which has never been recalled, like Peter Pan - the cheap imitation) on a plastic plate and sprinkled it with generic Cheerios. 

I selflessly gave the treats to The Daddler to give to the girls (he loves to feed animals, and I'm trying to keep him too busy to start a colony of feral cats again.)  He loved it.  They loved it.  And then I fed him.  With leftover Wendy's chili, sliced cucumbers, and a parfait of walnut brownies with banana split ice cream, topped with a big squirt of Redi-Whip and a cherry on top.  He actually said, "It tastes good." before he even tasted it.  Redi-Whip is worth its weight in gold.  It makes everything look tastier.

All this to say, I'm feeling the love.  For Jack Wild.  My little bitches.  The Daddler.  My upstairs HVAC.  And for one other being, who shall remain unnamed.  For now, let's just call him John.

Still No A/C

It turns out there's a problem with some elusive part to my HVAC system and it can't be procured until Monday.  I find it hard to believe there's no way to get parts during the weekend.  Oh, well.

The guys were nice.  After Marcus had been here 2+ hours, with no solution, I figured it might take a while.  I was pleased when his boss showed up, complete with another helper.  Boss was very apologetic (sincere apologies go a long way with me - there are way too few of those around.)  After he broke the news to me, he appeared with two window units.  After I made the big decision of where to put them, they popped them in, and even sealed around the edges so bugs wouldn't get in.  Again, that went a long way with me.  On the other hand, the window A/Cs are pretty anemic.  I might suggest that they upgrade to some newer ones (and maybe a couple more.)  They're pretty cheap.  I suppose that would be looking a gift horse in the mouth, though.

Little sis brought two box fans.  Old-fashioned box fans are far superior to those oscillating tower fans.  Way cheaper, too.  In fact, I tried to use one from my parents' house, but it was pathetic.  It's out on the curb.

It's still 80 degrees in the living room, but since I have my own A/C in my bedroom upstairs, it's not a big problem.  The D was just fine this morning.  And I have recovered from my extremely foul mood, which I'll blame on the heat and frustration of having to deal with a state of the art (expensive) HVAC system which broke less than a year after I bought it.

Enough bitching.  I'm gonna head down the hall to the wind tunnel to watch CBS Sunday Morning with The Daddler.  And put some ice in my coffee.

Saturday, July 6, 2013

Have I mentioned...

...that I hate Comcrap?  Because I do.  Intensely. 

They have ruined my life.

I am held hostage, because there would be hell to pay if The Daddler had to learn a new remote control. 

I'm having violent thoughts.  Of commiting unthinkable crimes. 

What stops me from acting on these crazy impulses is the thought of being imprisoned.  So not to worry, I'd never break the law or disturb the peace.

On that thought, I need to go.  To sew a poison pill pocket onto everything I wear.  And buy some castor beans...

If it's not one thing...

...it's another.  The air conditioner's out.  It's not the end of the world, though, because:
- The Daddler likes it hot (he insisted it was working just fine)
- I have my own unit with its own thermostat upstairs - 'nuf said
- I have my very own kiddie pool in the back yard
- The outside temp is under 112 degrees
- The A/C guy will be here within the hour

So, I have plenty of cool oases to escape to. 

The D isn't bitching.  Yet.  Of course, he instructed me to just turn down the thermostat.  God.  Does he really think I'm such an idiot? 

And I'm certain I won't have to pay one red cent to the HVAC guy, since I spent mega-bucks on a brand new system less than a year ago.

I'll close now, and head outside to fill my pool.  I'll have to keep Sally out of it so it won't be polluted with mud and pee before I get in.   Later...

Monday, July 1, 2013

In Memoriam

I'm not sure I should post this.  It's just that I can't get it out of my mind.  The thing about one picture being worth a thousand words - I think there's truth in that.  Plus, he's so beautiful.  Peaceful and serene.  I want everyone to feel the same outrage I've felt.

I'm still searching for answers.  And I'm determined to find a way to be sure that no one else has to deal with a fat-ass, lazy, apathetic excuse for a cop who'd rather harrass an angel of mercy like me, than bother with an ominous, freshly-dug, shallow grave, which could've contained anything.  Including a dead baby, a dwarf, a dismembered witness for the prosecution, an innocent bystander...

I'm not done with this.  Justice will prevail.  For now, though, I'll close.  Plan my strategy.  Binge-watch the Death Wish movies.  Classics...