Lake Edition

On Sunday, I headed for Cayuga Lake, where my family has a cottage.  I haven't been to the cottage in years due to my sister TIB being a b*tch (long story).  The cottage hasn't changed; I'll tell you what, that thing musta been built like a brick sh*thouse, because it was built over 80 years ago, right on the water, and it's still standing.

My brother A (the one I got busted for trespassing with) took me for a boat ride:

See ya next time, A!

They think they're hurting me ...

... and I just think it's funny.

First off, it helps to think of my family as being like middle school all over again. There is a bully (my sister TIB), and people who try to stay on her good side so they don't get bullied (my sister Alabama, my brother A.) There are people who just try to stay out of the bully's range (my sister Ditzy), and then there is the target of the bully, i.e., ME.

Except I don't play along. I ignore the bully when she picks on me. I call her out on her bullshit, which infuriates her. I refuse to be intimidated. Oh, I am polite enough to her at family gatherings. I give her nothing to feed her rage, nor do I back down when she starts with her crap. I agree with her when necessary to keep the peace, and then do just exactly what I was planning to do in the first place, anyway.

What none of them know is, I've got a mole on the other side. An informant, so to speak. And this little birdie told me that there's a big party being planned up at the family cottage this weekend. Relatives are flying in from all over the country to attend.

And I have not been invited.

Thank GOD.

Because who wants to spend the weekend in a snakepit? Surrounded by people who smile and chit-chat with you, and then cut you dead as soon as you leave the room?

NO WAY.

They'll spend the weekend congratulating themselves about cutting me out. About "hurting" me. Just like middle school, when ONE KID was excluded from the birthday party of the popular kid, and all the other kids laughed about it.

Except I'm the kid being excluded, and I just think it's funny how grown adults can still act like they're ten.

I may spend a few minutes this weekend wondering how people I actually used to care about, people to whom I am related, turned into a nest of assholes, but mostly?

I'll be working in the garden, and going for walks, and hopefully getting some damn SUN already if it'll stop raining for ten minutes, and just enjoying myself. And probably calling my sister Texas, the one family member who is still my friend, so that the two of us can laugh about how silly this all is. Because the two of us graduated from middle school a long, long time ago, even if the rest of the family didn't.

And I will be very, very thankful that I'm not up at the lake this weekend.

Duh-Rama!

I had dinner with my sister Alabama last week. She was in town because she sold her summer place up at the lake, and needed to clean the campers out.

And I'll bet my sister TIB and her family are fuh-reaking out over the sale, because they have been using Alabama's place (for free, natch) during the summer for the last several years.

So the other night, my niece AM (TIB's daughter) called my sister Texas to see if she and her husband could buy HER summer place up at the lake! It's like musical chairs, except with summer places!

And on top of all this, I heard that the marina property on which the family cottage is located is up for sale.

And everybody's all, like, "Ohh, noes!" And I'm all, like, "heh, heh, heh". Because after the bullshit that went on last Labor Day weekend, when TIB threw a full on hissy-fit rage about things I DID NOT DO and then demanded that I apologize to HER, I made my decision to pull away from the dysfunctional soap opera that is my family and just watch from a distance.

Best decision I've ever made.

Plus? Alabama sold her place at the lake to buy a summer place on a lake in Georgia. I've never been to Georgia. I'll bet it's nice.


Updated to Add: My sister Texas came up with a fair price for her camper. My niece offered her 30% less. What nerve! Obviously, the deal is off.

Mystery

While I was up at the lake this past weekend, Rocky came in from outside one night in the middle of the night and jumped up on my bed. When I reached to pet him, I felt that the top of his head was soaking wet. At first I assumed that it was raining out, but when I petted his back, it was dry. It was just the top of his head that was wet.

Then I got worried. Rocky, in his youth, was a fighter, and I was afraid that he had tackled some random animal outside who fought back, and instead of water, what I was feeling was blood.

So I got up and turned on the light, and to my relief it was just water that was soaking his head. But several times during our visit to the lake, he came into the cottage with a soaking wet head. We finally figured out that there must be a pipe under the cottage that is leaking (Rocky loves to hang out in the crawlspace under the cottage), and that Rocky must be laying under the leak and getting his head wet.

But, here's the thing. Rocky loves to drink water, but he hates to be wet. Absolutely hates it. And there's plenty of room in that crawlspace. So why on earth would he be laying under a leaky pipe? And if he was laying under the leaky pipe, wouldn't the ground underneath the leaky pipe be wet, therefore getting the rest of him wet?

It's a mystery.

Push the Button!

I just got back from a few days at the lake with Texas, Alabama and three of Alabama's grandkids. When I got up there, Texas had already been there for a few days, and she said she couldn't get her TV to work in her new camper. She and Alabama had monkeyed and monkeyed, and made a trip to Radio Shack, and nothing worked. So I took a look at it, and all she could get was static. I asked her if she had tried hooking it up at the cottage (I thought maybe something was wrong with the camper hookup), but she said the TV would not switch from channel 2, so it must be the TV that had the problem. I asked her if she had tried pushing a funky little button that I noticed on the wall above the TV hookup, and she said that she must have, since she and Alabama had tried everything they could possibly think of to get the TV to work.

So, the next day we went to CrapMart, which is basically the only game in town up there for appliances, but Texas didn't want to spend a massive hundred bucks for a new TV (because she is rich, you know, but also incredibly, um, cheap (I know, I KNOW; somebody's going to say, "that's how she got rich, you idiot!" Go right ahead)). SO, because I am a card-carrying member of the Salvation Armani, I suggested we stop at the thrift store to see if they had any TVs. Now, I am fairly certain this was Texas's first foray into a thrift store, because while she is cheap, she is also designer label all the way. And not really into, ahem, used clothing.

As an aside, no one in my family reads this blog, in case you're wondering. I decline to give them the web address, because anyone in my family who read this thing would never speak to me again. Not that that's necessarily a bad thing, in some cases.

Anyway, sure enough, they had a TV at the thrift store for 25 bucks. I warned her that all they do at the thrift store is plug them in and make sure they turn on, they do not check for picture quality or anything else, and Texas said fine, fine, I don't care, I'll take it.

SO, we get back to the camper, plug in the new TV, and ..... nothing. Just static, like the other TV. So I took the thrift store TV over to the cottage, hooked it up to the cable, and, voila, picture! Granted, the thrift store TV had some issues, like you can't get a picture unless you pull up the on-screen menu box, but still .... picture!
Then we took it back to the camper, hooked it up again, and .... static. Until I pushed that funky little button above the TV hookup, and ..... picture!

Well, you can guess the rest of this one. We hooked up her old TV, and ..... picture! Obviously, even though she and Alabama had tried everything, they had never tried pushing in the button directly above the TV hookup.

So now there's a spare TV up at the lake. And all weekend long, of course, no one could pass byArline without saying "Push the Button!" And laughing hysterically.

Push the Button!

Giving Myself Permission

I was going to go up to the cottage this weekend. I have the new baseboard heater unit for the back porch, some of the family are going up, it's going to be nice and sunny tomorrow so I could get some good photos of the cottage (I have surprisingly few), and I really should go.

Um, no.

I am going to get the lounge chair out of the attic, get the kiddy pool out of the shed and fill it up, and relax in the backyard.

The older I get, the more I realize that a lot of "should do"s are really a waste of time. I will be much happier at home this weekend, for various reasons, and anybody who was expecting me to be up at the lake will get over it.

I am a little nervous about this change of heart of mine, because until recently, "shoulds" pretty much ruled my roost. And who knows, maybe sometime soon, they will again. Maybe it's just the summer weather. Maybe it's just a passing fancy. But right now, certain "shoulds" can just go fly a kite.

Cats Need A Vacation, Too (OK, probably not, but I needed a post title)

Here is Rocky at the lake (that's my dad's memorial behind him):

When we got home on Sunday, Rocky scouted out his property, then found a shady spot on the lawn, curled up, and snoozed, and snoozed, and snoozed. Vacations are hard work!

Amazing Vacation Discovery!

Pre-mixed Manhattans! With the liquor already in them! By the jug! At the liquor store!

My life may have been changed forever. I am pretty much strictly a beer drinker, although I do enjoy the occasional mixed drink. However, because I am apparently lacking the mixology gene, I can only enjoy mixed drinks when someone else is making them. For example, I love a Manhattan. But I have no idea what goes into one, or how you would actually make one.

So! While on vacation, my sister Alabama and I stopped at a liquor store to buy some rum for my Mom, as she likes rum & coke. And, while I was wandering about the store, I found, to my amazement, pre-mixed Manhattans! By the jug! Thank you, Lord!

Of course, this then meant a trip to the grocery store to buy some maraschino cherries, because to me, the cherries & the cherry juice are what makes a Manhattan so tasty. Although, who knows, it could be almost anything, since I have no idea what is actually in a Manhattan.

I am pleased to report that I had no hangover whatsoever the next morning. Although I don't remember too much of the night before.

More From Vacation

While I was on vacation, the owner of the marina and his wife came up for a few days (their place is right next to our cottage, which the marina owns). The owner's wife complained about the smell of the seaweed (oh please, you're right next to a lake!), so right away there was a backhoe (or maybe a skidsteer? I'm not really up on my heavy equipment terminology) and a truck by the water, clearing out the seaweed (which, of course, reappeared a few days later, in the form of new seaweed).

In the photo below, the owner's wife is on the left, and Saggy Pants is on the right. Saggy Pants works for the marina. I call him Saggy Pants because, well, look at his shorts! Yes indeed folks, that's not a weird camera angle; they really do hang that low. They are always just about to fall off his butt. And any time he bends over, you don't just get "plumber's crack", you get "plumber's butt". I am talking about his entire butt being exposed.

Now, I have two questions. First, can't he feel the breeze? I mean, his entire butt is exposed every time he bends over. How can he possibly not be aware of this fact? Is he an exhibitionist? Has he never heard of belts? I know that lots of guys experience plumber's crack; heaven knows, I've watched enough repairmen at work. Can they honestly not know that their butts are exposed? Are they having "out-of-butt" experiences? Please, I'm dying to know!

Secondly, if anyone has a better nickname for this guy than "Saggy Pants", please let me know.

I was going to do a post on ospreys today, but for some reason the whole butt question just seemed to need to be addressed. As you can tell, it doesn't take much to entertain me while on vacation! Oh yeah, and looking again at that picture, doesn't it look like if the owner's wife could just gift some of her butt to Saggy Pants, they'd both be happier?

I'm Baaaaaaack

And I survived my vacation. Parts were very, very good, and parts were not so good. Here's a not-so-good part:

I got up there on Saturday, expecting that my sister Alabama, her grandkids, and my Mom would all be up there. Um, no. It turns out that Alabama had to go back south for a week, so she had taken my Mom back to TIB's house to stay while she and the grandkids were gone. Alabama and the grandkids got up to the lake shortly after I did, and Alabama said she would go to TIB's house Sunday to pick up Mom.

On Sunday, Alabama got very sick. The lying-in-bed, puking kind of sick. It turned out this particular illness had run its course first through the grandkids, then my nephew, and now it was Alabama's turn. I offered to go pick up Mom, but Alabama wanted to wait a few days, so that Mom did not catch this nasty illness from Alabama. Alabama said she would call TIB and explain the situation.

Alabama didn't call.

TIB's husband called the cottage Wednesday afternoon, absolutely furious that no one had come to get Mom. He read me the riot act and then hung up on me. Alabama called him back, at which point he read her the riot act, accused she and I of not loving our Mother, and other assorted crap. Alabama explained the situation about her illness, but of course TIB and her husband were mad about not getting a phone call, to which I have to say, the phone works both ways. Yes, Alabama should have called them, but why didn't they call her to see what was going on? Instead they let themselves get worked up into a foaming-at-the-mouth rant.

So Alabama drove down to TIB's on Thursday, did more explaining, blah blah blah. And she brought Mom back up to the lake. And TIB and her husband are still all pissed off and full of drama. And you know what? I don't give a shit. I am so sick of TIB and her husband's attitude that from now on, I just don't care. Which should drive them wild, because we all know that it's no fun to throw a hurricane-strength tantrum if no one reacts.

So! More new about the vacation another time. Right now I am staring at a huge pile of work on my desk that I am slowly wading through (taking a break right now). And I wonder why the temps always, always have to rearrange the desktop on my computer. This last temp actually took my sidebar of blog favorites and re-arranged it into separate little header categories, totally out of order from the way I had it. Sigh.

On the bright side, it has been pouring rain all afternoon. So I feel much better about being back to work. Speaking of back to work ...........

Last Day

Holy cow! First of all, internet access at the lake!

This is the last night of my vacation, and while parts were good, my family is really starting to wear me down. Even the good guys. Right now, due to a misunderstanding that was not my fault, my sister TIB, who already considers me a "bad guy", now considers me to be basically the Antichrist. And I'm getting really, really tired of that.

So I go home tomorrow, and will hopefully have some happier posts regarding my vacation! Just wanted to try out this wireless internet access thing - and this is such a stress reliever.

Back home tomorrow! Yay!

Vacation

I will be on vacation as of 4:30 this afternoon. Which means that very shortly, my boss will wander into the office, ask for a cup of coffee, look through a couple of magazines, call some of his buddies and gab, and just waste time in general until about 2:30 this afternoon, when he will decide, "Holy shit! The secretary's going on vacation! We've gotta get this report done, and this information e-mailed, and this letter to this person completed, and we've gotta run a couple hundred drawings and get them FedExed" and blah blah blah. We, of course, means me. And even though I have hired a temp for next week, God Forbid that my boss actually make her do any work.

Which means that at 2:30 this afternoon (or thereabouts; the actual time may vary), my boss, after farting around all morning and half the afternoon, will give me approximately six hours of work to complete in two hours' time.

Now, I am capable of working extremely quickly when necessary. So I will work my butt off, and by 5:30 this afternoon, I will be exhausted and miserable, but all the work will be done. And my vacation can start. With me practically in tears.

How do I know this will happen? Because it happens every fucking time. No matter how many times I remind him that I am going on vacation, no matter how hard I try to get his butt in gear the week before, he waits until the last minute every time.

Ha ha! Only a few more hours to go! I'll be back on the twenty-third, unless I kill a few family members while on vacation (or my boss this afternoon). Bye!

When It's Good, It's Very, Very Good

The view from the cottage (I zoomed in for that second one):

What My Sister Alabama Did Last Week

Wednesday - Drove from Alabama to Florida.

Thursday - Drove from Florida to Atlanta with two of her pre-teen granddaughters.

Friday - Drove from Atlanta to upstate New York with the girls, and stayed overnight at my sister TIB's house.

Saturday - Drove two hours to the lake with the following in the car, a four-door Honda sedan:
1. Herself.
2. Her two pre-teen granddaughters.
3. Our mother.
4. Our mother's enormous cat, inside its cat carrier which is the size of a baseball field.
5. All of their clothing, etc. for the next six weeks.

When she told me, all I could say was, "God bless you." I have no idea how she does it, but let's just say, when Alabama gets motivated, stuff gets done.

I knew she and the grandkids were going to be spending the summer at the lake (she has her own place a short distance from the family cottage), but I didn't know that she was taking Mom, too. Alabama is, shall we say, a spur-of-the-moment kind of person. With the instincts of a battlefield general. Watching her in motion is nothing short of amazing.

So it looks like I'll be spending some time at the lake with Mom this summer after all. I know, I know, I swore after last summer that I would not do it again this year, but with Alabama there, it should be easier. (Last summer, I was up there with my sister Texas, who would not lift a finger to help if you lit a fire under her ass.)

Third week in July, here I come! Oh boy.

Notes from the Cottage

I went up to the cottage this weekend and made it back alive. Here's all the family news:

1. My sister Alabama (also known as Florida, depending on where she's living at any given time), is about to become a great-grandmother at the ripe old age of fifty-something. Her oldest son's stepdaughter recently (a) turned eighteen; (b) dropped out of high school; and (c) got knocked up by her redneck idiot boyfriend whom no one in the family can stand. Good times!

2. My sister TIB's daughter A. and A.'s husband J. spent the weekend at the lake. Unfortunately, A. and J. are not currently on speaking terms. Hopefully they'll start talking before their baby is born in October. Woo-hoo!

3. My sister Ditzy recently became engaged. However, the bloom is apparently already off the rose. Her fiancee has an autistic son, which is waaayy more than Ditzy wants to deal with. So now her plan is that they'll still get married, but live in different houses. Ditzy thinks this makes perfect sense. Ooohhhkay.

My family. Is insane.