Fill or Kill

Google it.  I'm not spoon-feeding you any more.

I'm learning to exercise some discipline.  In investing, anyway.  I placed a limit order today at 2:58 - two minutes before market-close.  I offered to sell my 100 shares at 2 cents below the bid price and waited for the trade to execute.  While I sat and thought, "Why do I care about $2?"  Because I didn't mind holding onto it.  And 100 shares was only half my position.  Compromise.  Very different from my usual all-or-none approach.

Lo and behold, at the very last minute, my order executed.  I made a tidy little profit, for three days.  I keep thinking I could be a Rich Girl if I could just focus on the market.  But I'm smart enough to know I'm kidding myself about that.

Like with poker.  If I could've stuck with Texas Hold 'Em, I could've been a contender.  Or not.  The truth is, I'm an open book.  Which, strangely enough, plays to my advantage in poker, since I'm frequently confused.  And always near-sighted.  I need to find my glasses.  Maybe my competitors would take me more seriously.  But that could be a disadvantage.

Four Hours and Fifteen Minutes

That's how long I waited at the mammogram place today.  I went with my friend, D.  I would've bailed on her at about the 2.5 hour mark, but they had these fab-o massage chairs.  She said I'm gonna be sore from them, but I'm not worried.  At 3.5 hours, I would've abandoned the chair if not for the fact that she wasn't supposed to lift more than five pounds after the biopsy and her bags weighed a total of at least 50 pounds.

Since I wasn't wearing a white robe and I'd dressed kinda business-y, three people asked me if I was a drug rep.  Oh, I did have my leather satchel, but still.  What kinda sales person would be lying around in a massage chair in the doc's waiting room?  I was flattered, though.  Those women are always hot.  And they make a shit-load of money.  Maybe it's time for a career change... 

There were four M-Chairs and I kept an eye open for anyone waiting for a one, when all of them were filled.  Since the session only lasted 15 minutes and it was a light day, I'd hit the start button 17 times before I had to relinquish my chair.  (That bitch.)  But I had to pee, anyway.

I went into the bathroom and was a little embarrassed to see that I had major bed-head.

I had to postpone a client meeting today (hence the biz clothes).  Got The D in and out of the cardio doc's in an hour - at seven -fuckin' - thirty this morning.  That was a direct result of my begging, plus the fact that I ran to fetch a wheelchair for the poor lady in the waiting room who was on the verge of fainting.  Her sweet husband asked me to call a nurse and I screeched like a shrew, got wet paper towels for her forehead and went to the ground floor to fetch said wheelchair.  So my Karma should be in excellent condition, for a change.

Ok, better run.  I need to go clean up some cat vomit.  Yes.  Bulimic Cat's been at it again...

Letting Go, Part II

I really didn't intend to talk about stocks in yesterday's post.  That was supposed to be a clever intro to what was really on my mind.  Which was letting go of loved ones.  Specifically, my mother.  My friend L buried her mother yesterday.  I was oddly devoid of emotion during most of the service.  And then it hit me.  My mother and Mrs. P were very different.  But very much alike in some ways.

They were both fiercely independent.  I sometimes wonder how it would've worked if Mother had come home from the hospital to live with me.  As much as I loved her, we could butt heads and when we did, it wasn't pretty.  I guess that's part of why I know she loved me unconditionally.  There was nothing I could've done that she wouldn't forgive.  Immediately.  And wordlessly.  Without dishing out guilt.

I'm blessed to have inherited her forgiving spirit.  For the most part, I can forgive anything.  Except one.  Betrayal.  Sometimes I wonder what Mother would say if she saw the way the Emotional Vampire operated.  Systematically turning our extended family against my younger sister and me.  Those relationships can never be mended completely.   With EV, the only healing to be done is for me to let my anger completely transform into apathy.  I expect the only time I will ever see her again is at The D's funeral, if he doesn't outlive me.

When I was so sick the other night and I thought my head was going to explode, I pictured her swooping in to my funeral.  The grieving sister.  How she would relish the role.  I told Deb that under no circumstances should EV be admitted.  She'd have to hire a bouncer.  But since I'm giving my body to science so it will be cremated gratis, there'll be no funeral.  I want my loved ones to take the $13 fucking grand they'd spend on a funeral and go on a great trip and scatter my ashes over the ocean. 

I need to work on my will.  Not that there's lots.  Especially if I keep doing a number on my IRAs.  But I do have a nice life insurance policy.  Everything would go to ex-husband as it stands now, but since he's such an ubermensch, I'm not worried.  It'll all go to Kiddo eventually.  Really, what I should work on is a trust.  I could load it up with conditions.  Make him jump through hoops.  Believe me, if anything motivates the kid, money does.  He was remarkably kinder when I gave him a chunka change to use for his frat dues this summer.  And I might've mentioned needing to work on my will.  Wait, I remember.  I said, "Straighten up Kiddo, or everything goes to the cat.  With the residual to the Humane Society."  A remainder trust, is what it's called.  Leona Helmsley did that for her dog.  She didn't have children.  I think her step-children challenged the will.  And lost.  It was airtight I'm sure.

Speaking of motivation and money.  If FF married me, he'd get a cut.  Besides, Kiddo's set on becoming a Wall Street magnate, so he won't need it all.  I've instructed Mr. Man to start working on the pre-nup.  I have a feeling it'll be complicated.  Or not.  Since I don't really care about money beyond meeting my financial obligations and doing some occasional thrift store shopping, I'd be happy with health insurance.  And I'm sure he'll outlive me.  Like Owen Meany, I'm quite sure I'll have an untimely death.  I don't know the exact day or circumstances, but I'm pretty sure of it.  Or maybe I just hope so, because I can't bear the thought of outliving anyone else I love.

Well, FF has until May 31, 2013 to make up his mind.  That's when my COBRA runs out.  I think I've mentioned that a time or two already.  I'm hoping he'll get the hint.  But realistically, I can't just fart around until the deadline.  I'll have to work on a backup plan.  So in May 2012, I'll launch a full-scale offensive if his bachelorhood remains confirmed.  I'll give him fair warning.  Right of first refusal, depending on the qualifications of Mr. Right Enough.  Of course, a Christmas engagement would be nice.  And yes, that's a hint.  A blatant one.  I really do have it bad for him.  But maybe I shouldn't show him my hand.  He does read this blog faithfully.  And then there's the specter of being publicly dumped.  If that happens, though, I'll just quit blogging about him.  Or not.  After all, FF stands for Fantasy Fiance.  Not Future.  Hopefully not Former.  Fantasy.  So for all anyone knows, he's already flown the coop.  I really couldn't even assign a percentage to the likelyhood of his jumping the broom with me.  He's hard to read.  A tough nut to crack.  This girl loves a challenge, though. 

Ok, enough babbling.  The market opens soon and the futures were down, last I checked.  I need to make some decisions.  I think I'll wait until after amateur hour, though.  I'll get ready and take The D to the urologist's office to pee in a cup.  He's chomping at the bits.  I'd ask Sarita to take him, but I'm hoping to see my new best friend, the sweet funny nurse who does all The D's procedures.

Better run.  Over and out...

Letting Go

I wish I could do that.  I bought two stocks Friday and they've surged since then.  I'd have a tidy little gain if I could bid them farewell.  But I'm destined to play the "What If" game.  That doesn't always bode well in the stock market.  It doesn't hurt that the market is up significantly since Friday morning when I bought them.  Bernanke had just started his speech and I decided he wouldn't let us go to hell in a handbasket, so I got a jump on things.  Good timing for a change.  But that could change.

I tell myself I should sell some and get back in when the price goes lower, which it almost invariably does.  I don't have the discipline, though.  And I'm loyal to a fault.  My methodology has evolved into a couple things.  I have to like the product and it has to have a strong balance sheet.  That describes both companies I invested in Friday.  I've bought and sold them before - made a nice return.  For some reason, I don't get attached to them.

Now, if I had a brain in my head, I'd take some gains and cut some losses and buy gold.  But when it comes to investing, I use my gut.  And the truth is, IDGAF.  It's my retirement money.  If I hit it big on my pet stock, I'll be a wealthy woman.  If it goes belly up, I'll be eating Alpo for dinner.

I need to go - duty calls.  I'm going to take a look at things in an hour - 20 minutes before market close.  The Dow is up 239.  I've made a hundred bucks on my two new stocks since I started this post.  Unrealized gain, though.  Important distinction.

If I were smart, I'd figure out the ticker symbol of the producer of Alpo...

Daddler Update

I did laundry last night.  A white load.  It takes a while to accumulate whites, for some reason.  I was dismayed when I saw The D's underwear.  He's kept me posted on the problem with his plumbing.  The urologist said it would take up to three months for the prostate-microwave procedure to work.  So I wasn't worried.  Until I saw what I saw.  Blood.  Or I should say, blood-tinged urine.  Dark enough to worry me though.  I asked The Daddler about it this morning and he confirmed what I already knew.

So, as soon as the office opens, I'll get on the horn to the urologist.  I have a feeling they'll want to do another urinalysis to rule out infection.  He seems to be feeling fine even though the incontinence thing is bothersome.  He won't wear the pads I bought.  I don't blame him.

On another note, I'm happy to report that he finally has grab bars in his bathroom.  I bought them when he first came to live with me at the old house, and my procrastination paid off because we never put them up there.  My dear ex-brother-in-law came over yesterday and installed them.  Deb came and helped decide where to put them.  It was a group decision.  My only involvement was to take the bars out of the box before we made up our minds.  The Daddler had strong preferences.  Actually, I had opinions, too, but the four of us reached consensus without any conflict.  Amazing.  I think The D was nicer to me because of ex-b-in-law. 

About that, Deb's ex and mine are so kind and helpful.  Waaaayyy more than the man who's currently married to Emotional Vampire Former Sister from Hell.  My parents detested him.  He's an Asshole with a capital A.  Actually, it should be all caps for emphasis.  ASSHOLE.  You get the idea.  My ex-husband isn't much of a handyman, but he is an ubermensch.  We get along so well.  In fact, he was here Friday night and watched a little baseball with The D and me.  He lives within a mile and that's really good.  Especially when Kiddo's here.  Hey, maybe I could ask him to stay with The D at night when I go to Baltimore to see my girl Melanie later this month.  I am so ready to get away.

One more thing about the exes.  I gave ex-b-in-law a small check - put it by his keys and cell phone.  When I came into my office last night, he'd left it on my desk with a note saying simply, "We're family."  Wow.

Glad I decided against EJ, the dog.  I've got enough pee to worry about right now without adding to it.

Better run.  I need to get ready for a funeral.  All for now...

A Dog

I decided to take the plunge and get a dog for The D.  So after Deb and I took him out to Cordova to see his empty house so we could get his blessing to put it up for sale, we stopped by the Humane Society's new shelter.  I have some preferences in dogs.  Medium-sized.  Like a shepherd or collie.  Female.  Not agressive with cats.  House trained.  Older (puppies chew everything).  No excessive licking or barking.  For the right dog, I could be flexible.  These aren't deal-breakers.  But being a pit-bull is one.  My heart breaks for them, but I can't go there.  And as it turns out, there's another deal-breaker I hadn't anticipated.

Like dogs, with men I have my preferences along with some things I can't tolerate.  Under any circumstances.  Like bad teeth, bad grammar, poor hygiene, smoking, bad manners, no job.  I'm flexible with regard to politics and religion - a good thing, since I seem to find myself surrounded by athiest liberals.  I only have a few must-haves on my list of qualifications Mr. Right.  The main ones are honesty, a good sense of humor, high emotional intelligence, regular old intelligence and kindness.  For dogs, I'm much more flexible.  Mainly, I want one who'll make The Daddler happy and not wreck my house or finances.

So, back to the Humane Society shelter.  I started out in the open area at the entrance.  It was quiet.  I walked down the aisle looking at each dog.  Turns out, they were, without exception, full or part pit bull and male.  Several were missing a leg, and Deb couldn't handle that, so she retreated to the cat area.  I went into the back section, which was full of dogs in cages on both sides.  Unlike the front cages, which were behind glass, the back cages had wire fronts.  As a result, it was extremely loud - most of the dogs were barking.  More pit bulls.  One of them had his nose pressed against the wall and was snarling and drooling.  It was strange and very sad.  My anxiety level surged to the point of a panic attack and I high-tailed it out of there.  Back to the reception desk.  The girl told me that over half the dogs were at least part pit bull and the others were mostly large dogs.  She offered to make a list for me but I told her I couldn't go back in.  She said she had one in mind and that she could bring it out for me to see, but that he was missing a leg.  I told her that didn't matter to me.  So she went to get him.

And we met EJ.  A big fluffy schnauzer-poodle mix.  Gray and white.  We couldn't see his eyes through his bushy bangs.  He was about five years old and had lost his right front leg.  Which made me love him more.  He was so sweet.  The Daddler took to him right away.  So did I.  But he immediately peed on the wall.  Maybe he was excited.  The girl said they should've taken him outside first.  So she got a guy to take him outside.  When he brought EJ back, I asked if he'd peed.  He said yes.  Then we took him into the cat house to see how he acted toward cats.  He was perfect.  Didn't even bark.  He seemed happy to see Test Cat.  TC hissed at him and he backed off.  Good sign.  But then, EJ peed on the wall.  Again.  Ok, no two ways about this - he was marking his territory.  He was five years old before he'd gotten fixed.  There's no undoing that.

I hate to sound heartless, but I can't have a house that smells like urine.  Especially not after the stinky chair debacle.  If Bulimic Cat's puke smelled anything like my stomach flu-induced vomit the other night, she'd be history.  Or at least an outdoor cat.

Speaking of the stinky chair, I finally figured out what my carport looks like.  Sanford & Son.  Seriously.

So, back to EJ.  There's a 24 hour waiting period, so I left my application.  I can't get EJ out of my mind and I'd love to have him, but peeing on the wall is a definite deal-breaker.

I have my limits.

I think I'll ask Mr. Man to help me.  He's good with animals.  He keeps his emotions at bay.  I haven't met Mambo or Lobo yet, but from what his mom says, they're very well behaved.  He's a regular dog-whisperer.  I think he's been trying to use those techniques on me.  But I'm slightly feral.  Which might make me a challenge.

On that note, I'm signing off.  I have some unpleasant tasks waiting for me.

Tomorrow is the funeral for my dear friend, L's mom.  I need a good night's sleep for that.

I ordered a Kindle 3G and it should come tomorrow.  Reading's been my salvation.  Blogging is good.  Whatever works...

Feeling Better

I had an amazing night's sleep.  Wow, what a difference that makes.  I feel a little feverish, but I'm still ready to tackle the world.  Or at least some things around the Good House.  First, though, I'm heading over to the Daddler's church next door.  They have lunch after church once per month.  Today is meatloaf, purple hull peas, and other good stuff I can't remember.  They are so incredibly sweet to us.  They mow the part of our lawn outside our fence.  There's an extra 15 feet on the side and 20 feet in the back and every time I mow the lawn, I'm so very thankful I don't have to tackle that.  The D loves it there.  We have a regular Sunday morning routine now.  I sit on the sofa, read the paper, and watch CBS Sunday Morning with him, and he comes back and forth as he's getting ready for church.  He always tells me he's not going to wear a coat and tie.  That's a change for him.  Then around 9:30 he shows me his watch and asks me if it's time for him to go.  Sunday School starts at 9:45 and I usually send him on his way around 9:40.  It always makes me sad when he's confused about the time.  He never misses Dr. Oz, though.

Deb's coming over later and we're going to take The D to see his and Mother's empty house so we can get his ok to put it on the market.  I haven't seen it since Deb got everything out and dumped the stuff on my carport, where the boxes are still sitting.  I have a feeling we're going to all feel very depressed. Soooo, I had the bright idea of heading to the Humane Society afterwards and looking at dogs.  I'll try to get one who's used to cats but I can always put up a baby gate and keep Bulimic Cat in my EA.  I'm hoping we can get one on approval and if it doesn't work out, we can take it back.  We'll see.

Ok, it's time to head across the field for lunch with The Daddler.

Later...