Wednesday, August 30, 2006

Home Alone

I've come to the conclusion that fellow student, Botox woman, is completely clueless, carrying around her aging and insecurity issues to share with those around her, free of charge. She asked, all in one breath, about when my ex-husband would be back from Iraq, were we going to get remarried, was I moving to Savannah and how much longer would I be staying there, where I currently work?

Inappropriate questions don't bother me (much), so I told her things hadn't worked out with him, and I'd probably stay where I was for two more years until my son graduated high school.

"Oh my God," she said, "aren't you afraid of growing old alone?"

Whoaaaaa. What is this crap assumption that single people are somehow missing out and that one day, if I could only "find someone", my life would be complete and better? Isn't it possible to be singularly self-contained and satisfied? Why would I want to settle, just because I'm afraid of being alone?

If I had the choice, and fortunately I do, I'd rather be alone than lonely (although I wouldn't say no if some guy wanted to sign over his retirement to me). I've done my time - I'm on parole.

Monday, August 28, 2006

M.E.O.W.R.

I'm attending forty hours of not-so-interesting training this week involving the Department of Transportation (DOT) regulations for Department of Defense (DoD) employees, which means my brain is slam full of acronymns AND all the things I have to get done at work will have to wait until the weekend.

An older woman from Florida with her botoxed forehead and lifted eyes, whom I haven't seen in over a year, is attending the class also. During our catching up, she said, "You've gained some weight."
"Yes, thank you for pointing that out."
"No," she said, "I just meant your face is fuller now and you look more healthy.

My sister is another shoo-in for the Tactless Olympics. Before I helped her set up her blog (read: plowed through over 500 photos of her drinking with her friends for the right profile photo), she told me that her friend no longer reads my blog because it's too boring, with too many cat and flower photos.

Even if it's true, why would you TELL someone that? I'll have to remember to put up some drunken, semi-naked photos to accompany several girl-on-girl bar stories tomorrow. Or maybe I should sit on and squash her with my giant, fat ass.

Friday, August 25, 2006

Pay it forward

My dad has this game he likes to play called "I-got-in-my-car-16-hours-ago-and-now-I'm-at-your-house...SURPRISE!"

1990. He had never been to my house in Alabama, 1050 miles away, since I had only been there a few months. In between napping/eating/wondering when I'd be able to stop wearing maternity clothes, the phone rang. He told me he was on the corner at the gas station, how would he find my house from there? It was a fantastic visit, but I don't believe I've ever been more caught off guard in my life.

2006. He and his "child bride" (she's 51) were supposed to be at my house Friday afternoon. I had a detailed, Martha Stewart type, I'm-kind-of-anal list to follow to complete everything before their arrival: cut the grass, trim the hedges, mop the floors, wash sheets, grocery shop, bake pies, etc. Thursday afternoon he called to say they were going to drive straight through rather than stop in a hotel, because they were just north of Montgomery. ACK! I do love surprises, but I prefer to be freshly showered with my to-do list completed first.

Because my sister has been depressed lately, we decided we wouldn't tell her that they would be visiting. Her mother & I synchronized our watches and met at the same restaurant for dinner Friday night. She was so shocked, she didn't even hug him initially, just stood there crying from happiness. I have an interesting photo of her veins bulging as she first realized it and lunged forward, but I promised not to post it. I definitely prefer to be the surpriser instead of the surprisee.

Wednesday, August 23, 2006

Job's kittens

[top to bottom: Addison, Chase, Bowie]


When it comes to kittens, don't ever say, "What next?!" (or "No, I coudln't possibly take another", for that matter).

It turns out Addison, one-eyed Bowie's "sister", was packing balls in that long grey fur of his. When I noticed his eye getting cloudy, as in a creepy episode of X-Files, I took him to the vet, who informed me that he has a juvenile cataract and is most probably blind in his left eye. There is no link between his cataract and Bowie's corneal ulcer - different mechanism, same result - although at least he'll get to keep the visionless eye.

Over the past six weeks, I've sent three of my veterinarian's children to college with the following kitten maladies:

ulcerated cornea
eyeball enucleation (removal)
staph infection
ringworm
fleas
worms
juvenile cataract
assorted vaccinations

My cousin used to tell me that she wasn't going to the casino in the future - she would just slow down when she drove by and throw money out the window. I suppose it would be littering if I threw pieces of plastic credit cards at Westgate Animal Hospital while cruising past.

Tuesday, August 22, 2006

7% solution

Two facts about my father:
1. He rarely (as in never) goes to the doctor. Once when I was seven, during a family meeting with his 10 siblings, he turned grey and blood started squirting out of his nose from his high blood pressure. And then? I'm not sure he did more than grab a towel and tilt his head back.

2. He doesn't buy new vehicles, preferring instead to trade used trucks with his brothers when they're drinking. He did buy a Chevy Citation in 1980 that had no air conditioning, power steering, or brakes (well, it might have had brakes, but he taught me how to drive with it, and I'm quite sure I never used them).

If it's possible to have a complete personality overhaul at age 60, he has, and it started close to two years ago when he married his 3rd wife.

He recently told me he was having surgery on his neck because of a nonspecific lump that didn't cause any pain. I expressed surprise, asking if he thought of getting a second opinion. "I did. The second doctor said, 'sure enough, you have a lump on your neck. That'll be $100.' He is also taking medication for his high blood pressure and has been to the dentist twice this month.

A chronic, lifetime procrastinator, he finished several courses he needed to continue teaching - and the deadline isn't until NEXT SUMMER! He's also put up a few entries in his blog, which is a few more than ever before.

He bought a new fully loaded SUV. A bit too much for him, with it's fancy features and leather interior, but he went a little upscale for his wife, who managed to sideswipe another truck the first week and caused $5,000 worth of damage. The good news is it's fixed in time for them to drive to Alabama to visit me this weekend!

When I asked him if he discovered a new vitamin, he told me that he estimated marriage has made him 7% more productive because now there is a witness whenever he feels like slacking. I have to clean out my spare bedroom before they get here, since it's quite obvious by the piles of clothes, books stuffed in every crevice and assorted mounds of potting soil that I haven't had a witness in years (and no, Monty, that's not a euphemism for anything).

Monday, August 21, 2006

Oops, I think you dropped your conscience...

For anyone who wondered, along with myself, how Monday morning with the boss would go...it was oddly anti-climatic. He apparently accepted my "apology" (yes, I know: my un-apology) and emailed the lamest bunch of excuses in return. Do me a favor and don't complain about our schools if you can't be bothered to pay what you owe.

His email:

Cheating on your taxes can't be that bad of a sin, since 78% of the folks polled do it. Here's some reason why, according to it;

- Everyone does it.
- I overpaid last year, and I'm evening it out.
- I need the money more than the bureaucrats do.
- I refuse to give money to a government that wastes so much money on bureaucracy
- Cheating on taxes is a subversive act. You deprive the government of the funds to finance repression, and you do it anonymously, so you don't become a target.
- Cheating on taxes is part of my ethnic heritage. Everyone in my home country does it. I must be true to my roots.
- Richard Nixon cheated, why shouldn't I?
- We all cheat in different ways. Some buy politicians and have them create loopholes. I'm just taking a more direct route

Couple of those I agree with. When forced to lower my integrity I generally take the route that hurts the least to me or them. I believe you overreacted also with your comment. It's the gov't I've lied to not you!

Saturday, August 19, 2006

Drama Queen Central

We were all sitting around/goofing off in the office Friday morning when my boss said he'd like to start a photo journal of run-down schools standing next to elaborate churches to show how our priorities, as a society, are backwards and that religious organizations should have to pay taxes like everyone else. A co-worker chimed in that she didn't think people without children should have to pay taxes (children are our future, who cares if you birthed them? Do you really want our country run by a bunch of ignorant twats?), though she suggested a flat tax of 10% on every purchase so illegal aliens would have to contribute to our social programs.

Belated note to self: avoid conversations about religion, politics, and especially BOTH.

We're both liberal, so I generally agree with him, but when my boss said he cheated on his taxes every year because everyone else did, I was stunned (and for the record, no one I know cheats on their taxes). I wasn't trying to be rude, judgemental or even snotty, but I said, "Hm. That surprises me. I thought you had more integrity than that." Try saying that if you ever want to end a conversation immediately, because it came to a screeching halt as he stomped out of the office.

I walked outside to call my sister, and was leaving a voice message as he walked past, "Mumble, mumble...integrity. Try looking in a fucking mirror!"

Since I wasn't exactly sure what he said, or if he was even talking to me, I said, "Excuse me?" but he didn't reply. He just got in his car and peeled out.

I try to be a bigger person (sometimes), I really do, but my fingers on a keyboard don't always have a filter. I decided I should email him an apology, and told him I was sorry that he felt the need to overreact, which a friend pointed out was arrogant and snarky. Now I need to apologize for my apology when I should have just left it. Sigh. Two co-workers down, seven to go.

Thursday, August 17, 2006

Wireless recruit

My son's friend graduated high school and joined the Army in June. From Basic Training in Ft. Sam Houston, Texas, during his one hour of personal time on Sunday, he called my son to see if he had any comments or photos on his MySpace. My son dutifully read the remarks for him and told him about updated profile pictures.

I sure hope they put some internet cafes in those barracks and on the war front soon...(yes, I realize I would be doing the exact same thing).

Wednesday, August 16, 2006

Mona Lisa Summer

One of the last photos I took of my cat Summer before she ran away/got lost/stumbled into a mole-filled heaven nine months ago alternately fascinates and gives me shivers. The background around her is crisp, while she is an ethereal beauty - glowing and planning other-worldly adventures (I'm sure it has something to do with the light or the aperture or something else technical, but that's irrelevant):

My aunt Susie is an artist - an incredibly talented, Belgian chocolate-loving personality whose work turns me a lovely shade of green-with-envy. She and my mom have been best friends longer than I've been alive (they married brothers, but their friendship bond stuck even after their divorces), so she's always been a part of my life. The running joke is the time I babysat for her three kids (my cousins), but didn't pay attention as the toilet leaked and flooded their entire house with a foot of water. Hey, I was only twelve - you get what you pay for!

For my birthday this year, my mom sent a Summer portrait, painted by my Aunt Susie, who, fortunately, doesn't hold grudges:

I couldn't ask for a more wonderful gift.

Saturday, August 12, 2006

Purple Haze

Purple haze all in my brain
Lately things just don't seem the same
- Jimi Hendrix

Friday, August 11, 2006

High on a riverbed

My sister shared a mutual crush with my co-worker, Thad, when she visited at Christmas. He bought a plane ticket to see her in Michigan during spring break, but she changed her mind. He tried to buy her a cell phone when hers drowned in an alcohol-induced incident, but she refused because she didn't want to feel obligated. And when he dropped off roses and a (weird) card for her at my house after she moved here, she decided she was over him.

I sort of know this guy whose Navy Guard unit has been activated to go to Afghanistan in a few weeks (I may be geographically challenged but don't boats need water?). I asked if he had gotten all the loose ends of life wrapped up, because I know he's a single guy and I'm nosy like that. He mentioned that he decided to keep his apartment by having the rent drafted out of his pay automatically, but he needed someone to stay in it (for free) and take care of his dog.

I told Navy Guy about my sister, who is starting classes soon* and REALLY needs a place to live that's closer to the college. He told me that he possibly had a guy willing to stay there for him, but he hadn't gotten a definite answer yet, and she could probably move in if he didn't hear from him soon.

*When I asked her if she was registered yet, she said yes, so I asked what courses she was taking and she told me she didn't know, and to quit interrogating and looking at her(?). I find this odd.

I talked to Navy guy, who told me the family friend IS moving into his apartment for him while he's away. Family friend? Thad, of course. He's the kind of guy that would have bowed out and let my sister stay in the apartment instead, but she never thanked him for the flowers. Dumbass.

Wednesday, August 09, 2006

And rudeness reared her butt-ugly head

Yesterday, Jessicunt had her mommy call to say she was sick and wouldn't be coming in to work, because obviously a twenty-seven year old with an upset tummy should be resting . Too bad it wasn't an old-fashioned, blistering case of ebola.

The first thing I do when I get to work each morning is feed my 15 stray cats with a wet/dry cat food mixture in plastic containers. I had the bowls balanced in my left hand, the water dish in the right, as I turned to walk outside. Jessicunt was coming from the opposite direction, but rather than wait for me to pass through the narrow aisleway, she kept approaching. Obviously at an impasse, I turned sideways to continue on my way, thinking how stupid it would be to stand in the break room holding cat food all day.
She snottily said, "Excuse you."
"Since I had my hands full, common sense would suggest you'd wait for me to get through," I replied.
"That's not important to me."
"Of course not."

I'm trying to ignore her childish behavior, but I need to let her stop pushing my buttons. I've decided to try laughing at her during her full throttle extravaganza bitchfests because nothing sucks venom out of sails like not being taken seriously. She's infuriating, unprofessional, negative and immature. Seriously. One of us has got to go, and it will be her.

Take me to the theater?



Tuesday, August 08, 2006

Must...get...water!

I started physical therapy for scoliosis after my pre-teen growth spurt. One of the exercises was to crouch down on all fours, then stretch out with my arms as far as possible. The therapist would say, "Keep reaching, stretch, stretch. Pretend there's a million dollars within your grasp."

My cats own the laundry room, with their water and food bowls, assorted toys and scratching goodies, but they prefer the dog's dishes. Keep reaching, stretch, stretch...

Sunday, August 06, 2006

I SAID super size

As I was dragging my hungover ass to McDonald's for my MUST HAVE post-drinking lunch*, I stopped at the first window to pay/rummage through my pockets/try to remember what the hell I did with my debit card, when I heard music coming from the car in front of me. Correction: it was so loud, I actually felt the music, throbbing somewhere behind my right temple.

*filet of fish, large fries and a strawberry shake. I don't know if it's the salt, the vegetable lard or the reconstituted strawberries in fake dairy goodness that helps, but it always settles my beer stomach.

The seventeenish year old drive-thru teller nodded her head in the car's direction and told me that the driver was playing that song for her.
I said, "Aw, that's sweet, right?"
She replied, "Very. We hooked up last night, and that's our song."

Romance isn't dead, but you might have to buy a happy-meal to find it.

Saturday, August 05, 2006

Hibisci

Each year, I'm drawn to the big, bold blooms of the hibiscus. I inevitably buy one, plant it, then say my goodbyes in the fall when the cold weather kills it.


Friday, August 04, 2006

Flies on the windscreen

I'm thinking of becoming a professional flight-misser. Yes, this makes the FOURTH flight in a row that I have missed (by ten lousy minutes). When I called my friend to let her know I'd be a few hours late, she told me that she, too, has missed her last four flights! Serendipity, baby.

My slightly gross but perfectly legitimate excuse: I took the kittens outside to play before I left for Tallahassee, when I watched one of the them pooping in my flower garden, like he always does. As I grabbed the scooper, I noticed he had a butt full of long, white worms, squirming and making a break from his Alcatraz (Alcatr-ass?). I had to take him up to the vet, or I figured all nine cats would have them when I returned and that would be far worse to deal with. I was able to catch a later flight, for a slight fee of course.

There was no actual funeral while I was there - there had to be an autopsy since my friend's father fell while in a nursing home and the body hasn't been released yet. Apparently when you go to a nursing home, you sign over your assets, income, pension and everything you own to the blood-sucking bastards. He was there only one week before he died, but they now have everything of monetary value. And? If you don't have life insurance, think about getting some. It's an awful burden to leave on your family if you don't. While I can't say I'm "happy" I went, I feel relieved that I was able to go, mend our friendship and offer some support. It was one of the better decisions I've made.

My friend's entire family welcomed me, even in the midst of their mourning. Death's in German families seem to be similar to those in Irish families, with the addition of Mimosas for breakfast before the beer starts flowing at noon.

Tuesday, August 01, 2006

Hip Hip Hoorah?

How did my 9 feline anarchists celebrate/protest my return home from Milwaukee? With dirt, of course. Lots and lots of dirt.