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!

Catholicism, Part 2

A while back, I did a post about how the Catholic Church expounds that you will not go to heaven unless you are Catholic. And I got some disagreement, which is great! I want to hear from everybody, whether they agree with me or not.

I opened up the newspaper this morning, and underneath the headline "Pontiff says Catholicism only true path to salvation" was the following article from The Associated Press (I'll quote the first paragraph only, for brevity's sake):

"Pope Benedict XVI reasserted the primacy of the Roman Catholic Church, approving a document released Tuesday that says other Christian communities are either defective or not true churches and Catholicism provides the only true path to Salvation".

I rest my case.

Deer Antlers, pterodactyls and other random stuff

Here are the deer antlers I got at Jimay's Flea Market. Thanks, Jimay's! And thank you, deer. I'm really, really sorry about that. Check out the size of that tree in the background behind the right side of the antlers. You can get an idea of the scale by looking at the lawn furniture at bottom right. If that tree ever comes down in a storm, it's gonna take out half the neighborhood.

My neighbors two doors down have these pterodactyls (or maybe they're vultures?) in their backyard. They are made out of concrete and about 5 feet tall. Very cool, no?

My next door neighbor's backyard. Come set a spell! For some reason, these chairs just fascinate me. And check out the belly-up yellow duck pool!


Because I cannot stop buying shoes:

Ludlowville Falls:

According to Rolling Stone . . . .

I've been reading Rolling Stone magazine since I was in high school. For a while, I borrowed issues from the library, then I subscribed. A while back, they were running a special - a lifetime subscription for $99.00. And even though I am incredibly cheap, I signed up.

You know how when you subscribe to a magazine, the expiration date of the subscription appears on the mailing label? Well, according to Rolling Stone, my "lifetime subscription" expires on October 11, 2055.

Hmm. Well, at least they're willing to bet I'm gonna make it to 91. But not 92.

When Siblings Attack

I was talking to one of my nephews a couple of weeks ago when he reminded me of one time when I was babysitting him and his younger brother. I had a pet tarantula at the time (don't even ask), and he wanted me to take it out of its cage so he could see it, even though it frightened him. Well, I was terrified of that stupid tarantula, so I cooked up a scheme. I told him that the tarantula didn't like to be picked up if other people were in the room, so if he would go wait in the bedroom closet (!) I would take out the tarantula and bring it to him. While he was in the closet, I grabbed a hank of brown yarn, kind of fluffed it up, then opened the closet door and thrust the yarn into his face. I will never forget his look of sheer terror, right before he burst into tears and collapsed. Ah, memories! I am in my forties, he is in his thirties, and we both vividly remember that one.

I was a terrible kid. Another time, I hid my sister Ditzy's glasses the night of her junior prom. She was resigned to going to her prom in her old glasses, which literally had a big piece of adhesive tape on the nosepiece holding them together, when I miraculously "found" her other pair of glasses. Nobody was fooled by that one.

Of course, I do come by my childhood torture techniques honestly. Here are two of the things my older sisters did to me when our parents weren't around:

1. Telling me the berries on the bushes in the front yard were poison, then grabbing a handful and stuffing them in my mouth, holding my mouth shut and forcing my jaw up and down to make me chew.

2. Picking me up, holding me over the kitchen sink, turning on the water, turning on the garbage disposal, and then telling me they were going to feed me in, feet first, while I screamed and begged for mercy and tried desperately to squirm out of their arms.

Good times!

Always The Last To Know

My sister Ditzy called me a little while ago. Here's the first part of the conversation:

Ditzy: Hi! Have you heard anything more about (our sister) TIB?

Me: What? What about TIB?

Ditzy: You didn't hear?

Me: Hear what?

Ditzy: Nobody called you? She had a heart attack yesterday!

Me: WHAT????

Sigh. Nobody ever tells me anything. As it turns out, TIB had chest pains (which she had been having for weeks, but told no one, including her husband, because she didn't want to cancel their trip to Atlanta. Um, hello?). They became so severe yesterday (pain in the chest running down the left arm, shortness of breath, dizziness - um, hello?) that she finally called her doctor, who told her to go directly to the hospital. So now they are running tests to determine exactly what is going on and what will need to be done. But as of right now she is resting comfortably, and I'll go see her during visiting hours tonight.

This reminds me of the time TIB and her husband threw a long-planned cookout for the family. When I got there, several family members were talking about "the funeral", "calling hours", etc. When I finally blurted out, "Who died?", somebody responded, "Grandma died! Didn't anybody tell you?!". Um, no.

Sigh.

Possibly the World's Most Pretentious Catalog

Blurbs from my boss's The Territory Ahead catalog:

"The poplin has a crisp canvas-like hand that's nicely broken in and already fade-savvy by a good old-fashioned garment wash". A nicely broken-in hand? Ouch!

"deep piped besom pockets"

"... then garnished the placket, neckline and side vents with fine twill backing".

"With a boat neck and godets front and back ..."

"Trapunto topstitching accents the angled patch pockets".

Gah. Pretentious bastards. Or maybe I'm just confused, since I have no idea what the hell they are talking about. Maybe they're really discussing molecular physics, and I'm just out of the loop, vocabulary-wise.

Nope. Pretentious bastards it is.

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

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

What the Hell Do You Say to That?

My Mom has Alzheimer's. My sister Alabama has her up at the lake for the summer, so I went up this past weekend to visit. Mom's most popular phrases:

1. I can't find my purse.
2. I can't find my wallet.
3. I lost my glasses.
4. Why are you mad at me?

Now, 1 through 3 I can handle. We all know that if you just tell her you will help her look when you have a chance, and then just kind of blow it off, she will go retrieve her purse/wallet/glasses from wherever she hid them, because the game is no fun if only one person is playing.

But what do I say to number 4? If I say, "Oh, Mom, of course I'm not mad at you", she says, "Oh yes you are. I can tell". If I say, "Oh, Mom, why would you think that?", she says, "Just by the way you're acting". If I say, "What way? What specifically am I doing that makes you think I'm mad at you", she says, "Oh, it's nothing specific. I can just tell." If I say, "Tell, how?", she says, "I just can."

And then she will sulk, and pout, and ask me over and over, "Why are you mad at me?". Of course, by that point, I pretty much AM mad at her. So what the hell do you say to that? I know that it is senseless to try to reason with an Alzheimer's patient, but I really need some kind of reply that will get her off that whole line of thought. I really need to know, because it is driving me crazy, and preventing me from enjoying my time with her, and I'm supposed to go up there very shortly to stay for a week, and at this point I'm starting to re-think the whole thing.

Any help would be appreciated. Please!

I HATE this class!!!

I was down at the creek the other weekend, and some kid had taken his biology workbook, ripped it up, and then set it on fire.

Must've been a tough class!

Washing Dishes

"Uh-uh. No way. There is NO WAY I'm washing the dishes again tonight. I did 'em LAST NIGHT. It's YOUR TURN."

Am I the only one who finds that dirty dishes seem to multiply in my sink? I mean, I live alone, how many dishes can I get dirty? And the silverware! Where does all that dirty silverware come from? Frankly, I am not adverse to occasionally re-using a spoon or a fork. I know, I KNOW, but still, I figure that any germs in the place are mine, so who cares if a spoon occasionally gets, um, recycled out of the sink before it actually gets officially washed? So where is all this dirty silverware coming from?

There ya go. Confessions of a slovenly housekeeper.

Let's Go Swimming!

Forgiveness

"Until this moment I had believed forgiveness to be a special virtue, a beneficence God expected of good people. But it wasn't that at all. Forgiveness was an instinct, a desperate impulse to stay connected to the people you needed, no matter what their betrayals." - From "My Only Story" by Monica Wood

Last night I dreamed I was beating the shit out of my ex-boyfriend. I mean, just pounding the crap out of him. And I woke up and wondered why I was still so angry with him. I mean, yes, he was a complete and total shitheel and deserves to die a long and painful death (bitter? not me!), but I left him over 15 years ago. Why can't I just let it go?

And then I remembered reading something about forgiveness earlier in the evening, and I had to get up and get the book and find the passage (above), which basically (if I am reading it correctly) says that people forgive other people because they need to, for their own reasons, and not because it is a virtuous thing to do. Which made me feel better, because I am not real strong on the whole forgiveness thing.

There is a Pretenders song, "I'll Stand by You", which was recently re-recorded by Carrie Underwood. I think it was Carrie Underwood. Don't quote me on that. ANYway, one line of the song goes, "Nothing you confess could make me love you less".

WHAT???! Honey, I can think of ten things right off the top of my head that someone could say to me that would not only make me love them less, but would have me running for the shotgun.
I mean, really!

Is that what is meant by "unconditional love"? That you love someone no matter what? Because I think that's a crock of shit. I could go on and on here, but my point (and I do have one! I think!) is that I evidently have a pretty major unresolved anger issue floating around in my life, and maybe it's time I tried to deal with it. I don't know how, but maybe thinking about it and writing about it is the first step.

I started this blog as a lark, just a fun thing to do. And now I find out I'm actually learning from it, dammit! Who'd a thunk it?

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.

Yay! It's summer!

My favorite parts of summer are the light and the warmth. I love that it's light out before I get up in the morning, and I love lying in bed listening to the birds sing. And some of those birds are LOUD, and that just cracks me up! Like, jeez, it's five o'clock in the morning! Give it a rest already!

And I love going outside in the morning without first putting on boots, wool coat, scarf, gl0ves, hat, etc. Just waltzing out the door in shorts and a t-shirt. (On the weekends, that is. I'm afraid that blouses, skirts, pantyhose, etc. still rule the workweek.)

There is a west-facing window in my living room, and I love to watch the sunsets. Although I must say, winter does have one thing going for it - beautiful sunrises. Here is a sunrise off my back porch, taken last January:



But still, I'll take summer over winter any time. I would rather be too hot than too cold, any day. Although I could do without the gnats, horseflies, deerflies and bees every time I go out walking. No, stop. I've already decided. It's summer over winter.

P.S. No, I do not Photoshop my pics. A friend asked me that the other day, and it made me feel bad. They are all posted here straight as they came out of the camera. The only thing I ever do is sometimes crop them, to get the pics centered better.

Numbers

7 is bad. So is 13, of course, and also 14.

4 is good. So are 8 and 9, and also 16.

This post brought to you by my OCD. Thanks, OCD!

Oh my gosh, that's TERRIBLE ..... ha ha ha ha ha ha!

You have got to read this about the new diet drug, alli. I laughed so hard I thought I was going to experience a side effect.

Yogabeans!

Click on the title above to view plastic action figures demonstrating yoga positions. Trust me, you'll laugh!

Poppies!

They take up a lot of space, and they only bloom for a few short days, but I can't resist poppies. There's just something about that fantastic color so early in the summer.

Plus, I can cook up some opium right in my kitchen! Ha ha - kidding, DEA, just kidding!

I Survived the Dentist! (Again)

Whew! I went to the dentist today for my six-month cleaning and checkup and made it out alive. Even though they did the dreaded "probe", where they take a sharp pointy thing and jab it into your gums repeatedly to see if you will bleed. I mean, really, the question is not "if" but "when", isn't it? Jab jab jab jab jab jab ........ there's gonna be some blood at some point, right? Especially with Nurse Ratched at the wheel. Although, actually, I did not get Nurse Ratched today, but another hygienist. Who seemed disconcertingly pleased that she got me to bleed at two different locations (in my mouth, not in the office). I was frankly amazed that it was only two ... jab jab jab jab jab.

I have no idea how those hygienists can do that all day long ... jab jab jab jab jab ... Sadists.

OK, ok, first the puke post, now this ...... I'll try to be cheerier next time. Promise.

Rocky is a Puker

(If you don't want to read about cat puke, you might want to skip this post.)

My cat Rocky is a cham-peen puker. Always has been. When he was younger, it was mostly hairballs. Which were disgusting, but it was also a little amazing - the size of the hairballs that would come out of that cat! Since I have started combing him (and combing him, and combing him - you don't think about that when you're picking out the little long-haired kitten), the hairball problem has ceased. These days, it's just straight up puke.

I was not in a good mood yesterday afternoon. For one thing, it was garbage day at my apartment building, which meant hauling a crapload of garbage out to the curb in garbage cans which still have wheels but no longer have handles, which makes things interesting. Jabba alone downstairs produces the garbage output of a small village. I'm not kidding, this guy creates more garbage than everybody else in the building combined. Which is kind of mystifying. I mean, yeah, he's grossly obese, but that means that he eats more, not that he throws more away. Right?

Anyhow, I was not in a good mood, and I had to stop at Wal-Mart, which worsened the situation, and I got home and Rocky had puked in the hallway. At least I saw it before stepping in it. Last Monday, I woke up, went into the kitchen, hit the switch for the overhead light, and realized that the bulb was burned out at the same time that my bare foot hit the liquefied cat puke. Good morning!

So I cleaned up Rocky's puke last night, and I mean, I really don't begrudge him for puking or anything, it would just be much easier if he would puke on the linoleum as opposed to the carpet. One can hope, right? And then I had to clean out his litterbox. When he was younger, he never used the litterbox, going outside instead. So his recent uptick in litterbox output had me kind of puzzled, until I realized, hey, this cat's not as young as he used to be. He probably can't hold it all day while I am at work anymore, and at a certain age, going to the bathroom inside has to be more appealing than going downstairs in the bushes. (Well, at any age, actually, but I'm talking about the cat here.)

A few years ago, I woke up in the middle of the night to Rocky's pre-puke sounds. If you have a cat, you know what I'm talking about here, and if you don't have a cat, I really can't describe it. Sorry. So I looked around, and to my horror, Rocky was sitting on the nightstand right next to my bed, about six inches away from my head, with puke on the way. And by the time I could even react, he projectile vomited a great big load of puke onto the carpeting. I swear, it was like something out of The Exorcist. This stuff landed about five feet away from where he was. The most amazing puke episode ever. I couldn't help but be amazed.





He looks so innocent, doesn't he? They say it's always the quiet ones.

Overheard at Wal-Mart

Woman, proudly showing photos to two other women, thereby effectively blocking an entire aisle:

". . . . and this is her probation officer . . . . "

Mmmmm ...... doughnuts

I have had a craving for doughnuts for quite some time now. Not the regular old, powdered-sugar doughnuts, but the fancy kind, with filling and frosting and glaze and ..........

I know what started this. The closest convenience store to my apartment recently added a Dunkin Donuts outpost. And every time I drive past this store (at least twice a day) I see the Dunkin Donuts sign out front. And when I stop there to get gas, when I go in to pay (yes, I am a Luddite who still goes inside to pay), I can look over and, oh God, actually see all the lovely doughnuts on their racks.

On any given morning, I know I could stop and pick up a doughnut. Actually, I wouldn't even have to stop - there's a drive-through. But here's the thing. If I did it once, the possibility exists that I would do it again and again and again ....

Every so often, when clients are coming in for a morning meeting, the boss sends me out to get a couple dozen doughnuts. And I swear, it's like nirvana, being at the doughnut store, picking out different kinds of doughnuts. Only the ones that I like, of course, because here's what happens: The clients come in, the meeting is held, several doughnuts are eaten, and then there's a bunch of leftover doughnuts. Which I put in zip-lock baggies and leave by the coffee machine for the employees to eat. Except, I'm pretty sure that I'm the only one who ever eats the leftover doughnuts. One every day, until they're all gone. Which wouldn't be that bad, except for doughnuts are pretty much pure sugar. And calories. And that's about it. And if I'm going to inhale a massive amount of calories, I would prefer that they have some redeeming value. Like the ones in steak. Or macaroni and cheese ... mmmmmmmmmm.

OK, I am hoping that now that I have openly expressed my massive craving for a doughnut, the craving will go away. Will it work? Time will tell. Cause right now, I really want a doughnut...... Is this what is known as a "food issue?"

Reviews

"Waiting" is a supposed comedy about restaurant workers. I can't say it's the worst movie I've seen lately, because I could only watch about the first 20 minutes before I couldn't stand it anymore and stopped the DVD. Plus, it had Dane Cook in it, which I did not realize before I rented it, or I wouldn't have rented it, seeing as how Dane Cook has never been funny to me. Review: Bad, although as I said I only watched the first 20 minutes. I suppose a miracle could have happened and the movie could've gotten hysterically funny at minute 21, but I'll never know.

"Blaze" is a book by Richard Bachman/Stephen King. I enjoyed it very much, especially since it did not go on and on for hundreds and hundreds of pages, the way most King books do. This was a quick afternoon read. Review: Good.

This weekend was gorgeous, weather-wise. Sunny and warm. Saturday I went down to the creek - the tadpoles are getting their legs. Yesterday was the SUNY Nature Preserve - I got caught in a rainstorm, but it stayed pretty dry under the trees. I transplanted some lilies in the garden; I started out with one lily, and it has multiplied into about 10. Go lilies!
Review: Good.

Product Review - Jif Peanut Butter & Honey

Yum. And I don't even like honey!

This is 83

This is what 83 looks like. After you've raised six kids, buried a husband to whom you were married for 58 years, and struggled with Alzheimer's.

She's beautiful.

Happy 83rd birthday, Mom. I love you very much.

Last Weekend

Last Saturday, I went for a walk along Choconut Creek. I had a close encounter with a button buck and also saw a fox, but I couldn't get the camera up in time to get a picture (*&?**&&!!). Here is the meadow where bluebirds hang out:

On Sunday, Mom and I went to Oakley Corners. Here's the lake:

We saw Canada Geese with some half-grown babies. We had a nice discussion about geese. Like, why are they so loud? Is it because of their size? If a dove was the size of a goose, instead of going, "coo", would it go "COO"? Mom and I have some interesting talks.

We also saw a frog who was very content to have his picture taken. Usually frogs skedaddle long before you get anywhere near them, so all you hear is the splash.

Mom brought up the subject of nursing homes out of the blue. Basically, her take is that she doesn't want to be in one unless she has to, and then it's ok. Very sensible. Mom turns 83 tomorrow.

Now, I am about to go off on a little rant. I know I have ranted about this before, but here I go again.

You people with the dogs? The large, not-well-behaved dogs who do not listen when you tell them to "sit" and "stay"? Please, please put a leash on them! On Sunday, Mom and I were just walking along, minding our own business, when down the trail toward us comes a Lab. A very large, soaking wet Lab, who skidded to a stop, started barking wildly, and then came charging toward us. Followed by another Lab, also large, also soaking wet, also charging toward us. And a couple hundred feet down the trail, I could hear someone yelling, "Butchie, sit!" "Butchie, come here!" "Butchie, stay!". Yeah. That didn't work out so well. And when a very large Lab jumps up on a very small, very old woman, trust me, she will fall down. (No, the dog didn't actually jump on her. But you could tell that he wanted to. I just know. I'm psychic that way (!)) So people? With the dogs you can't control? Trust me. If your dog jumps on my Mom and she falls down and gets hurt, my family will sue your ass off. So you might want to invest in a leash. I'm just sayin'.

Also? The places where we walk? The regulations for Jones Park, Chenango Valley State Park, Greenwood Park, Oakley Corners State Forest, etc., all state very clearly that dogs must be leashed at all times. You're also supposed to, ahem, clean up after them, but that's one battle I'm not even gonna start in on.

Oh, yeah, and that guy up at Jones Park? The one who speaks English, but yells commands to his dog in German? Um, I don't know how to tell you this, but ........ I don't think your dog speaks German. Because while you are yelling "Sit" and "Stay" and "Heel" (or whatever it is you're saying) in German, your dog just keeps right on charging down the trail. And it makes you look like a pretentious idiot. Just sayin' .......

OK, that's the rant! I KNOW that people want to let their dogs frolic in the forest, and traipse amongst the trees, and la la la, but if your dog is not well trained - PUT A LEASH ON IT!

(Wow, all caps, even. Sorry. I get emotional about this. Whew. I feel better now.)

Pauline

Pauline writes that she is actually reading my entire blog, from the beginning. I don't know what to say except, I am honored. And unbelieving that people are actually reading what I write!

Pauline is a much better gardener than I am. Check out her blog, Fight Against Red Tape, for photographic proof. Plus, her husband rocks a kilt. Lucky gal!

Am I Crazy?

No, seriously, I need to know. Here's the situation:


I have become aware of a job opening at a local organization. If I apply for this job, I am fairly certain that I will get it. And it pays approximately 30% more than my current job.

But I really like my current job. Yes, some of the people I work with are annoying, but overall, I really enjoy my job. So I don't think I am going to apply for the other position.

Am I nuts?

Flagpole Sitta by the Harvey Danger Band

I am going to try to send you over to Say La Vee to see this great "lip dub" video. I love this song!

Indian Paintbrush

Here is the patch of Indian Paintbrush that the lawn mower guys left in my front yard (you asked for it, Kerri!). And yes, that is the crapmobile in the background (don't ever buy a Saturn - at least not one that was made in the Delaware factory).



Here is a close-up of the Indian Paintbrush. And here is where somebody points out that it is not an Indian Paintbrush, but some other type of flower, thus disillusioning me of a belief I have held since childhood. Feel free to comment, guys!



And just for the heck of it, here is Mr. Z's new familiar. I don't think Jabba is aware yet that his kitty has kicked out the downstairs bathroom window screen and is making forays into the great outdoors. I'm not gonna tell him.

The Sopranos

I don't subscribe to Home Box Office. What happened?

Since You Asked . . . .

Here is my honeysuckle vine:

The pic above is of the shade garden. I really need to paint that wall! The honeysuckle is on the arch, the bleeding heart is in the middle, there are lilies on the left and columbine on the right, along with lilies-of-the-valley, hosta (yuck - I don't really like hosta, but my Mom gave it to me, and it grows like crazy underneath Mr. Z), a cinnamon fern, a jacob's ladder, pachysandra along the back wall, a bush hydrangea on the far right, blah blah blah blah blah. I have no idea what those vines are growing to the left of the downstairs window, but if they'll cover up the wall, I'll let them keep right on growing. I put the hanging basket on the arch to counter weigh the honeysuckle. I started some morning glories in the basket and I'm hoping they will grow up the arch, but I'm afraid they won't get enough sunlight to bloom. My back deck/porch is on the upper right. Thrilling, I know.

And yes, the grass in the backyard really was that high - no one had shown up to mow in two weeks. But here's a funny story (feel free to give up and move on at any point):

Last fall, when the new guy started mowing, he mowed over everything that wasn't fenced off, including blooming flowers. So this spring, when stuff started coming up, I fenced off everything, so it wouldn't get mowed over.

Monday night, I pulled in the driveway, and I noticed that the lawn hadn't been mowed in so long that there was a patch of indian paintbrush in the middle of the front yard. Now, I love indian paintbrush. It's one of the few plants I learned to identify as a little kid. So when the guys showed up to mow a couple of hours later, I grabbed a pair of scissors, went out to the front yard, and cut myself a bouquet of flowers. One of the mower guys, who I thought were in the back yard, must have seen me, because after they had packed up and left, I looked out front, and they had mowed the entire front yard except for the patch where the indian paintbrush were blooming! Isn't that sweet? Thanks, guys! Except now I feel like a idiot knowing that they were watching me, on my hands and knees, making a bouquet out of what I am sure looks like weeds to them! Oh well! I'm just the neighborhood crazy lady! I guess the sooner I accept that, the better.

Smackdown!

Mooncat vs. Gatorduck:

Jesus Christ! Enough with the Dead Penguins, Already!

I could not make it through "March of the Penguins". It was just too sad.

Last night, the documentary series "Planet Earth" was on, and I had heard that it was really good, so I started to watch. Hmmm.

First, there was an adorable fluffy white bird who got attacked and killed by a monstrous hawk-type bird. Uh-oh.

Next up, a polar bear lays down and dies because it can't catch a seal, and thus, starves to death. This is not looking good.

Oh no! Here comes the penguin segment. And yes, here we have three little baby penguins who get separated from the flock and .... you guessed it .... freeze to death.

Time to change the channel. Folks, is it just me? I cannot watch documentaries which include the brutal death of adorable animals. I just can't.

Now here is where someone points out that in a recent post, I said something along the lines of, "Yeah, my cat kills and eats backyard birds. SO WHAT?"

Am I a hypocrite? Yeah, baby!

Flower Pics!

Here are some pics from my garden.
Lilacs:



Tulip:




Bleeding Heart:



As you can see, I am all into the close-ups, now that I have my new camera. Maybe I should back up a few feet!
Pauline, I am sorry I don't have any pics of the honeysuckle yet! I'll try and take some tonight. Thanks for your interest!

Honeysuckle

My honeysuckle is blooming. I just love that smell! I love honeysuckle, lily-of-the-valley and lilac, and I have all three in my garden/backyard. Lucky me! Now all I need is some jasmine and I'm all set.

I was not intending on having a honeysuckle vine. But I was in Lowe's garden center a couple of years ago, looking for other stuff, and that smell caught my nose. I followed it to the honeysuckle, and I was a goner. The thing grew so fast that I ended up putting up an eight-foot garden arch (some assembly required - you should have seen me that day!). Now the honeysuckle has grown to the top of the arch and is exploring other venues. I think I'll take some cuttings and see if I can get them started along the back fence.

Last winter, after the honeysuckle had died back, we had one wind storm after another. And that garden arch kept toppling over, and over, and over. It was no fun coming home in the dark and cold and having to wrestle that thing back into place. I looked into setting the arch into cement, but that looked like waaaay too much work. Plus I'm an idiot, and if anybody could screw up a cement job, it's certainly me. So I took a chunk of old tree trunk and some rocks and piled them around the bottom of the arch, and that worked pretty good. This spring I took a big old tree branch that had fallen off one of the trees and wedged it over the bottom rungs of the arch, to make it more bottom-heavy. Cause I really, really don't want to have to try to un-topple that thing again!

Weather Forecast Update

I stand corrected. Saturday was a beautiful, gorgeous day - Sunny and in the eighties. And when I finally got off work (!), I was able to enjoy the rest of the afternoon. I went down to the creek, and it turned out to be Tadpole Day. Hundreds and hundreds of tadpoles, all congretating in one shallow, still portion of the creek. I would love to take some home and watch them turn into frogs, but something in me cringes at taking something out of its natural environment and putting it into a jar for my enjoyment. (Plus, I would probably kill them.) That's probably why I don't do zoos. And I know that it's said that the animals live much longer in zoos than they do in the wild, but really, what kind of a life is that? And that's why Rocky is an indoor/outdoor cat, because I don't think it's fair to keep him inside when he wants to be out. Now here's where someone says, "Oh, but your cat kills birds". Well yeah, but other stuff kills birds also. Including other birds. And now here's where someone says, "Your cat would live much longer if you kept it inside". Well yeah, except for Rocky is now 15. And maybe I would live much longer if I never left my apartment either, but what kind of a life is that?

OK. Drop the microphone and move away from the soapbox slowly.

Most of the rest of Saturday afternoon I spent in the backyard with a book. It would absolutely kill me to stay inside on a sunny,warm weekend day. In all the years I've lived in that building, I've been the only one to use the yard areas at all. How on earth anybody can sit inside on a gorgeous day and watch tv (and that's what they're doing; I can see the tv on when I walk past their windows (nosy, much? No, really, you can't help but see the tv)) is absoulutely beyond me. Maybe it's because beautiful, warm days are all too few up here in the frozen North; maybe if I lived in Florida I'd be all jaded about beautiful weather. When I think about the rest of the people in my building sitting inside, all I can think of is that Aerosmith song, I think it's "Uncle Salty", and the one line goes, "Oooh, it's a sunny day outside my window .... " That line always makes me sad, because it makes me think of someone sitting inside when they could be outside.

OK. Time to stop judging the neighbers. They could be in there coming up with a plan for world peace, for all I know. While watching NASCAR, of course.

So anyway, yesterday the weather gods got their revenge. I went grocery shopping, and by the time I got home, it was absolutely pouring. We're talking torrential, hard-to-drive-in rain. So I sat in the car in the driveway for a few minutes waiting for it to let up, and it didn't. Finally, I made a run for it, and in the thirty seconds it took for me to get from my car to the back steps, I was absolutely soaked. Drenched! We're talking, wring the hair out, change your soaked clothes wet. Yee Haw! It was fun.

My gosh, I do go on, don't I?

Weather Forecast

This weekend is the dreaded Vestal Festival, wherein they block off the street that I live on tonight and tomorrow for a parade, bathtub races (oh spare me), a craft show, and all kinds of stuff that would be mildly fun if I didn't have to park my car a quarter-mile away and walk back and forth to it all weekend when I want to go someplace because they block off my street. Assholes.

This weekend is also the Apalachin Firemen's Field Days, a fixture from my youth. (And yes, that is the correct spelling; there is a town nearby called Apalachin, and that's how they spell it. Trust me on this one.) Oh, and we also have the Grecian Festival!

All of which can mean only one thing.

It's gonna rain. Buckets. All weekend long.

Updated to add: Ooops! I stand corrected. I have just been informed, by someone who should know, that the Apalachin Firemen's Field Days are next weekend. Which means we should get a third less rain.

Wha ..... ? It was there yesterday!

The neighbors kitty-corner behind me have a big, beautiful in-ground pool. Granted, it's akin to torture to sit out on my back porch and listen to their grandkids splashing around while I'm broiling, but still, it's nice to look at all that cool water. I noticed yesterday morning that they hadn't opened it up for the summer yet, and I wondered when they would.

When I got home from work last night, the pool was gone. Totally gone. Nothing but dirt in that backyard now. And I wondered, "How on earth did they find a contractor to take that thing out of there in one day?" I guess they could have just filled it in, but I doubt they would do that. I mean, having a gigantic filled-in swimming pool in the back yard can't be the best selling point when it's time to put the house on the market. But if they did have it removed, how did they do it in one day? I mean, this pool was big. With a concrete patio all the way around. And the yard was totally fenced, so they must have taken out quite a bit of fencing just to get the chunks out.

And the contractors around here? Are kind of, um, lackadaisical in their approach to their work. I mean, you hire a contractor for whatever kind of job, he's liable to show up on the first day with a full crew, work like crazy, break for lunch, and show back up three weeks later. To pick up his tools for the job he is currently working on.

Anyway, several years ago, my next-door neighbors filled in their in-ground pool. It had been sitting empty for a few years before that. Well, mostly empty. A few feet of rainwater had collected in the deep end, and that was Rocky's favorite fishing spot. He would squeeeeeze under their chain link fence, go to the shallow end of the pool (the dry end) and jump down into the pool. Then he'd mosey down to the deep end, where the water was, and sit and just look into the water. Occasionally he'd dip his paws in, chasing something, but he never did bring me back any fish.

So now the only pool in the neighborhood belongs to the Screamer. The neighbors three houses down have a little girl, about five or six years old now, who is a Screamer. And when she is in the pool? With other kids? Who are splashing around and having fun? She screams. and screams. and shrieks. and screams. Punctuated by cries of, daddy Daddy DADDY DAAAAADDDDDYYYYYY! DAAAAADDDDDYYYY! DAAAAAAADDDDDDDYYYY!

I know Screamers are fairly common; there's one up at the lake. What I wonder is, what do these kids grow up to be like? Do they grow up to be happy, well-adjusted adults? Or do they grow up to be jerks? If anybody knows a Screamer who has reached adulthood, please let me know how they turned out.

So, Goodbye, neighbor's pool. I'm going to miss you.

This Shouldn't Crack Me Up, But It Does

Officials: Cigarette butt started mobile home fire
By Brian LiberatorePress & Sun-Bulletin
WEST CORNERS -- Fire investigators Tuesday said a discarded cigarette butt started a fire that destroyed a mobile home May 23, leaving three children and their mother homeless.
Virginia Roberts, 28, who has three young children and is expecting a fourth, left the butt burning in an ashtray that fell on her couch, said Tom Vroman, senior fire investigator with Broome County. Roberts left the trailer to attend to one of her children and likely forgot about the burning butt, Vroman said. Roberts said she had walked to a nearby relative's home, where she heard that her home was burning.
She went back to her mobile home, she said, but firefighters would not let her near the burning trailer for fear that the fumes and smoke could affect her pregnancy. The fire spread, damaging a neighboring mobile home. No one was injured in the blaze.
The Southern Tier Chapter of the American Red Cross paid for Roberts and her children to stay in a hotel five nights. The family is now searching for a new home. Roberts, who is disabled and does not work, said she did not have renter's insurance.

"... for fear that the fumes and smoke could affect her pregnancy"!?! When it was her cigarette that started the fire!?! And let's see, she was smoking while pregnant. Charming. And she doesn't work and she's on disability and she doesn't have renter's insurance and she's got three kids with a fourth on the way, but she sure could afford those cigarettes, couldn't she? Oh yeah, and no mention of a husband or of the children's father(s). This just has "white trash" written all over it. And it cracks me up. Because until you've lived in proximity to people like this, you have no idea how fucked up they really are.

Netflix? Are you there?

I signed up on line for Netflix a week ago. I have not yet received my first DVD. Do they always take this long?

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.

Memorial Day

My Dad died on May 28, 1999, at the age of 76. Dad was a veteran of World War II, serving stateside in the Merchant Marines and in the Navy.

I will put flowers on his grave this weekend. Rest in peace, Dad. We all miss you very much.

The Rest of Ted

Here is the rest of Ted, before washing:




Here is all (that remains) of Ted, after washing. I removed all the stuffing before washing; amazingly, some of the stuffing on the very inside was still white and clean. Unfortunately, the remaining leg became detached from the torso during the cleaning process:



Why yes, he is impaled on flower vases. That's just to avoid mold/mildew forming while he dries. At least he's in close proximity to himself.

I know I may be spending waay too much time on this particular project, but something about it just makes me smile.

Catholicism As Presented By Mastercard

I was raised a Presbyterian. I attended church as a kid, was active in the church youth group as a teenager (gag), etc. These days, I am not sure if I believe in God, although I would like to. Two of my sisters converted to Catholicism when they got married (to men, not to each other!). I never really thought much about the Catholic religion until one day a while back, I was reading a newspaper opinion column or something of that nature which stated that Catholics believe that if you are not Catholic, you are going to hell when you die.

That can't be true, right? I mean, surely if you are a good person, if you are a Christian, if you believe in God, surely the Catholics believe that you will go to heaven!

Wrong. I talked to several of my friends who are Catholic, and although they hemmed and hawed and tried to change the subject and were obviously uncomfortable with this facet of their religion, the fact of the matter is this: The Catholic church instructs its followers that all non-Catholics are going to hell. No matter now good of a person someone might be, if they are not Catholic, they are going straight to hell when they die. Which inspired the following flip book (you can see the yarn ties on the left side of the pages):

Netflix

Well, I did it. I signed up for a two-week free trial of Netflix. I will watch as many movies as I possibly can during these two weeks, and then cancel on Day 13.

That's the plan, anyway.

Here's what I put in my queue:

1. Marjoe - A documentary about an evangelist whom I had a weird (REALLY weird) crush on when I was a kid. Here's Marjoe:

2. Stagedoor - A documentary about a summer camp for kids interested in the performing arts.

3. The Devil & Daniel Johnston - Documentary about a mentally ill guy who does "outsider music".

4. Waiting - A comedy about people working in a restaurant.

5. Murderball - Documentary about handicapped people playing volleyball. (I think it's volleyball. I could be wrong.)

6. Unknown White Male - Documentary (what else?) about a guy with amnesia.

I really, really wanted "Hands on a Hard Body". No! Wait! Don't get the wrong impression! It's not porn, honest! It's about people who enter a contest whereby the person who can keep their hands on a truck longer than anybody else wins the truck. According to Netflix, it is not yet available on DVD. Hmmm. According to Amazon.com, it is.

So, does anybody out there have any experience with Netflix? Did I just make a huge mistake? Will they somehow bill me for hidden charges? Let me know!

Dead Ted Head

Here is Dead Ted Head after his roadside rescue - check out all the dirt wafting onto the table!

Here is Dead Ted Head getting a bath:

Here is Dead Ted Head after his bath. This photo shows his good side: He is missing an eye on the other side. And yes, that is an upside-down bottle of ketchup behind him, stuck in a beer cooler! Cause I am nothing if not classy.

I was talking to my sister Texas about Dead Ted Head last night, and she was quite insistent that I go back and get the rest of his body. Which is in the roadway across from the offices of a company that we do business with. Sigh. I don't know if I am up for another dose of humiliation quite so soon after yesterday's rescue.

UPDATE: Well, I did it. At lunchtime I went and scooped up the rest of Ted from the side of the road. I sincerely hope no one saw me. Because pulling your car over in the same spot two days in a row so you can grab teddy bear pieces from the road? Is not normal.

Fight Against Red Tape

Fight Against Red Tape gave me a shout-out on her blog! Thank you very much! You can click on the title above or go to my list of Interesting People to check out her site.

Dead Ted Head

Twice today while walking down the street where I work, I passed a teddy bear head lying at the side of the road. And it just made me sad. So after I picked up my car from the muffler place, I went by again and did a surreptitious Swoop of the Head. And while I was picking it up and praying that no one in the nearby offices were watching, I noticed the torso and one leg of the teddy lying a couple of feet away. Hmm ... dilemma .... take all the parts or just the head?

In the end, I just took the head. Why? I have no idea. I will take home Dead Ted Head and soak him in a bucket of water (Oh! The poor thing's troubles never end!) and I think I may put him on the back porch or possibly on my wall, depending on how well he cleans up. Because I'm weird.

Wait ... It Shields What?

For the past week, I had been hearing a rattling sound from the back of my car. It sounded like a loose exhaust pipe. I took a quick look under the car, saw nothing dragging on the ground, and made a note to take the car in and have the noise checked out.

Yesterday, I was up at State Park, where the roads are not the best, and the rattling was pretty noticeable. So when I got home yesterday (ok, ok, after I got home, did a little painting, listened to the radio, drank a couple beers, etc., etc.) I got down on the ground underneath the car and really looked at it. And there was this big piece of aluminum shielding under there that had come completely unbolted and was just kind of ... hanging there, supported by other car parts. Ooops!

I took the Parkway into work this morning, so as not to have this big piece of metal come flying out of the back of my car while going 70 on Route 17, and dropped the car off at the muffler place around the corner.

The guy at the muffler place called about an hour later (Miracle #1. The first rule of mechanics is you never, never call the customer. Let them sweat it out and call you.). He said that the piece of aluminum was the rear heat shield, that it was too deteriorated to re-bolt, and that I really didn't need it anyway, so they had removed it, my car was ready to be picked up, and there would be no charge. (Miracle #2. Hallelujah!)

So as soon as I got off the phone, I started wondering. Because God forbid I ever take somebody's word for something and just let it drop. Oh, no. So I wondered, if I didn't need the heat shield, why was it there in the first place?

Now, I am not totally ignorant when it comes to cars. Just almost totally ignorant. I do know how to check the oil, the radiator fluid, and the windshield wiper fluid, and I do check the air in the tires. I know more about replacement parts than I ever wanted to know (crankshaft positioning sensor, anyone?) I had always assumed that the heat shields were there to protect certain parts of the car from the heat that other parts of the car produced. So, logically, if a certain heat shield was to be, say, removed and not replaced, another part of my car could potentially burst into flames. I know, I KNOW, but that's the way my little hamster wheel of a mind works. Don't trust the guy who does this for a living! Worry yourself endlessly about something that is not going to happen!

So I asked the guys at work, who were kind enough not to laugh out loud (at least to my face), and they explained that this particular heat shield was meant to shield the ground beneath the car from the heat of the exhaust pipe. And that I should probably not park in any fields, so as not to inadvertently start a brush fire, but otherwise I was ok.

So the car is fine, my mind can now rest (mental note: don't park in fields), and best of all, it was free! Yay!

Uh oh. Here goes the hamster wheel. The guys at the muffler place have been known to, let's say, loosen up stuff while they're working. Which means that a week or two after you get your car back, something else goes wrong.

But for now, all is well! Relax.

Best Paragraph I Have Read Recently

This is from "Anywhere But Here", by Mona Simpson. I saw the movie and didn't like it, and assumed I had read the book, because I usually read the books before I see the movies, but I picked up the book at the library the other day and realized I hadn't read it, so I'm reading it now. (Phew! Could I get anymore wordy?! Somebody stop me!)

Anyway, here we go:

The wind was still blowing when we finally went to bed. At the very northern edge of the land, where it was dark and late and storming, sleep seemed the easiest state to exist in. I went to sleep there fully trusting the world not to harm me. I don't know if I ever felt that safe, before or again. My hands lay softly on the bed that night, my ear to the pillow as if that was where the comforting sound of rain came from. We were far away. I liked going to sleep knowing it was cold and no one was outside and we were so far away from anywhere else where the sky might be clear and other people might be living other lives.

I just love that.

My Idols

America voted, and .......... wait a minute? Melinda? They think Blake is a better singer than Melinda???? Snif. Thanks, America.

So anyway, the blogs are saying that Blake beat Melinda because of all the teenage girls who are clogging up the phone lines voting for him, convinced that if they vote enough times, Blake will somehow magically find out and show up at their house and whisk them back to Hollywood, declare his undying love for them on live national tv, and then marry them.

Sigh. Remember what it felt like to be that age? My teen idol was David Cassidy. Or wait, was it his younger brother, Shaun? No, I'm pretty sure that it was David. Remember Tiger Beat magazine? Do they still publish that?

Oh, and I had an odd (REALLY ODD) attraction to Marjoe Gortner. I read his biography when I was a kid and he just fascinated me. Because I was an odd, odd kid.

Now, if you click on "Marjoe Gortner", above, it should link to his Wikipedia entry. Hopefully. I thought a learning a new skill would be appropriate, seeing as how this is my 200th post and all. Thanks, Marjoe!







Gosh, I was a weird kid.

Product Review - Coffee-Mate Blueberry Cobbler Coffee Creamer

Yuck.

Boy oh Boy, Can I Botch Up A Song Lyric

Mom and I went up to Greenwood Park on Sunday. Every time I think about Greenwood Park, that song, "Lakeside Park" by Rush, pops into my head. I only know about half the words, and the words that I know include something about catfish, which I KNOW can't be right, and so I decided to google the lyrics this morning.

When I googled "Lakeside Park", the lyrics which popped up had absolutely nothing in common with the lyrics as I knew them. I kept running the song (as I knew it) through my head, and finally realized: What I was actually thinking of was "Fly By Night", another Rush song, to which I had somehow melded the words "Lakeside Park".

Here are the lyrics to "Fly by Night":

Fly by night, away from here
Change my life again
Fly by night, goodbye my dear
My ship isn't coming and I just can't pretend.

Now, keeping in mind that this will be much, MUCH funnier if you know how the melody for "Fly by Night" goes, here, for your viewing amusement, are the lyrics I somehow came up with for "Fly by Night":

LAKEside Park, doo doo doo doo doo
LAKEside Park, again
LAKEside Park, doo doo doo doo
Catfish are coming (!?!) and I just can't pretend.

Ha ha ha ha ha! I'm an idiot!! Oh my goodness, I don't know what to do with myself sometimes.

Go Ahead, Make My Day

I was standing in line at the grocery store at lunchtime today, when the woman in line behind me said, "Excuse me, but could I ask where you bought your purse? I just love it!"
I explained that I had bought a basic black purse, then bought some fabric and glued it to the purse. She said, "Oh, what a great idea! I just love that purse!"

And that made me very happy. Because I'm easy.

Oh yeah, and to the girl two people ahead of me in line? Yeah, you, the teenage mom who was putting her bags of groceries on top of her baby in the stroller? The one who held us all up an additional five minutes because you couldn't remember the pin number to your welfare card, which you of course thought was just the funniest thing ever? The one with the VBS problem? (Visible Bra Straps - folks, if you want to try this at home, it's just fine, but please - especially if your bra is all ratty and dirty - nobody wants to see your straps.) Yeah, you ..... I don't like you. Just sayin'.

On another Make My Day note, when I went out on the back deck to get the paper this morning, there was an opossum in my garden! A great big one! And when he heard me on the deck, he just ambled through the backyard and went under the neighbor's shed. That's the shed that the woodchuck lives under. And Rocky likes to hang out under there too. I wonder if they play cards?

The Stress Diet

I went to the doctor's today, and while I was there I got weighed. I had lost eleven pounds since my last visit 12 weeks ago, which wouldn't be that big of a deal except:

1. Eleven pounds represents about 10% of my current body weight, and
2. I'm not on a diet.

The doctor was concerned, until I explained The Stress Diet to her. Also known as The Ex-Husband Diet, and The Dental Diet. When I am under a great deal of stress, such as currently, I magically lose weight. Even though, when the stress first starts up, I try to remind myself that I can go ahead and eat whatever I want to, because, Hey! Here comes stress!

My body's reaction to stress is to go on High Alert. I swear, it's like being a mouse in a roomful of cats or something. I get all "ramped up", for lack of a better term, and I just can't relax. At all. Even when I am supposedly relaxing, the hamsters in my mind just keep running, running, running. My theory is that at times like this, when my body is constantly ready for "fight or flight", it burns up calories at a higher rate.

Now I just have to write a book, "The Stress Diet", and I'll be rich! rich! rich! Although I'm not sure how many people would be willing to place themselves under massive amounts of stress in order to lose weight.

Hidden Things

My brother-in-law, TIB's husband, told me "the story of the missing litterbox" on Sunday. My mom lives with him and TIB, and my mom has a cat. The cat likes to go down in the unfinished basement, so they keep a litterbox down there, in addition to the litterbox in my mom's room. It seems that my brother-in-law came home from work the other day, and mom asked him where he'd put the basement litterbox. He told her it was right where it always was, as far as he knew, but when he went to the basement it was gone. Mom was all upset about the missing litterbox, so my brother-in-law searched the house from top to bottom. No litterbox. He searched the garage. No litterbox. He searched the pool shed. No litterbox. Mom was convinced that for some reason, he had hidden the basement litterbox, which of course he hadn't. But he went and bought another litterbox for the basement.

A few days later, he went down to the basement to get something, and there was the missing litterbox. Right next to the new litterbox.

My mom hides things. She hides money, she hides clothes, a couple of years ago she hid Christmas presents she had bought. And once she hides stuff, it stays missing. We have no idea where this stuff goes; I have to think that some of it she buries in the garbage can, because it simply never appears again. The litterbox is the one thing to make the return from the missing; we are all dying to know where she had it stashed!


Mom and I went for a nice long walk at Greenwood Park on Sunday, and then we went to lunch. I got her a live orchid for Mother's Day:



















Mom made out like a bandit, flower-wise: Rose, lilies, mixed bouquets, and a hanging basket. Having six kids has its advantages!

Big News

I talked to a real estate agent for quite a while last night, and we have been e-mailing potential listings back and forth today. I called the bank today to get pre-qualified for a mortgage.

This whole thing makes me really nervous (big changes always do), but the situation with Jabba downstairs has deteriorated to the point where I really feel that it's better to leave than to spend the rest of my life in prison for murdering the bastard. And if I'm ever going to buy a home, now is the time (I'm not getting any younger, you know!)

So I will hang in there at the apartment for the time being, and hopefully a house in my price range (believe it or not, they are out there) will come along soon(er or later). I am being realistic, and I know it will take a while, and I know I'm not going to get a "dream home" due to my financial limitations. But if I don't at least try, I'm never going to get anywhere.

It will be funny to look back at this post in a few years and see how things panned out. Probably something along the lines of, "Oh my God, I was such an idiot!"

Gosh, I Wish He'd Lay Off The Sauce .......

Poor Rocky. He just can't hold his vodka like he used to.

T-Shirt

So I was at work yesterday, just working away, and it was about 3 in the afternoon, and I finally got around to noticing the t-shirt that Hack-em-up Ed had worn to work. It had an illustration of a squirrel on the front of the shirt, and underneath that, the words "I'd like to put my nuts in your mouth".

Yeah.

He wore it to work. Where there are other people. And clients. There is one client in particular who is very very, um, uptight, and I'm pretty sure that this client would pull his account if he saw this t-shirt. And frankly, I thought it was disgusting. Hack-em-up Ed has a twelve year old daughter. I wonder what she thinks of this t-shirt?

Folks, please tell me. Am I just being a prude here? To tell you the truth, I think that that t-shirt would be inappropriate to wear to WalMart, let alone to work. And yet I am seeing more and more of this type of t-shirt out and about. Is there anybody out there who actually thinks that this t-shirt is funny? Let me know!

New camera!

This is the camera I bought this weekend. It's a Fujifilm S700. It has 10x optical zoom and 7.1 megapixels. Now I just have to figure out how to use it! It's pretty big and clunky compared to some of the digital cameras I looked at, but I actually prefer that, because if I had one of those little teeny ones, I just know I'd lose it (the camera, not my mind).

Here's some pics I took with my old camera:

This is my rhododendron:





This is my neighbor's forsythia bush:

Besides buying the camera, I didn't do a whole heck of a lot this past weekend. I went to the laundromat and did three weeks' worth of laundry (ugh!), went to the library, and did some walking. Sunday morning I went to the SUNY nature preserve and hoofed it up the Oak Trail (waaay too steep). The underbrush is greening up, but the trees are still mostly brown.

Number of times I had to call Jabba and tell him to turn his TV down - 2. Number of times I contemplated just calling the cops instead - about a million.

Sunday afternoon I did some weeding in the garden and discovered that my Bleeding Heart is sending out little satellite Bleeding Hearts. I moved one of them to the back fence and put a little fence around it to keep Evil Lawnmower Man from mowing it over. I wonder if Evil Lawnmower Man is the same guy who plows (or rather, doesn't plow) the driveway in the winter. Because the lawn is getting pretty shaggy, and nobody's shown up to mow it yet.

You May Have My User Guide

We bought a new fax machine for the office the other day. When we went to set it up, there was a "quick start-up guide", but no actual instructions. After doing a little on-line research, I discovered that this particular fax was supposed to come with a 286-page "User Guide". I called Staples, where we bought the fax, and the guy at the store told me to "just come in and pull the guide out of another box". Thank you Staples! I guess I know what happened to the guide that was supposed to be in our box! The trickle-down theory of user guides.

I am not having such a good week at work.

Update: I went to Staples last night, they opened up another box, and guess what? That box didn't have a user guide either! At which point the assistant manager tried to tell me that "this fax doesn't come with a user guide". I had been e-mailing back and forth with HP (the maker of the fax) regarding this, and assured the assistant manager at Staples that yes, indeed, there was a user guide. As a matter of fact, HP even e-mailed me a downloadable version, all 286 pages. I even pulled the packing slip out of the box he had just opened and showed him the picture of the user guide on the slip. God bless him, he just repeated that "it doesn't come with a guide". Interesting. He suggested that I print out the downloadable version, I explained that I didn't particurlarly feel like printing out 300 pages of something that was supposed to be in the box, and he offered to print it out for me if I brought it in on a flash drive. I explained that the user guide was also on HP's main web site and that he could pull it up there at the store and print it out, and he said "we're not allowed to go online". Oh really?

So after a few more e-mails with HP, they are going to send me a real, printed out, honest-to-goodness user guide. HP has been nothing but prompt and professional throughout all this. Staples? Bleecccch.

The Telemarketer

Long story short: A telemarketer called the office this morning and asked to talk to the owner. I told her "We're not interested" and hung up the phone. She called right back, I told her "We're not interested", and she said, "Are YOU the owner? I need to talk to the owner". I hung up again.

She has called back at least ten times today. Now I recognize the number on the Caller ID and either pick up the handset and place the call on hold or pick up the handset and hang right back up.

So she evidently contacted some of her telemarketer friends and told them to call me. I have dealt with approximately 40 telemarketer calls today.

If I could, I would gladly hop in my car, drive to this woman's place of business, and throttle her with my bare hands.

Mom Strikes Again

My Mom called me on Saturday to ask if she could spend the night. She said that my sister TIB, with whom she lives, was having a "big party" Saturday night, with lots and lots of people, and they were all staying overnight, so there would be no room for Mom. Oh, and the cat had to come along, too, because there wouldn't be room for the cat, either.

I knew what was going on. Mom has Alzheimer's Disease. Mom had had a dream the night before about a big party, about having to find a place to spend the night, about having to take the cat along, and when she woke up, she thought it was real.

I talked to TIB. TIB said Mom had told her a different version of the same story, that TIB's daughter was having a party at TIB's house, that she needed to find a place to stay, that she would have to take the cat, etc.

The first few times this happened, it was alternately scary/confusing/sad. Now it just irritates the hell out of me. "No, Mom, nobody is going to take the cottage away from you." "No, Mom, TIB didn't tell you that you had to give away the cat". "No, Mom, the dentist didn't tell you that she had to pull all your teeth." Oh yeah, the dentist - I have to take Mom to the dentist and go in and speak with the dentist after she sees Mom, because otherwise, Mom will walk out of that treatment room telling the most amazing stories you've ever heard.

And five minutes after you've reassured Mom about whatever she is obsessing over, she starts right in all over again. And then gets mad because you are telling her the opposite of whatever she has convinced herself is true.

Alzheimer's Disease is a snot.