Happy might be too much to ask, I'm aiming for Okayish New Year

The past year, well, it's been challenging, to say the least.

I lost my bio-father to covid, because he refused vaccination even after he promised he would get it and I'm still angry about that. Also his wife & my half-sister & her family have apparently decided that my kids (and I) are non-existent so fuck those guys.

Yes, clearly I'm still struggling with rage issues about the whole situation.

Holidays this year have been bizzare and have left me with some emptiness in my heart, and then the empty fills with anger and off we go again.

I AM TRYING.
Also I really really hate being forced into membership with so many of you, in the Lost Parent Club.
What sucks is that once you're in, you're in for life, which is ironic because death is what qualified you to get in.

The dark-humored joke at my house is that hey, at least I've got a spare (dad).


In the past year...
I have been diagnosed with diabetes, lipodermatasclerosis, high blood pressure, anemia, hypothyroid (unshocking because I had Grave's disease and had to take a radioactive pill to kill my thyroid), and a few other little lesser issues.
I had to have an ultrasound on my heart and my legs.
I could not walk properly, it was like my thigh muscles had forgotten how to work. I had to use a walker or at least a cane just to move around the house.

Also in the past year...
I have brought my A1C blood sugar down from 9.8 to 6.6
I have lost 98 lbs.
My blood pressure has come down from redline stroke zone to pretty near perfect.
Dumped 2 of my blood pressure meds, cut down on my iron pills.
I can get around without a walker and only need the cane if I'm doing a lot of walking, just as a balance precaution

So as you can see, it's been a very uppy-downy, twisty-turny, rough and bumpy ride, with all the screaming and nausea you'd expect from the worst roller coaster ever.

AAAND to top off the Suckfest that is 2021, my girl Betty White just died - and she only could've timed it better if it was 11:59PM tonight.
RIP, you magnificent woman.


All the self-pitying bullshit aside, I do have a plan for 2020Too.
I mean mostly it's DON'T HEADSTAB ANYONE, but baby steps, right?

Now go forth and celebrate in small, safe groups, don't drink and drive, buckle your seatbelt, wear a mask, and GET YOUR GD VACCINATION and BOOSTER.
Don't die of stupid because I will NOT forgive you.

Have a very Okayish New Year!

Words Get In the Way

Part of the problem with hating to be a whiner and trying to rarely complain about health issues is that when you really really really really really need to talk about it, you don't know how.
You don't know how to start.
You don't know how to ask someone to listen. I mean seriously, who actually loves to hear a litany of someone else's health complaints? I don't.
I mean if you're sick, sorry, wish I could help but I can't. I can't be there in person in most cases. I can't drop by with homemade chicken soup. I can't pet your head and say "there there."
I don't want you to feel that way about me. I don't want you to worry, I don't want to feel like an inconvenience, I don't want to bore you if you just don't care.

On the other hand, I want you to pet me on the head and say "there there." I want you to hug me and comfort me and tell me I'm going to be fine.
But I don't know how to talk about it. I don't know if I should be more concerned or less.
Yet the thought of pity freaks me out and sympathy makes me awkward.

**AS FAR AS I KNOW IT IS NOT THE BIG C so cross that off the list for the moment. That may be the ONE thing that isn't broken.

But I am overwhelmed and scared and depressed. I'm confused with all the things.
I feel lost and alone and, for one of the few times, really lonely.
I don't know what to do.
So don't say anything. Don't ask me although I want to be asked, because I really have to process everything first myself, plus I'm not sure about anything at the moment.

I just wanted to tell you.

To summarize:

 Every once in a while you just want to be somebody's, anybody's, Number One Person.

I mean, other than "feared" or "hated" or "enemy." 
I got that covered.

Oh well HAI 2020!

So just to catch you up on how my 2020 is going so far.

The other evening I left to go pick up Minion from work, and some dude was walking back and forth across the driveway (I live in a little "compound" with 4 little houses and a 4 car garage with apartments over top of them and we share a horeshoe drivearound driveway), and it looked sort of like he was either arguing with someone on the phone OR possibly looking for something because the light was on his phone.

My parents live next door so I called & told my dad to keep an eye on him, and just about that time the dude crossed the street into the neighborhood over there.

Later that same night... 
Around 10 pm there was a knock on the door...and for the first time in the 25 years I've lived there, I am a little ashamed to admit that I was too afraid to open the door.
Yes. Too afraid.
So I'm all WHO IS IT and a young voice said, "I need help."
THIS IS WHY I AM ASHAMED, BECAUSE I DID NOT OPEN THE DOOR.
Also I did not even use the peephole because I have seen WAAAYYYY too many crime shows and read WAAYYYYY too many thrillers and I did not want to get shot in the eye I KNOW SHUT UP BUT PARANOIA.

The porch light was on, I asked  what he needed, what could I do to help - he said,
"I'm 14, I'm about to get jumped!"
I said WHO IS GOING TO JUMP YOU? Stay there on the porch and I'll call the cops for you!
He said, "Okay okay, I'm leaving!"
And I yelled (still not opening the door) WAIT, I'm calling the cops TO HELP YOU! Stay up on the porch!

And nothing. So I call my dad next door and by the time I have that conversation, there is no one around anywhere except a couple walking their dogs across the street.
So basically I was so scared that I did not try hard enough to help.
Minion thinks it was a setup, and she's glad I did not open the door.
But someone asked for help.
I can't decide how I feel about it, except to feel bad that I was too afraid in my own home to open the front door when I've never (knock wood) had a problem of any sort in 25 years.
In fact my former babysitter's cousin is actually the only person who has ever stolen from me and if I ever run across THAT little bitch Ima beat her ass, I promise you that.

Two days later...
Okay, so for the past year or so I've had this...I don't know, kind of like narcolepsy where I just fall asleep in an instant. It happens at my desk all the time. Probably I'm just not getting enough "good" sleep, since I am old AF and have all the burning acid reflux and up 3 times to pee and drainage that makes me cough and I sleep in 2-4 hour chunks.
ANYWAY.
I'd slept in the recliner for some terrible reflux, woke up and Minion brought me coffee, and I nodded off before I could drink it.
Woke up AN HOUR later, requested a re-heat, and she left it in the microwave a leetle (lot) too long because it was about boiling.
She DID warn me that it was superhot.
I had it in my hand and...wait for it...
Next thing I know I am awake and screaming and scalded.
So I have 2nd degree burns and weepy blisters allllllll down my right side, from boob to hip.
And of course my arm is constantly hurting the ones on my boob and standing up and sitting down keeps burstin open everything on my hip.
Seriously it is so very ugly and gross, but keeping it clean and gauzed and it's finally starting to heal in most of the places -- the worst was having to soak the bandages off in my hip in the shower today because it was stuck very tight.
I KNOW, GROSS, TMI.

And so with no insurance and no $$, we're taking care of it at home and Minion is serving as an excellent nurse EXCEPT Nurse Ratched occasionally looks at the stuff when we're changing the dressing and her mouth crinkles up and her eyes go wide and I'm like STOP DOING THAT WITH YOUR FACE.
But it's itchy and healing and uncomfortable but at least we can Neosporin most of it now, so it doesn't sting too much.

Oh yeah, and my transmission thunked hard into first gear today, so there's that.
Some days I wish I was one of those people who could ask for gofundme help, but it's just not in me.
I'm just going to sit here and be thankful for a roof over my head, the warmth of the heater, the food on the table, friends to cheer me up, family, and the capacity to work & earn my way forward.

I need a vacation from my life.

---

So, how's your year so far?

#33581 Why I Hate People and How My Rants Are Likely Your Fault.

Weirdly I feel like the holidays are the times when I get most ranty but also when I'm filled with the most ...niceness? Caring? Generosity? So I guess this means the rant thing is your fault.
Probably. I mean it's certainly not MY fault, doy.

In my newsfeed on GrossBook.

Me: asking a question out of actual ignorance of a subject and wanting to learn.
Other People: THESE ARE NOT JOKING MATTERS I AM SO OFFENDED.

The next day...

The same Other People: WHY YOU GOTTA GET SO OFFENDED BY A GENERATIONAL TERM, HMMM?

Y'all wear me right the fuck out.
Like my kids, only I can't reach you to smack you in the back of the head.

I mean if I had a nickel for every time I said "WTF IS WRONG WITH YOU PEOPLE??" to my computer, I would have a couple socks full of nickels with which to beat you.

And yes, I COULD BE MORE HOSTILE if I wanted to.
I could be calling you out by name. AND Middle Naming you.
You do not want that.

---

AND ANOTHER THING.
This time of the year (well I guess it happens ALL year but it just gets worse in the Holiday Spirit)
everyone's picking on Walmart.
Now you're going to boycott them because the owners and corporate fatcats are getting richer off the backs of their underpaid, welfare-getting employees.
And I TOTALLY feel you. I get it.
I guess what I'm not understanding is the need to focus all your hate for Greedy Corporations on
WalMart in particular.
I KNOW the BigWig richies are getting richer.

But let me lay some enlightenment upon you.

Taking into consideration the cost of living and the economy where *I* live, WalMart is actually one of the better-paying employers.
They are also one of the most inexpensive places to shop, even grocery wise.
For poor people like me, they can actually be a blessing.
So you go ahead and boycott, applause applause for you doing what you need to do,
but me? I'm supporting them locally.

My daughter works for Sam's Club - yep, a WalMart company. She makes twice as much there as she did at a local grocery store for the last 6 years. She gets accumulated PTO, she gets at least three holidays off completely, she got a nice 15lb turkey for Thanksgiving PLUS a bonus on her check and she's only been there 4 months.

You want to talk about boycotting a store for treating their SERIOUSLY underpaid AND undervalued employees like shit? For the Greedy Overlords to get richer off the hardworking backs of the least of the employees? Then I'm boycotting Crest Grocery store.

LOOK HERE: My kid worked for Crest for SIX YEARS. She was hired at $7.50/hour and after 90 days probation, got a raise to $8.00.
FIRST AND ONLY RAISE EVER.
Also? They required EVERY employee to work a minimum half day on EVERY holiday (because they're a 24/7 store).  How many of those holidays got any sort of bonus or holiday pay? ZERO.
One year they did actually get a Christmas bonus, $10 store gift cards that they could use only at Crest.
They don't even have a proper breakroom - they have a meeting/breakroom with a microwave.
No fridge to store stuff.
When the microwave went out, the store manager tried to get the employees to "get up a collection" to get a new one.
I was all WHAT NOPE YOU BETTER NOT! I mean that's what the "miscellaneous" line in your budget is for, buster.
Turns out that at the end of the year, whatever the Store Manager does NOT spend in his miscellaneous budget becomes HIS YEARLY BONUS.
Now THAT, my friends, IS SIMPLE GREED.
They got pizza maybe twice a year as a "thank you."
And if a customer complained on you? IMMEDIATE SUSPENSION.
Doesn't matter what actually happened, the "managers" and supervisors never had your back.
Right before my girl had to have a wisdom tooth pulled, it was so swollen and sore that she could barely talk (but of course she showed up to work), and a customer apparently took offense because she wasn't chattering at him, complained, and she got a 3 day suspension.
She also took ONE sick day in the entire six years - and called in the night before her six am shift to make sure they had time to find someone to cover.
The manager on duty said she should not call in yet, to wait and see how she felt in the morning (this was her 2nd day of feeling ill and she was feverish), and when she said no, she wanted to call in sick NOW, he threatened her with a no call no show.
For the first time ever I had (had, wanted, needed, tomato tomahto) to get involved and called that little powertripping sonofabitch up and told him how things work in the real world and he did not want to get the labor department crawling over their store.
ANYWAY. No loyalty to loyal hardworking employees.
Cheating, money-grubbing greedy store manager.
No raise for SIX YEARS.
Then we she turned in her 2 week notice, the manager she spoke to said, "we accept your full notice" and then promptly took her off the schedule completely starting that day.

If she didn't live at home, there's no possible way she could've survived on just that one job without
also getting food stamps or some other assistance.

All I'm saying is that WalMart may be a really bad guy, but they're not the only one, or even the worst.
It's simply a matter of degree.

HEY, 'TIS THE SEASON FOR THE AIRING OF THE GRIEVANCES.
This is just the tip of the iceberg.

♫♪ Talkin' about my generation ♫♪

The last few days I've had to sit back and laugh as I watch all the "Generation Wars" ramping up, much like the "MommyBlogger Wars" a few years ago.

I can't even keep track of what generation I'm supposed to be, GenX I guess because really that one sounds the coolest so it probably is mine.
Also WTF even is Generation Jones? Because apparently I'm at the tail end of that as well, being born in 1968.

I'm going with JoneX. That's my generation.
If you're cool enough I'll let you use that for yourself but don't hold your breath.

My generation is punk and goth and indie music. It's huge hair and cutout sweatshirt necks. It's layered tank tops and leg warmers and shiny metallic jazzercise tights. It's British Knights and Kaepa tennies with the upside down laces. It's bulky thigh length sweaters over turtlenecks with sweater skirts over long john pants. It's clove cigarettes and Strawberry Hill wine. Culottes and (American style) knickers, prairie blouses, Jams shorts and Jellies shoes. It's fingerless lace gloves and layered tutus over torn fishnets with combat boots. It's poodle perms and big round frames for our glasses, sparkly blue eyeshadow and green mascara, banana clips and feathering combs and those stretchy round plastic comb-like headbands.

We were weird and unique and we liked it that way. I still do.

I mean seriously WE are the only ones who ever learned how to actually program a VCR to videotape multiple soap operas on multiple channels during the day while we were in high school/college classes and then program them to tape movies off HBO, Showtime and Skinemax so we could watch all the movies when we were stuck at home and not out carousing and cruising The Strip with our friends.
WE ALONE could squeeze that fourth movie on that VHS tape by carefully running back the credits to the end of the movie, and starting the next at that SPLIT SECOND after the HBO logo ended at the beginning of the next movie, all using three remote controls for TV, VCR, and cable box.

TOP THAT, YOU ROKU FIRESTICK DVRers with your fancy voice controls!

Also we had the bestworst music. You either love it or you lovehate it, and even the country music was so much better.

I know we all think our own was probably the best (and although I don't really like kids of any age, I find the current group of youngsters/young adults are bright and tolerant and learning to fight for their right to paaaaaartay what's right)... but I mean really, in the grand scheme of Things That Actually Affect Your Really For Real Life...does it matter?

It appears that ALL the generations have some things in common, like the willingness to argue over EVERY. DAMN. STUPID. THING. EVER and also take themselves far too seriously in the broadest generalizations.
Have we just run out of better things about which to argue?
Is this like why Hollywood keeps making the same exact movies over and over, like we truly need YET ANOTHER WHOLE VERSION/GENERATION OF A CHARLIE'S ANGELS MOVIE OMG NO THANK YOU PLEASE!

Some of y'all need to just

SNL Simma Down Now GIF from Snl GIFs

cuttlefish and underwear.

You notice how when every single tentacle of your life is weighted down with stress (yes tentacle because CUTTLEFISH ARE AWESOME and I plan to come back as one only you will never see me because they have the best camouflage ever even better than Mystique because they can change color and texture AND HALF AT A TIME like when you order a half pepperoni half ham & pineapple pizza and Mystique could not even do that AT ALL)...

What? I forgot what I was saying.

Oh STRESS, tentacles, right.

For me, having the stress lifted off one or two of those areas completely causes a nearly tangible effect, and I can feel the weight lifting. It's like I have a full body sigh and everything relaxes, from my neck to hips to toes, my guts and lungs and brain, all at once.  I can actually feel my shoulders settling down to...well, shoulder height, instead of being all crunched up under my ears when I didn't even realize they were there.

Honestly the feeling is close to euphoria. I mean I don't feel like going dancing in the rain or coming to a Halloween party at your house (NO THANK YOU SORRY AND IF I ALREADY SAID YES MY APOLOGIES BECAUSE I WILL NOT BE SHOWING UP) or anything like that, but the utter sense of relief...it's like magic.

Losing the stress also made me realize exactly how many stress triggers I have.  WOW. You don't even know.  I mean I'm horrible online all the time anyway and you already knew that, but I've been a pretty horrible person in real life the last couple-three years too. 

I had so many triggers that I didn't even know what they all were.

SO many buttons just waiting to be pushed. Or touched. Or breathed on. 

 

Things have been pretty dire around here the last few years. 

I mean I've pretty much been poor-ish most of my life and it's nothin' but a thing...but the last 2 or three years, it's been a trial.

Seriously some weeks the budget was like ... is Joshua going to have chicken in his stew this week or will he have to go vegetarian?

eBay sales used to support us but some months we're lucky to make a hundred bucks and that's no exaggeration. Of course I'm so damn mad at them anyway, because they keep changing the formats and the layouts and the requirements to be a "Power Seller."  I mean I'm a TOP SELLER but I can't get my stuff on the first pages of keyword search because I don't take all their..."advice," and if it was left in their hands I'd list everything for .99 or best offer with free shipping and free returns and list 1K items per week. THEN I'd get noticed and sell more while of course losing money on everything.

via GIPHY

ANYWAY.

I was stressed over money every day but didn't even realize how bad it was on my body & mind.

So the thing happened and Becca got a new job, which equals happier attitude (and less GIRL IMA RIP OFF YOUR ARM AND BEAT YOU WITH IT from me) and more money and BOOM, less stress.
Then I got some side jobs I can do from home which are actually earning $ AND the biggie (and also one of the points I've been getting to here) - I FEEL PRODUCTIVE.

I am contributing more to my own household, AND taking back the majority of support of my family, which makes me feel useful and less like a loser at life and motherhood and all the things.

Being productive and busy and useful build a YUGE barrier against depression and anxiety for me.

I mean money doesn't buy happiness but I can tell you it almost brought me to tears when Becca asked if we had enough so she could get new underwear and I was able to unhesitatingly say YES! and bravely added AND GET ME SOME TOO PLEASE without even stopping to calculate.

If you've ever been actually, truly poor, you'll know just how excellent that feels.

It's like the thrill of victory.

I guess what I'm getting at here is that I slowly feel like the person I was 10 years ago is kind of waking up again.  The little things that could (and have) sent me into a shrieking frenzy are not so important now. 

My shoulders are where they should be (most of the time).

The stomachflutter of anxiety is nearly completely gone many days in a row

The angst is at least a foot away from me and sliding.

OH, I still have plenty of stress to go around, but at least it's more focused now, like on this boy of mine. That's never going to go away, and it's easier to carry.

Maybe Becca's not pushing my buttons so much because she's happier.

Maybe I just don't notice her doing it because I'm less stressed.

Maybe I'm finally on the downhill side and sliding to the finish line of menopause.

Maybe I'm evolving. (fingers crossed for cuttlefish evolution!)

Whatever it is, I'll take it.

Some stuff and things and so then that happened.

Here's how I know your inspirational cliches don't work - specifically "If you dream it, you can achieve it" because last night I dreamed that I was driving a rainbow van off a cliff but at the same time I was across the canyon watching it happen, and then I walked into a fountain and tried to punch some dude but strangely my arms weren't working and THEN THERE WAS A DRONE OUTSIDE MY BEDROOM WINDOW and it woke me up and wasn't there and also I dreamed I was awake but I wasn't and didn't know for sure until I was trying to talk and say HEY AM I EVEN AWAKE.

Okay "life coach," you tell me how to achieve that.
Also tell me WHY WOULD I EVEN WANT TO. 

I've been writing #FakeInspirationalCrap for years, *I* should be YOUR life coach because mine can actually be applied to real life.

---

I've posted about the ghost that lives here (with photographic evidence!) a couple times over the years, but things have been pretty quiet and ghost-free for quite some time. 

So for our eBay business, I keep the inventory in sealed tubs with handle-lock lids.

A few days ago we were looking for a dress in a tub that resides in my "dining" room - a tub that either Becca or I have been through numerous times in the past few months.

Only this time, there was a bottlecap right near the top of the pile.

A bent bottlecap.

A bent beer bottlecap.

A bent Tecate "No Retornable" beer bottlecap.

Like this, only bent a little across the top.

Okay, maybe not weird for many of you, but here's what:

I have been through that dress tub and everything in it, down to the bottom, at least 50 times whenever I am looking for a dress listed at a certain time.
Anything that's been listed has been checked thoroughly, pockets and all, at least 2-3 times.

Also, I do not drink beer.

Also ALSO, I do not buy beer.

Also also ALSO, if I did buy beer, I doubt I would buy Tecate. 

Also also also ALSO, I don't even have a bottle opener.

WHERE DID THAT COME FROM?

How did it get in that sealed tub of clothes?

How did it even get in my house?

Who opened it?

Did someone come in my house and drink a beer and unstack 3 tubs of clothes

just to put their bottlecap in the bottom sealed tub and then restack everything again?

I mean nobody here takes ambien or any sleeping pills that might make us do weird sleep things.

And where is the bottle? There is no bottle. There hasn't been a bottle.

I don't ever have visitors, so no one has come over and brought their own beer.

If it was the ghost, who bought the beer for them? Or can he or she make themselves corporeal long enough to drink a beer? Or are they starting a bottlecap collection?

(HEY WHO ELSE DID THIS WHEN THEY WERE A KID AND NAILED BOTTLECAPS TO A BOARD?)

I tried to get an EVP recorded while asking any ghosts that might've been hanging around but all I got was the standard old "run, get out, I'm going to kill you,"** etc etc blahblahblah so I don't even count that. I mean bitchghost please, I've been in this house over 20 years, you've had your chance.

So that happened.

**#fakenews, no EVP captured at all but I did try.

---

I was very recently reminded how lovely and refreshing and wonderful it is to be thought of, to be included, to be remembered, to be invited, even when the inviter knows full well you'll most likely have to decline.

So I want to remind YOU to please not forget your introverts. Don't forget your caregivers. Don't forget about those of us who really do hate to have to say NO all the time because there's just no way to make it happen.
Please keep inviting us. Please let us know you think of us once in awhile. Please be prepared to be okay with us saying no.
We hate having to say it sometimes as much as you hate having to hear it.
But at least we know you care.
And even if we forget to say it, we adore you for the thought.

This has been an Introvert and/or Chronic CareGiver Service Announcement.

'Tis the season to be...something.

The holidays are hard for some of us.
Some suffer SAD (Seasonal Affective Disorder). For some their regular depression is intensified. Some introverts are already having anxiety attacks at the thought of peopling, whether with co-workers or family.
Some just can't stand to be around their eggnog-sotted relatives and/or be criticized/ignored/mocked.
SO MANY REASONS.

I usually start feeling some depression and stress around the holidays mainly because
1. So very poor moneywise
B. Cannot buy gifts
III. Buying gifts is the only time I truly enjoy shopping of any kind, and it truly makes me happy

Besides all that, my last grandparent, my last grandma, passed away right around this time last year. Just barely before Christmas, in fact.
And I'm sure missing her hard right now.

She was in the hospital and managed care the last year or so of her life when she needed 24 hour care and the Alzheimer's got pretty bad.  I feel guilty for not spending more time with her - my only excuse is that I have a little boy (well, I know he's almost 24 but still my little boy) who also requires 24 hour care, and now that I'm old and he's heavier I can't manage him in & out of the van the way I used to.

Still. That doesn't make it easier.
ANYWAY I have drifted entirely away from what this whole post was supposed to be about, which was basically a HI GRANDMA, I'M THINKING OF YOU AND I MISS YOU A REALLY LOT.

I've told a few little stories about my Grandma Pat...like she would tell me (I am the oldest grandchild) how when I was a baby and my mom & I lived with her & my granddad while my dad was overseas, she would rush home from work to sit and rock me, and she didn't care if anyone else had dinner or clean laundry because WELL I AM ME, AFTER ALL.

When my kids were babies, she did not trust me to do their laundry and would not let me use some 'cheap bargain basement detergent' on those PRESHUS BABIES, so she would send my granddad over twice a week to pick up the dirty laundry & blankets so SHE could wash them in Dreft detergent.
Hey, I had twins, both on oxygen and heart/apnea monitors so I was not going to argue.

In my family, mocking and sarcasm is how we show we care...and we care A LOT.
Like the year at Christmas we told grandma that we had numbered all her stories because she told them SO MANY TIMES at EVERY FAMILY EVENT ... so when she started to tell a story, one of us would shout out something like "ELEVEN!" or "THIRTY-THREE!" and we would all laugh hysterically while grandma said "I DO NOT LIKE YOU CHILDREN. BRATS."

Or the time we were looking at dresses (she was one of those kind of Baptists where they don't dance and the women don't wear pants, only dresses or skirts) and I pointed one out and she said
"But that's an old lady dress."
I said, "Well by definition, ALL your dresses are old lady dresses."
"I hate you. Brat."

Actually grandma wasn't one to dish out sarcasm, but she did love to laugh, even (and sometimes especially) if the joke was on her. She had no ego, and would laugh at the most ridiculous, nonsensical things.
Like her favorite joke, which wasn't even a joke, but one of us would always say it because we knew she would laugh and of COURSE then we would laugh.
"What did the bee say to the flower? I'm GONNA STING YOU."

Not even a joke, right? But always a guaranteed laugh from grandma.
And my uncle, king of sarcasm (and sort of mean, and often an asshole, but hey family) would say,
"Hey mom, come stand over here and let me take a group picture of you,"
which was TOTALLY dickish and rude but grandma laughed and laughed, because let's be honest, she was the closest thing to Mrs. Claus you'd ever see. Very short and VERY round and cute as a fuckin' button.
She loved telling that story too, and laughed every time.

If you're of A Certain Age, you've seen all the Brady Bunch episodes a fafillion times and you remember Jan & Aunt Jenny...wherein Jan finds an old photo of 'herself' that turns out is actually Imogene Coca in disguise as Aunt Jenny and OF COURSE Jan is a shallow little spoiled beyotch and doesn't want to be 'ugly' like Aunt Jenny even though Jenny is like super cool and popular.





So (TRUE STORY) when I was a teenager I found an old picture of 'myself' at around 5 years old that I later found out was actually MY GRANDMA, so naturally (me being me) at the next available opportunity I showed the photo to grandma and said SAY, HOW OLD WAS I IN THIS PICTURE? and of course she said it wasn't ME, it was HER...and I figure you can guess what happened next.
I pretended to cry and wailed DOES THIS MEAN I HAVE TO LOOK LIKE YOU WHEN I GET OLD??
"I hate you. Brat."
She said that to me a lot.
I have no idea why. Probably she loved me the best but didn't want anyone else to know and be jealous.


Her funeral was particularly hard for me, because it's one of the first funerals I've ever attended that I actually (sort of) wanted to get up and say something - but I was frozen in place and couldn't. Also I cannot possibly be trusted not to say something completely inappropriate because that's what I do.
I did manage to do the one thing I usually avoid at all costs because I feel it's a horrible, traumatic tradition...walking past the open casket at the end of the service.

But I wanted to say goodbye to my last little grandma, with her blue eyeshadow and pink lipstick and Estee Lauder Youth Dew scent.

I stopped to look, and remember, and when I whispered, "Hey grandma, remember that time you ruined Christmas when you died?" it was no surprise that I heard her laughter in my ear.
I'm pretty sure it was followed up with "I hate you. Brat."

Dear Everyone:

I am SICK UNTO DEATH of Social Media and its denizens telling me what to do, how to feel, and who to be like.

If I don't speak out - loudly - on social media about THIS outrage or THAT situation, well clearly I am just "passively accepting" of the situation. Never mind what I say or do about those things in my real life.

If I express outrage or disdain about THIS candidate or THAT candidate - on Social Media - well then clearly I am a hater or stupid or a libtard or fooled by the media or just too naive to be allowed to live. Never mind that I back up my outraged or disdainful opinion with ACTUAL FACTS, usually video and audio with the actual words coming out of the actual person's actual mouth.
But that's just spin and propaganda, of course! Never mind that they actually said it out loud on video in front of thousands of people.

If I complain about these things - on Social Media - well I'm just WRONG! Don't like it, don't read it! Unfollow! Block! Ignore!
Never mind that some of the people attacking me are friends, and their friends, and their friends, and so on and so on and so on just like that shampoo commercial. Friends I've known since college. Since high school. Since ... Social Media.

So let me just say this one time - *I* am not trying to change YOUR mind or YOUR opinions when I state my own. HOWEVER, my (fact based) opinions are just as valid as yours. I'm not asking you to agree with me, but if you open a discussion and I take part by voicing my opinion, then you need to recognize your own shitty behavior when you go on the attack and try to make me change *mine*. You need to recognize that it only hurts your cause, it doesn't help it or make your opinion any more palatable to me.

And if you disagree, that's okay too. Maybe you can't help being an asshole. So I'll just leave this here for you:

Big Ol' Mess of Crap

I noticed someone came here from Blogcatalog.com...I didn't even know that was still a thing! I used to be a member but I sort of forgot about it when my blogging started to wither on the vine (DAMN YOU TWITTER & FACEBOOK!). Anyone else still use that place? I just visited and now everything says "Pin It" and "Share." Someone came to be from Blogshares this week as well -- I never figured out how to make that work, exactly. I would never cut it on Wall Street.
I liked it better when we just had a button on our sidebars and we went blog-hopping.

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Speaking of blog-hopping, remember how we'd daisy chain when reading blogs? I'd click one of the blogs on your blogroll, then one of the blogs on THAT blog's blogroll, ETCETERA ETCETERA ETCETERA (you totally just heard Yul Brynner's voice, din't you?).
Good times. I miss those days.

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One of the hardest realizations - for me, for my friends (and for you and your friends too, I bet) - is that when you're raising a disabled kid, you simply aren't going to be able to live a 'normal' life - whatever that means. Try not to take the little things for granted, parents. And stop judging other parents because you have no idea what they might be dealing with.
Also? READ THIS - it says what I feel. I mean it, go read it. We'll wait. YOU DO WHAT I SAY.

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Speaking of kids, Josh accidentally bit me on the arm when he was having a seizure the other day:

I can tell you THAT SHIT HURT. #WoundedInTheLineOfDuty

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#TrueConfessions:
1. Sometimes I am overcome with self-pity and petty jealousies...then I feel embarrassed and ashamed for it, even though no-one else knew. I AM MESSED UP.
2. I often feel like I've lost my sympathy, because sometimes my life is a Series Of Unfortunate Events. What I need to remember is that sometimes yours is too.

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When I read stories about the Texan who saw the sign that said "No swimming" due to a large alligator in the area who shouted "FUCK THAT ALLIGATOR" right before he jumped in and was subsequently killed by same, or stories about the dumbass who got killed launching fireworks OFF HIS HEAD...all I can think is natural selection.

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I AM SO TIRED OF HOT FLASHES AND WAKING UP WITH MATTED, SWEATY HAIR every morning! It looks like a dog's ass on my head. #PerimenopauseSucksAss

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I've unfriended/been unfriended by a couple of former friends (two people I've known longer than just about anyone else) who suddenly became obnoxious, hateful, and unreasonable - and the only reason I didn't block them is because I know they stalk my facebook page and I want them to always remember how fucking awesome I am. #SayonaraLosers

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That is all.
Have a day.

Mea Culpa

For the record: No, I did not unfriend or FaceBLOCK you.

I just wanted to quietly take some time away from The FB because my work productivity was suffering - I AM WEAK. I admit it. I tried to just log out and leave it alone, but sometimes I accidentally clicked the FB icon instead of the eBay icon and then it would automatically log me in and then YOU PEOPLE WOULD SUCK ME IN WITH YOUR STUFF AND THINGS.

I didn't want to make a big Thing out of it with one of those dramatic "Goodbye cruel Facebook world, I must away to sweeter climes and find myself!" posts that people do (and annoy the EVERLASTING SHIT out of me with their pretentiousness, by the way)...so I just did a temporary deactivation is all.

I am sorry to all my friends texted or emailed to ask what they'd done to piss me off/offend me/make me block them -- I truly had no idea that the "temporary deactivation" button would make it seem like you were blocked.

Anyway, I've (re)located my motivation and I'm getting my work groove on. Please only do and say really irritating and uninteresting and stupid things until I get back. Save the good stuff for me.

The bittersweet taste of April 19

**a re-post from a previous birthday**

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I sort of love this day -- it's my birthday.
I love the sweet birthday wishes from everyone; they make me smile and feel happy and warm and loved. Thank you all so much for that. It's the day I feel truly Grinchy...by which I mean my heart grows three sizes. (Oh, no worries, it will shrink back down in a couple of days and I'll be back in Curmudgeonland)

I sort of hate this day -- it's my birthday.
I am older but seldom wiser, crazier even without cats, and more GET OFF MY LAWN YOU LITTLE BASTARDS.
It also (and more importantly) marks the tragedy of the OKC bombing in 1995. All those lives lost needlessly, those children in the daycare...for what? Because some whackjob wanted revenge against the federal government. I believe in Hell and I am bloodthirsty enough to hope that McVeigh & Co rot there.
My kids were still in the NICU on April 19, 1995, and after the bomb went off, bomb threats were called in to the Children's Hospital and I nearly went out of my mind when one of the hospital administrators tried to explain why they were not (yet) evacuating. I couldn't even get down near the hospital to visit my babies that day.

But I am glad that people remember the tragedy and pay tribute. I'm glad that some of us still drive with our car headlights on in remembrance of those lost 168.

And I'm glad that people care enough to remember my birthday.

It's a happy-sad day.

Because #FakeUpworthyTitles Get More Traffic! Amazing! Unbelievable!

Dear "Responsible Parents",

We're in the middle of Prom season and graduation is just around the corner, so I thought the time was ripe for a reminder of What Not To Do on Prom Night and/or Graduation Night, and that is DO NOT RENT A ROOM AT A HOTEL FOR YOUR KIDS.

Oh sure, it gets the little brats out of YOUR hair, and you might rationalize it by thinking, "No probs, just Suzie and a few of her friends hanging out afterward and having a couple of harmless beers. At least they'll be off the streets!"

NO.

As a former hotel General Manager, let me just clue you in on WHY IT IS NOT COOL:

1. The hotel staff is not a babysitting service. 
You essentially abdicate responsibility for your kids - who, in fairness, *might* be decent kids when they're around you or their friends' parents (Eddie Haskells, all of 'em, FYI), but turned loose as pseudo-adults unsupervised in a hotel room? Not so much. They will be loud, obnoxious, entitled little shits disturbing all the real hotel guests. The front desk will be inundated with complaints regarding the rooms your kids are in. The front desk will be calling the manager, who will (hopefully) call the cops and have your brats removed from the property.

2. Your children will not be having a tea party.
Keep your head in the sand if you want, but someone will bring plenty of booze, weed, pills, roofies, and yes, in some cases there will be meth or cocaine. You think your kid will be the holdout? HAHAHA. There will be drunken shenanigans, property damage, puke in the corners, kids trying to break into the pool area when it's closed, running up & down hallways at 2am, etc etc etc.

3. There will be sex happening. Sometimes even date rape.
Sometimes that's why there's puke in the corner of the room or even a dresser drawer, because Little Suzie is giving Little Johnnie a beejay in the bathroom while 10 of their friends are just outside the door. SUPER cool, right? And did you miss the part about DATE RAPE? Open your eyes, it happens.

I have been threatened on more than one occasion by pissed-off parents, blaming ME for putting their precious little snowflakes out on the streets in the middle of the night. I usually replied that then perhaps they (parents) should've answered their phones when I called to have their kids picked up. And sometimes it was the cops as well, not just me, putting the kids out and confiscating booze and dope.

Keep your kids at home - you can leave if you want. Let them burn cigarette holes in YOUR carpets and bedspreads. Let them smash YOUR lamps and write on YOUR walls and mirrors with shoe polish. Let them vomit in YOUR plants, nightstands, trash baskets, corners, floors, sinks, bathtubs, and patios.
Or better yet - be a fucking parent and realize that prom night/graduation is not a free-for-all.

(Also, they steal all the towels.)

You will be amazed at how you feel after reading this! #UpworthyTitles

I used to write really crappy poetry.
Well, when put that way, it sort of sounds like I USED to write really crappy poetry but now I write AWESOME poetry!
Yeah, no.
It means I used to attempt to write some kind of weird poetry and it was shitty and it sucked and now I don't do that anymore, much to the relief of everyone who accidentally read it when they came here to see what was new.
I'll never be a poet nor an author nor even much of A Writer, because I'm not good at evoking feelings. I'm terrible at adjectiving (and I like to make up words even though when other people verb their nouns, I get super annoyed because #hypocrite), and I find writing dialogue to be tedious and I get bored of it after like...a half a conversation.
I mostly go for the short and sweet little punch of sarcastic humor...sometimes it works, sometimes it falls flat, and if you don't get my humor then you're probably just stupid I'm okay with that.

ANYWAY.
Some person in Norway was in my archives on this page of forgotten "poetry"... it doesn't even really qualify as poetry I don't think.
It's just a collection of random things I wrote on a napkin when one of the kids was in the hospital for a couple weeks with something or other (RSV most likely)...outside at 2am in the freezing cold, walking around the courtyard to stay warm, chain-smoking cigarettes and trying to hide in the dark to think...or to NOT think. Anxious to get back in to check on a kid, trying to remember when the next breathing treatment was due, hoping That One Nurse was NOT on duty tonight because UGH SNOTFACE...and at the same time dreading the return to the silent room with just the hissing of the oxygen and the beeping of the alarms when a sticky lead came loose or the saline bag needed to be changed, with softly creaking nurses shoes and murmured voices outside the door, alarms blaring from other rooms every now and again.
The scent of despair and fear and helplessness.

Yeah, this still sucks as much as it did so many years ago when I wrote it, but it did make me remember those feelings, so I guess it wasn't a total fail.

Past The Door

Eyes downcast
Strangers passing by

Never looking 
Into another's face
Bound together by fear,
loneliness, anger, resentment

Never speaking
Except to ask for a light
Smoking in silence
Each cigarette a tiny beacon
in the dark of night
Smoke obscuring expression

Alone with churning thoughts
in a group of many
Worry etched on each face
Helplessness in each eye

Never hoping
Afraid of what tomorrow might bring
Silent anonymity is a cloak
Protection from the unknown.

In Remembrance

I'm a little wrathful toward facebook's "algorithm" just now - it was two days after the fact when my newsfeed decided to show me a post regarding the passing of a special, sweet man whom I've known since I was about, oh, 16 years old. Then of course I felt like a jerk offering my condolences so late.

His name was Robert Zabel, and he was the husband of a dear lady who is a friend and my high school drama & debate coach, and he drove our drama/debate team bus.
Mostly my memories of him are simply of his presence, quietly waiting in the background...his thereness. He drove the bus to our tournaments and contests; he shuttled us to hotels and kept us fed and watered. Good weather, bad weather, outrageously early mornings and very late nights, he got us where we needed to be and put up with a lot of shenanigans - well, you can imagine what a busload of drama/debate kids was like, especially coming home after 3 days of intense competition. The jocks had nothin' on us for rowdiness, we were just a lot funnier and smarter.
Robert was patient and cheerful with us...he maybe barked at us once or twice over the years when we were really out of hand, but far less often than we probably deserved. Come to think of it, I'll bet he liked the early mornings on long trips because we would usually sleep for a few hours.

He was always there waiting patiently, and we always knew he would be. He would wait, and bring us home safely. Every time.

Robert had spent the last few years in some pain, I think - it seems as though every time the doctors could fix or control one thing, something else would happen and he was in decline. I can't speak for him, but perhaps it was some kind of a relief for him to let go of the pain and illness at last.
I haven't seen him in many years, but I feel his presence is still there waiting patiently, for his family, for those of us who knew him, to join him one day...and he will bring us home safely. One last time.

For the Zabel family, my heartfelt condolences. I share your sorrow.

Sweatin' it out.

Let's take a moment to talk about sweat.
I know, ew.

I've used Secret deodorant for many, many years - and recently I've discovered that it may be "Strong enough for a man", but it can't hold a candle to the stank that is menopause sweat.

OMG.

If there's one thing that mightily offends my scentsors, it's the stink of  BO.
I mean, I like the smell of skin sometimes, especially a lover's special scent. But nasty pit-smell? NO THANK  YOU.

At first I thought maybe Secret had changed their formula and it was no longer Strong Enough For A Man but Made For A Woman, then I realized it was NOT made for a woman with menopause.
When I hit 45 last year, my body started betraying me overnight.
I've had chronic back troubles for years - I keep re-injuring the same places when I lift Josh in & out of the wheelchair or bathtub.
But all of a sudden my back is aching in new ways, I have a neuropathy thing that makes my feet and toes cramp and feel tingly and weird, and recently woke up one morning with what is apparently tendonitis in my wrist.

AND THE SWEAT.
I've been having hot flashes and night sweats for three or four years now - my hormones are totes out of whack.
But the last year or so, I can get out of the shower, put on my Secret...and within 5 minutes I DO NOT SMELL GOOD anymore.
WTF.
Unacceptable.

I finally googled to see if stanky menopause sweat was actually A Thing... AND IT IS.
Fortunately for some of you, it doesn't happen to everyone.
Unfortunately for me, it does happen to some.
*sigh*

This is not an advertisement or review for deodorant, I'm just passing on a little advice: If you're stricken with this problem, Degree Clinical Strength actually works.
Which is good so that I don't have to save up to have my sweat glands removed.

Are any of you going through this? My misery would love the company.
Also? MENOPAUSE SUCKS.

That is all.
Have a day.

Let it GO, let it GO!

I read a lot of blog posts, facebook statii, and tweets that advise us to "just let it go."
"Let go of the hurt."
"Let go of your past."
"Put down the baggage and walk away."
"Let go of his neck because you're going to get charged with murder." 

What I want to know is...
HOW DO YOU DO THAT?
Well, I mean except for that last thing, you just have to loosen your grip a little. Before the cops get there.

But seriously, how do you know if you've actually let it go?
It's still in your mind, right? You still remember it, yeah? It's not like you can take a Magic Eraser (although WOULDN'T THAT BE COOL??) and rub out the bits that you don't like.

So when people say they've "let it go", does that just mean they never speak of it again? Do they somehow box up the problem like "out of sight, out of mind"? That doesn't seem like letting go, it seems like burying it deeper in the dark so it can grow into giant fungus.

Because I don't understand how you can make the thoughts, and the feelings that accompany those thoughts, just disappear. I DO NOT GET IT.

I carry a lot of baggage -- I don't mean to. I don't DWELL on it. It's just there. The thoughts & feelings from the experience are there. I'm not holding grudges or still mad or upset about THIS or THAT or THE OTHER THING...I've forgiven people for hurting me - even if they don't know it.
So I think okay, I've let it go.
And then a situation arises that's similar and reminds me of THIS or THAT or THE OTHER THING -- so the memory returns and the feeling returns and although I wasn't *trying* to think of it, I wasn't *looking* for it...BOOM! Right back in the suitcase I'm carrying around.

So someone tell me...how do you really let something go? Or is that just another of those phrases that really means nothing when applied to Real Life?
#AskingForAFriend

Death of a comedian

Most times, when I hear of a celebrity death, I feel a vague sort of sadness. A little sorrow at a wasted life if it's got something to do with drugs. It's sort of a passing emotion - like you'd feel for an innocent stranger as you pass a fatal car accident - and I don't dwell on it.

Until Johnny Carson died. That day I cried...the actual boohoo sobbing kind of cry, not merely weeping. I cried every time I saw a tribute to him, for weeks afterward. I didn't know him personally any more than I knew Brittany Murphy or Heath Ledger, but Johnny was something else. I cried as if he'd been my own family.

Yesterday, hearing about the death of Robin Williams, I didn't want to believe it was true. I'll admit that my first thought was, "Probably a cocaine overdose," because I'd read over the last 20-some-odd years about his struggles and relapses with drugs. I'd never really read much about his depression.

And I cried. Like with Johnny Carson. Like Robin had been a favored uncle in my life. 

I always thought he had very kind, very sad eyes, even in the midst of manic humor.

When I read all the hundreds of beautiful, well-written posts and tributes and remembrances, I tear up again.

I love that there are so many people posting hot-line numbers to help others who are depressed and/or suicidal. 

I don't have anything to add except that depression is a sneaky, stealthy bastard. It comes for you in the day or the night, for no reason at all sometimes, and often is harder to treat than cancer. 

Be aware, for yourself and of your friends, so that maybe you can reach out for a helping hand or offer one to someone else.

**UPDATE for no real reason: I just remembered the one other celebrity death which made me truly cry and filled me with sorrow and vengeance - Phil Hartman. Man, I loved the hell out of that guy.

Seriously?

Punishing your kid for fucking up is NEWS now?

Well, I guess it has been for awhile with the whole social media deal - parents shaming their kids making them stand by the road wearing a sandwich board, that kind of thing, while posting and re-tweeting and sharing it.

And every time I see one one of those stories and see all the "Go mom!" "We need more parents like you!" "Best parenting ever!" comments...I just shake my head and say "WHAT THE HELL, PEOPLE."

Do you not punish your own kids? What is so special and newsworthy about making your kid do chores for the neighbors to pay for totaling your car and lying about where he was going? And really, is that the best you can come up with for punishment for that big of A Thing?

I DON'T GET IT.

Who HASN'T been punished by having to do chores? Plus being grounded and no TV and blahblahblah.
The occasional spanking...which can ALSO get you on the news but you sure won't be hearing any "Go mom!" comments for THAT (except maybe from me).

Maybe if more of you "Go mom!"ers would spend some time disciplining your own kids, it wouldn't seem like such a big deal.

Because I totally can not figure out how it becomes News.

WHAT THE HELL, PEOPLE.