Solo in the HOV Lane

2006-07-17T06:50:00.000-07:00

*tap tap tap* Is this thing on?

2005-07-10T23:28:00.000-07:00

Quote of the day
Problems are the price of progress. Don't bring me anything but trouble. Good news weakens me.
- Charles F. Kettering. American engineer, inventor of the electric starter, 1876-1958

2005-04-22T07:48:00.000-07:00

On Hiatus

The new job has me swamped. No time to play right now. Love and kisses to all. Back as soon as I can manage it.

Thought du Jour

"I cannot walk through the suburbs in the solitude of the night without thinking that the night pleases us because it suppresses idle details, just as our memory does." - Jorge Luis Borges, writer (1899-1986)

2005-04-07T11:34:00.000-07:00

Road trip!

PU2 and I are heading out of town on a road trip to Colorado today, so I will be out of pocket until Tuesday of next week. Everyone have a great weekend!

2005-04-05T15:36:00.000-07:00

New colors

What does a conscientious employee do when she becomes a short-timer at her old job? Play around with her blog, of course! :-)

2005-04-04T10:45:00.000-07:00

You just never know, when you get up in the morning...

So last Wednesday, after 5:00, I got a call for a job interview. They wanted to see me the next day. Interview Thursday. Job offer Friday. Accepted. Gave two-weeks' notice at present job same day.

So that is what is going on.

You just never know....you get up in the morning thinking it's all going to be the same old same old, and 99.6% of the time it is...and then it's not. Sometimes the "then it's not" is bad. Sometimes good.

Did I make a hasty decision on this new job? Hell yes. Maybe a bad one? I doubt it. It feels right...and it can't be any worse than what I have been doing. Which was better than what I was doing before that (right, Mo?). So step by step, I am improving my situation.

But here's the thing....I don't know what firewall constraints I will have after the new job starts...and I KNOW I won't be having any time....so I may be a bit scarce after April 18. Will you still love me?

2005-04-01T10:32:00.000-08:00

Dear Kat,
Yeah, I know. I'm sorry. It is, in fact, NOT Tuesday any more. Nor it is Thursday. I could tell you how buy I have been. I could tell you how little time I have for blogging. But you wouldn't care. Oh, sure. You would pretend to care....pucker your lips and "tsk tsk" and give me that puppy-dog-eyed sympathy. But all the time, you would be mentally composing your grocery list and trying to remember if you unplugged the iron and wondering why Jessica got voted off "Idol." So I won't even try. Just suffice to say...been DAMN busy.
Happy spring, everyone. That one will last me a bit longer than a "happy Friday" would.

2005-03-29T07:12:00.000-08:00

Thought du Jour

"Being an adult just means you have more settings on your autopilot." - PU2

Do you feel like you are on autopilot? How often and how much? Do you ever move through your life and then realize you can't really remember the last two miles/two hours/two days? How much of our lives are spent as walking zombies?

And a very happy Tuesday to you all! :-)

2005-03-25T12:55:00.000-08:00

I'm just sayin'.....

Fox Executive no. 1: Boy, have you seen what "American Idol" has done for "House"? The numbers are really up. Amazing.
Fox Executive no. 2: Yes, that lead in from "Idol" has been a big boost.
FE1: Wish we could get some sort of lead in like that for the new show, "Life on a Stick."
FE2: No kidding. We need people to see that show.
FE1: Too bad we don't have some sort of "Idol" lead in for it.
FE2: Yeah, that would be great, wouldn't it. If we had it following, say, an "Idol" results show.
FE1: Yeah.
FE2: But the results show will be Wednesday.
FE1: Yeah.
FE2: No way to hold the results show off until Thursday.
FE1: Yeah.
FE2: Unless.......

2005-03-25T12:20:00.000-08:00

The wit and wisdom of my children

When the universe revolves around you, we can talk about you... for now, we're talking about me. - PU1

I'm much better at being pitiful than full of pity. - PU2

2005-03-25T11:48:00.000-08:00

Happy Easter

2005-03-24T07:46:00.000-08:00

Driving

I am not sure what is so difficult about driving in California. I simply don't get it. I can solve all the traffic problems very easily. Everyone should just do as I do. I am the standard. Watch me.

If you are driving faster than I am, you are driving too fast. It's that simple. You should slow down to my speed. Anyone who drives faster than I do is a maniac.

If you are driving slower than I am, you are driving too slow. You must voluntarily get out of my way. I suggest that you assume the velocity and get about six car lengths ahead of me. Better yet, choose another lane.

In fact, everyone should choose another lane. It will be far easier for all of you to see the correct way to drive (by observing me, of course) if you leave me a nice open lane in which to demonstrate.

Now. Wasn't that easy? Have a nice day.

2005-03-24T07:39:00.000-08:00

Thought du Jour
"That's the risk you take if you change: that people you've been involved with won't like the new you. But other people who do will come along." - Lisa Alther

2005-03-22T08:06:00.000-08:00

Thought du Jour
"From the backstabbing co-worker to the meddling sister-in-law, you are in charge of how you react to the people and events in your life. You can either give negativity power over your life or you can choose happiness instead. Take control and choose to focus on what is important in your life. Those who cannot live fully often become destroyers of life." - Anais Nin, American author (1903-1977)

2005-03-17T07:51:00.000-08:00

In other news

I may have critical errors on my computer.
My computer clock may be wrong.
Do I want to contribute to tsunami aid?
Do I want to find an "adult friend" through adult friend finder?
Do I want to find a "senior friend" through senior friend finder?

Why has my popup blocker suddenly stopped working?
And that senior friend finder? That's just rude. Cut that shit out.

2005-03-17T07:45:00.000-08:00

Update

Quoth the Sergeman: "You've been so philosphical lately, Nancy, what's going on? What aren't you telling us? What are you hiding ?!?!"

Yeah, Sergei, I know you were kidding. I know you realize that my Though du Jour is not actually evidence of a philosophical turn but actually me ripping off a daily newsletter that I get from my alma mater. I know you realize that I am incapable of being philosophical for so many days straight. Or hours straight.

The fact of the matter is, things have taken a turn for the worse at my job. Yes, children, I have to tell you--I am actually having to WORK. I know, I know. It is sad indeed. Thank you for your sympathy *pressing handkerchief to cheek*.

I recently had a change in my job duties that basically gave me a second set of responsibilities to juggle with the first set. First set: editing. Second set: marketing. The bottom line...I am very busy.

If anyone would like to start a "Help Nancy retire so she can blog all the time" fund, please feel free to do so. Or at least send chocolate.

Lub and kisses.

2005-03-16T07:16:00.000-08:00

Thought du Jour
"One man with courage is a majority." - Thomas Jefferson

2005-03-15T15:47:00.000-08:00

Palm Springs

----entry deleted for being lame beyond belief----

2005-03-15T07:49:00.000-08:00

Thought du Jour
"My grandfather once told me that there were two kinds of people: those who do the work and those who take the credit. He told me to try to be in the first group; there was much less competition." - Indira Gandhi

2005-03-14T07:23:00.000-08:00

Thought du Jour

"We experience moments absolutely free from worry. These brief respites are called panic." - Cullen Hightower

I'm back and buried at work...more later. Remind me to tell you about getting lost in Palm Springs...repeatedly.

Happy Monday.

2005-03-09T08:42:00.000-08:00

But on second thought...

I was just reading Kat's post on having a bad attitude at work (take a number, babygirl). She catches herself giving her boss the stinkeye and beging short with people on the phone...

It recalled to my mind a conversation I had with Hubcap last night at bedtime. When I came up to go to bed, he was already in bed and watching, I swear to God, Suze Orman (girl, if your name is spelled "suze," people are going to say "sooz." That's just a fact). I caught part of what she was saying about Roth IRAs as I took my bath. But after I got into bed and we turned off the tv, Hubcap was relating an earlier part that I missed. Now, keep in mind, this is repeated thirdhand and was told to me in the dark by a nekkid man, so I may have missed a few salient points....

Apparently, Sooz says, the way to get ahead in your job is this. If everyone else comes in at 8, come in at 7. If they leave at 5, stay late. Don't ask for a raise. Don't ask for a promotion. If you are good, the money will be there. The key to being able to cheerfully work 15-hour days is --- wait for it! --- get a job that you like. Damn. I never thought of that! What a concept. And all along I thought I was supposed to look in the want ads under "drudgery for harmless drones." I am shocked and appalled that, at the age of *mumble mumble* I am finally finding out that I should be working at a job that I like! Damn, what product does this woman sell? I want to by a shitload of it!

Jeez maneez.

2005-03-09T08:29:00.000-08:00

Thought du Jour

"Ah, it's a lovely thing, to know a thing or two." --Moliere

Yeah, I know. I am hiding behind the words of others these days. No spark, no creativity. Don't even have any rants that would be of interest. Blah blah blah. Up work home bed up work home bed up work home bed.

I am going to a conference in Palm Springs tomorrow, so I will be out of the loop for the rest of the week. I know, I know. You will miss me and weep copiously. Try to buck up, little pilgrim.

2005-03-08T07:26:00.000-08:00

Thought du Jour

To jealousy, nothing is more frightful than laughter.

-- Francois Sagan

2005-03-04T07:35:00.000-08:00

Thought du Jour

"To do carefully and constantly and kindly many little things is not a little thing." - Author Unknown

2005-03-02T08:07:00.000-08:00

Mr. Clean

Today's post comes to you courtesy of Hubcap and Mr. Clean. Have you seen the commercial for the new Mr. Clean Magic Reach cleaning device? It is shaped like a flat football and can be used to clean tubs, showers, floors, etc. We were watching the ad for this last night when Hubcap was kind enough to share with me his thoughts on the commercial. I, in turn, am kind enough to share them with you. Ahem.

"See how Mr. Clean gives that cleaning device to that woman? Have you noticed that he never, in any of the ads, gives a cleaning device to a MAN? He just gives it to the woman and stands there and supervises. He's imaginary...but you can't even get an IMAGINARY man to do housework."

-pause-

"I just observe these things. I'm not going to DO anything about it."

I, finding this amusing, suggest to Hubcap that he should write my post for me.

"I don't have time for shit like that! I have housework to do."

-pause as he continues observing Mr. Clean-

"But you have to give him credit. At least he stands there with his arms crossed, being all managerial and shit, not plopping his ass down on the couch like I would."

-further pause as he admires Mr. Clean's approach-

"I might just hire Mr. Clean. He sees a problem and provides a solution. He doesn't just bitch about it the way most men would."

-further pause-

"I wonder who does his laundry."

2005-03-01T07:34:00.000-08:00

Thought du Jour

"The sages do not consider that making no mistakes is a blessing. They believe, rather, that the great virtue of man lies in his ability to correct his mistakes and continually make a new man of himself." - Wang Yang-Ming (1472-1529) Chinese philosopher

2005-02-28T16:18:00.000-08:00

Reasons why I have come to love my name

When I was in high school, I, like many other girls, hated my name. It was too bouncy, too perky, to “y”y (pronounced eee-eee). I grew up in an age of Beckys and Cindys and Connies and Debbies and a million other “y” names. I was just another “y.” Besides which, I wasn’t the only Nancy. Even though mine was a small class, there was another Nancy. We were Nancy North and Nancy South. I wished I were a Katherine, an Elizabeth. Something with some dignity, for God’s sake!

But I find, at the ripe old age of *mumble mumble* (It’s there in the side bar, do the math) that I actually like my name. And here is why.

I like Nancy because

1. She is a survivor.
2. She is someone on whom I have always been able to rely.
3. She has a great sense of humor.
4. She is a good mother, daughter, maybe even wife.
5. She is strong. VERY strong.
6. She is capable.
7. She is intelligent. Well, for the most part. :O)
8. She is reliable.
9. She is well organized.
10. She has great attention to detail.
11. She is a fairly neat person without being a neat freak.
12. She is willing to admit she is wrong. Often.
13. She is willing to change.
14. She is fairly low maintenance.
15. She is irreverent and scatological.
16. She is someone I would choose to be my friend.

2005-02-28T14:20:00.000-08:00

That guy

I just got an assignment from my boss that is the equivalent of "Nancy, contact that guy about that thing. He works at that place? He's the one that did that thing? Yeah, contact that guy. And then there are some other guys, too. Contact them. And get some information from them."

That is about the level of direction I expect here. The communication is abysmal. Staff meetings are called about three minutes ahead of time....and my boss comes in, flopping down in a chair, holding her head and complaining about how tired she is and how she can't think. Pretend, woman. Freakin' preTEND that you have some level of professionalism! Or else, keep it a secret. But please, do NOT call me away from my important work (like writing for this blog) to tell me you can't think. I have a mother who will do that for me in my spare time.

And then D., another woman in my department, mumbles something into her hair.

And then Boss, apparently able to translate hair mumbling, agrees.

D: "mumblemumblemumblegigglegigglemumble."
B: "I just can't get organized."
D: "mumblegigglecomplaincomplainmumble."
B: "I don't know what's wrong with me.

The other Nancy and I, pens poised to take notes, are mystified. Why are we here? And, a better question, when will the higher ups figure out that the department is .... well, never mind.

2005-02-28T08:14:00.000-08:00

Thought for the day

"Don't be afraid to take a big step. You can't cross a chasm in two small jumps." - David Lloyd George

2005-02-25T07:36:00.000-08:00

Thought for the day

"Politeness is the art of selecting among one's real thoughts." - Madame de Stael

I love this one. Apparently Madame de Stael is familiar with my inner monologue!

2005-02-24T08:32:00.000-08:00

Work

Although I have many (fully justified) complaints about my current job, there are at least two things about it that are better than any other place I have ever worked.

1. The supply closet. Sometimes I just stand there in awe and gaze at it. It is like a mini-Staples, a monument to organization and plentitude. It is greatly unlike my most recent job ("Pencil? What do you mean you need a pencil??? We gave you a pencil LAST month!"). My old boss (please, I am telling the truth here) went through people's trash cans and retrieved thrown-away pencil stubs and made the employees continue to use them (Mo, back me up here). There, the "supply closet" was two shelves of a small bookcase. Here, the supply closet is five floor-to-ceiling shelves bulging...and a Staples catalog ever at the ready. And this for a company of fewer than 40 people! I love it. A conversation from yesterday:
"I can't find the router for the computers"
"I have one here, but it's not really very good. I had to tape the connector together. Let's go buy another one."
"Good idea."
Love it.

2. The kitchen. Again, keep in mind, fewer than 40 people here. Two full-size refrigerators - one for employee's lunches, etc., the other for the food the office buys for all to share. Yes. THEY buy US food to share. I never ever, since I worked for my mom and dad, had anything like that. And what do they buy? In the refrigerator, bins full of apples and oranges, three kinds of juice, milk (lactaid and regular), carrots, condiments, butter, cream cheese...in the cabinets, coffee, tea, hot choc mix, cereal, almonds, walnuts, twizzlers for God's sake!, bagels, bananas, oatmeal, pretzels, I can't even think what all. It is the most amazing thing. At my previous job, we had one small refrigerator (with NOTHING for sharing)...and an honor-box of treats to buy (with periodic reminders to pay up or lose the privilege). That boss didn't like his employees eating on the job at all. He would prefer that we "eat your breakfast at home before you come in here! This isn't a restaurant!"

Ah, me. There are definitely some perks about this job. I am glad I took a bit of time to think about this today. It's easy to forget how bad things were at that last job. No place is perfect, ever....it's all relative.

2005-02-22T07:54:00.000-08:00

Symptoms
She describes her symptoms as lovingly as one would describe a much-loved pet...over and over and over, the same story. There is a gleam in her eye...a satisfaction. She displays the red rash on her limbs, invites me into the bathroom to see that it is all over her. She is clearly delighted that something is wrong with her that everyone can see, that is real and tangible.
"I am broken out down in my stomach and my intestines. The bottoms of my feet are swollen round. I am broken out under my hair, my scalp hurts."
I do not understand the delight she is taking in this. I am repelled, totally repelled. It is all I can do to hold still.
She shivers. She refuses my offer of a jacket. She eats her chocolate pudding with wildly shaking hands. She refuses my offer of a jacket. She shivers in her chair. She refuses my offer of a jacket. My tongue is beginning to ache from my having to bite it. But it is far more dramatic to sit and shiver than it is to put on a jacket.
"I am broken out down in my stomach and my intestines. The bottoms of my feet are swollen round. I am broken out under my hair, my scalp hurts." She shows me her arms again, her legs. She scratches for effect. She shivers.
I can do this. I check the clock to see how much longer I have to stay. I think about how much I love my father. He is so concerned about her...sending her sympathetic looks, asking her again and again how he can help her, forgetting that he just asked the question five minutes before.
I ask her if she wants to go to the doctor tomorrow. A torrent of words follows, none of which answer the question.
I ask her if she wants to go to the doctor tomorrow. Another torrent of words, no answer.
I ask her again. I finally force her to answer. The torrent of words, I discover, was supposed to convey that she can't get in to see the doctor she needs to see on short notice, and she doesn't want to see the doctor she saw before. The one who said that the cortisone shot she requested wouldn't do any good (but gave it to her anyway) and prescribed a medicine for her that she didn't think she could take (so she didn't).
"I am broken out down in my stomach and my intestines. The bottoms of my feet are swollen round. I am broken out under my hair, my scalp hurts."
I check the clock.
The day before, when I took her to the "this shot won't do any good" doctor, was one of the toughest days of my entire life. Sitting in the doctor's office with her, I repeated the Lord's Prayer over and over and over and over in my mind just to keep from screaming out loud. After I dropped her off and fled toward the safety of my own home, I DID scream. For 15 miles in the car. Then went home and cried for an hour. But then, I had been out of prozac for a week, so it was my fault. I doubled the prozac.
My dad shrugged off have a shoulder broken in three places. My mom is incapacitated by a rash. God help me.

2005-02-18T08:22:00.000-08:00

Lugnuts II: The saga continues

So the lugnuts didn't fit. Who knew that lugnuts could not fit? One would assume that a lugnut is a lugnut. But no.

To backtrack. PU2's dad in Arkansas sent her new wheels and tires for her truck. The tires came UPS. The lugnuts and wheel covers came via PU2's suitcase after her most recent trip to visit her dad.

Yesterday we took the truck to the Goodyear dealer to have the wheels mounted and balanced. No biggie, right? Left a bagful of lugnuts.

Wrong lugnuts. They were too big.

Dennis, the Goodyear man, called PU2 on her cell phone to break the bad news to her. She needed, he informed her, ACORN lugnuts. Did she have any? Could she get any? Yeah, right. She's a 16-year-old girl sitting in her room with no freaking truck, but, hey, she just happens to have some acorn lugnuts here in her jewelry box! Pardon me, sir...have you any acorn lugnuts? No, no...not grey poupon...lugnuts!

No matter. Dennis the Goodyear guy ordered the acorn lugnuts and did all the other work that he discovered needed to be done, to the tune of almost $600. New shocks were only part of the to-do list. Did you know that shocks could leak? Boy, am I ever learning a lot....leaking shocks, acorn lugnuts....

But no matter. Today PU2 picked up the truck (by the way, the truck is named Laylah), and Laylah looks PIMP! So all's well that ends well.

Laylah's new shoekies.

As for the question "What are lugnuts?" (because SOLO in the HOV lane is a full-service educational site)....THESE are lugnuts, numbered in the order in which you are supposed to loosen or tighten them when you change your tire.

I know, I know. For many of you "changing a tire" means scrolling to AAA on your cell phone. I understand. :-)

2005-02-17T14:53:00.000-08:00

Close call

I just wrote a long, preachy blog entry about love and valentine's day...and then killed it. You may thank me now.

2005-02-17T10:10:00.000-08:00

The more things change

When I was a child (and textbooks were chiseled in stone), the name of the planet Uranis was pronounced YOUR-uh-nuss. When was it decided, and by whom, that it should be pronounced your-ANus? I didn't get that memo. But lookie here, everywhere it is YourANus.

Maybe it's a southern thing. Or an Arkansas thing. Maybe everywhere else in the world it has always been YourANus. Someone really should have let us know in Arkansas.

Venue. I never heard the word "venue," as in "location," until the 1984 Olympics. Suddenly it was venue this, venue that. The swimming venue. The gymnastics venue. Another memo? Pardon me...I must go to my work venue...

Vendor. Same thing. Salesman? Sales rep? No. Vendor. Now keep in mind, I was born and bred in the hometown of WalMart, so if anyone should have heard of vendors, it should have been me. And when I did, it was WalMart that introduced me to the word. But why? When? [BTW, the first words that Bentonville, Arkansas, babies say is "Attention WalMart shoppers...."]

But a more sobering thought....what new words have been introduced that the rest of the world knows about that I don't yet know about? *shiver* I mean, I am in Cali now, so surely I am higher on the memo distribution list than I was when I was in Arkansas....but still....

2005-02-16T09:23:00.000-08:00

Scrubs

I have been a BIG fan of Scrubs since day one, and it is still, IMHO, the funniest comedy on tv. But if they EVER do another "JD's sitcom fantasy" sequence," I am going to start watching the WB. It just points out how different Scrubs is from the standard canned-laughter sitcom when you see a sequence like that. Ack. But, as Hubcap pointed out, at least Elliott has a great rack....

2005-02-11T15:27:00.000-08:00

Lugnuts

PU2 visited her dad in Arkansas this past weekend. When one's teenage daughter visits the absent parent, one might expect that she would come home with a suitcase full of teddy bears or CD's or the like. Not PU2. No, ma'am. She came back with an industrial-strength baggie full of locking lugnuts and four wheel covers. In her suitcase. I bet the baggage handler at the x-ray machine got a kick out of that..."Earl! Come take a look at THIS! What the hell IS that?"

A couple of weeks before she went to visit her dad, he sent her one wheel via UPS. Her truck (which he provided when she turned sixteen last September) has new tires on it, but he thought she might need to pimp it up a bit. So he sent a wheel for her to "try on" and see if she liked it. Hubcap, PU2 and I hauled out the floor jack to "try it on" and found out that when you replace a 15-incher with a 20-incher, the floor jack isn't really tall enough. No matter. We leaned it in place well enough for her to see how it looked. It met with her approval. The other three will be arriving this week.

I like all of this on many different levels. First of all, I like that PU2 is a smart, capable, responsible person who takes excellent care of her truck and is very hands on with it. I don't want no girlie-girl daughter, thank you very much! I never was one, and I don't want to spawn one. Well, a little bit girlie-girl in some ways, maybe. Her main Christmas presents from me were a jewelry box and a tool set (complete with socket set, hell YEAH). But she is a no-nonsense, take-care-of-herself, strong person. I admire that immensely.

Second, I like that her dad is taking care of her in the automotive department and taking an active, on-going interest in helping her maintain the truck. Good man.

Third, I like it that my "baby" is now driving age. I am not one of those "oh, dear, my baby is all grown up *wringing hands*" moms. I have enjoyed every step of PU2's maturing process, and though I do remember with great fondness the beautiful little blonde babygirl she was, I adore the beautiful young woman she has become even more. I have the greatest admiration for her.

So here's to lugnuts. Babygirl, you are the best!

2005-02-10T14:14:00.000-08:00

You can't make me

I refuse to work today. One has to have standards, boundaries. I worked yesterday. I will work tomorrow. Hell, I even have to work Saturday, for God's own sake. But today, I am staging a sit-in at my desk.

I have been catching up on blog reading, exchanging nonsense emails with friends from the "Carnivale" boards, looking at the photoshop threads on Fark.com...anything to keep from actually accomplishing anything. I don't want to brag, but I am doing a VERY good job.

I look at it this way. Yesterday I took BOTH my parents to the doctor. At one time. It involved a wheel chair and a walker and a caregiver and me....and a 30-minute drive one way. And it involved a 45-minute "complete physical" for CrankyMom, an exam I sat in on. I think I deserve a day off. In fact, I may be too traumatized to work for some time to come.

I think I am going to buy myself some long-term-care insurance.

2005-02-07T10:37:00.000-08:00

*growl*

Do you know what happens when you come in to work at 6 a.m.? Your tummy thinks it is lunchtime at 10:30. I don't think I will argue with it. It has no clock, no watch. How can it be expected to understand?

Had a weekend getaway with Hubcap this past weekend. To say it was welcome and needed is an understatement. And the closest I will get to a Sergei-like post is to say that I need a chiropractor or SOMEthing for my back. Ai chihuahua. But it was worth it.

My comments on the Superbowl.
Way to go Eagles. You gave them a run for it. I do love a good even game.
Way to go Pats. Dynasty time.
Brad Pitt in a beer commercial? WTF? Why? The guy gets a bazillion dollars a movie and he is doing commercials???????????
Budweiser commercials rock. Love the donkey.
Howie Long. That guy is handsome.
Paul McCartney. Well done, Sir Paul. Nice show. Nice ribbon graphics thingies too. Very Fremont Street Experience. You may have aged a bit in the face, but the voice is the same. I hardly missed the boobies.
The digital camera/MP3 player combo by Olympus. You scored one sale--my son, PU1.
Of course, I missed an hour of the game, turning to HBO east to watch Carnivale. Priorities, kiddies. Priorities.

2005-02-04T13:48:00.000-08:00

Rice: Attack on Iran 'not on the agenda'

Does anyone find this to be so blase as to be offensive? Let's see. What's on my agenda for today. Stop by the dry cleaners. Arrange for dog boarding. Attack Iran. No, wait. Strike that. That's not on the agenda

Sheesh.

2005-02-03T07:25:00.000-08:00

Thought du Jour

"The unexamined life is not worth living." - Socrates

I would argue with this. I would say "the unexamined life is all I have the energy to live." Let someone who is younger and has more energy examine his life. I am content right now to be able to make it through the day and hit the pillow still in one piece.

Examining one's life is a function of age, and it is inversely proportional. The older one gets, the less one examines and "feels." I think about the days when I used to write poetry, deep, thoughtful, feeling poetry. I can barely even recall those feelings. It all seems pretty silly now. I should have been living life, not examining it, not analyzing it.

Ah, well. I sound like Kathy Bates in (I think it was) Fried Green Tomatoes..."I'm older, and I have better insurance."

2005-02-01T16:27:00.000-08:00

Shame

I'm a terrible blogger. I swear, I am so substandard. I can barely manage a post a week. Drivel, nonsense, and chaff, oh my!

Let's see.

Hubcap is away on a business trip for the week. We have plans for a "getaway" next weekend, our first extended time alone, just the two of us, in some time. I have been spending a lot of my "free" time with my mom and dad (dad is still recuperating), and Hubcap is missing me. It's nice to be missed. It's great that he cares enough to miss me. And it's going to be terrific to get a couple of days and a night away to reconnect. My brother is coming in to do parental duty. Thanks, Bubba. You are saving my ass.

PU2 has finished up the semester with a bang...racking up credits like crazy. At this rate, she will be graduating early. Way to go, kiddo....

Work sucks. A lot. I have applied for something else. Please to send good thoughts my way about that....

Ummmm...."Carnivale" is back on, thank God. Love that weirdass show. My Jeep is going in for saftey recall-related work tomorrow.

That's it. That's all I have.

2005-01-24T08:00:00.000-08:00

I see how it is

You don't know what to say when I am serious. Understandable. It happens so seldom. We now return to our regularly scheduled idiocy.

Pisser, what the hell happened to your page?

Sergei, dent in the PLASTER???? Holy hell, man....

Monique, where the hell are you, girl? I miss ya.

2005-01-20T13:26:00.000-08:00

Vignette

She was born in the 1930s in a small, rural town. She was smart...smarter than a small-town Arkansas girl should be. Too smart for her own good. The 1950s wasn't a place for smart girls. She was talented too. She had a lovely singing voice. She had learned all that the small-town piano teachers had to teach her and hungered for more. She was drum majorette. She loved chemistry and thought about being a chemical engineer. She thought about escaping small-town Arkansas. She thought about moving to New Orleans.

But that wasn't what was in store for her. Not in 1951, when she graduated from high school. She was valedictorian. It wasn't far to the University of Arkansas. But it was a trip she couldn't make. She would never make it.

She loved him. Even before they were officially introduced, she loved him, and she wanted to be his wife. That was the path that was logical. Be his wife, have his kids, keep the house. Her mom had done it. Her grandmother. The women before that. If they had entertained other options, she didn't know it.

But she loved him. She loved him with a love that would last for the rest of her life, and he loved her the same way. He thought about getting out too. He had a football scholarship. He went to college for one year, a pharmacy major. But he didn't go back for a second year. What options did he see that he had? What did he consider and discard?

They married.

He was the tall, handsome football player. She was the tiny, lovely egghead. They were the archetypal small-town 1950s couple. Not enough education to ever live comfortably, too much pride to admit that they might have made a hasty choice. No matter. Their kids would live better. Their kids would get that education. Their kids would get OUT.

Two years later, a daughter. Five years after that, a son. They never had anything. But no one in that town ever had anything, so it wasn't really a problem. They read extensivly, talked about any- and everything. They introduced their children to a wide range of ideas. They pushed for good grades. They never accepted any alternative for their children except that they would go to college.

Always, always, she told her children, "Get a good education and get out of here." There was more than a hint of despair in the words, more than a hint of regret.

2005-01-17T09:40:00.000-08:00

Come Saturday Morning

The Greatest Father in the World is at home, recovering from his broken shoulder. Unfortunately, without the use of this right hand (immobilized so the shoulder can heal), he can't get up or down by himself. And because of his extreme dizziness he couldn't walk by himself if he COULD get up. And because of his come-and-go mental confusion, he really can't get along without someone keeping an eye on him most of the time. My tiny little mom (seriously, not even 100 pounds), who is bent like a question mark by RA and has toes that go east-west when her foot goes north-south, can't help him at all. He's a former football center---over six feet tall, 216 pounds.

So I go down every morning to help him get out of bed and am there for dinner and to put him to bed every night. On work days a caregiver named Robert comes while I am at work. But Robert couldn't work on the weekend, so we asked the care agency to send someone else. Thus began the revolving door of weekend caregivers....

First there was Leo. If you know the comedian Ant, make him Filipino and put about 60 pounds on him and be sure that he is no more than 5 feet tall, and you have Leo. The minute he walked in the door, I knew we were in trouble. Leo would barely be big enough to be a fulcrum. No way he was going to be able to help dad up. And loud, dramatic, flourishy, fidgity. I am thinking "All hopes of a Saturday off to get my housework done are out the window!" But maybe. We decided to give him a shot, see how he did. He had been there no more than 20 minutes when he declared himself to be bored (we are supposed to be entertaining this guy?).

The first time Dad had to get up, I stood by and watched to see how Leo did. I had talked Leo through the process and demonstrated how to do it. Dad has to stand up and then stand there for a while until his knees straighten out. And he must be supported at all times, because of the dizziness. And he has only his left arm to hold on to. It's a challenge, I know. But if I can handle it....

At any rate, Leo used all of his ant+60 pounds of weight to tug on Dad, but he was pulling down, not lifting up...and dad started rotating around like a door on a pivot. Dad was saying, in panic, "Don't push me, don't push me!" I grabbed him...moved Leo out of the way. Helped Dad sit back down.

Then I fired someone for the first time in my life. He was out the door.

A couple of hours later Earl came. Nice man, very good with Dad. Taller, stronger...able to lift UP not pull forward. OK. This is good. I left for about an hour. Great, I am thinking. He will be back Sunday.

No, he won't. About an hour after Earl left, the agency called. Earl is asthmatic. Can't take the smoke. Charlie will be there tomorrow.

Sigh.

Sunday. Got Dad up and going....Charlie came on time and was tall, even taller than I am. Strong. Pleasant. Score!!! I got to take off from 10 until 3, vaccuum, have a great lunch with PU2, take a nap with Hubcap. A nap! OMG, is there anything more wonderful?

Robert is back today...and I think he will be able to work this weekend too. I was delighted to see him.

2005-01-12T10:48:00.000-08:00

Absence

"The Greatest Dad in the World" took a header in the bathroom this past weekend and broke his shoulder, so I have been (and will continue to be) a bit scarce. He is basically fine, but he can't get up and down by himself at all (his right arm is immobilized, and he is, of course, right handed), so he needs help any time he has to change locations. And as he is 6 feet tall and over 200 pounds (former football center) and my mom is barely 5 feet and 90-something pounds, she can't do a thing to help him. She's even too damn boney to be a good fall cushion. But no problem. I am an EXCELLENT fall cushion. :-)

More later.

P.S. Pisser, I am feeling you on the hospital stuff. Been there myself. We just needed to get your grandpa and my dad in the same hospital. At least we could have entertained ourselves by stealing scrubs and oggling the cute doctors.

P.P.S. By the way, the weather has been so bad here lately that California drivers have actually been driving the speed limit for a change! But the sun is out today...nice weather for the first time in over two weeks. *singing* they say it never rains in Southern California........

2005-01-07T13:49:00.000-08:00

FWD>>Rant

Please don't put me on your mass distribution list. Please don't forward your cute, sentimental, patriotic, cautionary emails to me. If I see emails from you with FWD in the subject line, and there are four or six of them in one day, chances are good that I am not going to bother reading even one of them. If you see something that you know I am interested in, or that is likely to be of help to me, by all means forward it. But four? SIX? I don't think so. There is not a day that goes by that four or six random email threads are likely to pertain to me. Chances are very good that I have read anything you might send me before. It has probably been debunked on Snopes and ridiculed on Fark and circulated ad nauseum for weeks.

Please don't ask me "not to break the chain." I guarandamntee you I will break the chain. You can count on it. I may be a bit shakey in my personal belief system, but I am willing to bet, and bet big, that one does not bring disaster down on one's self by failing to forward an email. Christ on a cracker.

If you have my email address and you would like to actually converse with me, excellent. But if I am just another addy between the commas of your group, no thanks. I don't see a lot of difference between that and spam. Actually, spam is better. I might actually want to BUY some of that stuff.

Note: this is not directed at anyone at all who reads this blog, or is likely to read this blog. Bloggers are a far more sophisticated group than that. It is a random rant occasioned by a long-time friend of mine, someone I recently reconnected with and had hoped to get to know again. But all I have gotten has been recycled garbage. Get an original thought, man!

--end rant--

2005-01-03T07:51:00.000-08:00

Happy New Year

The Weather Channel has been repaired. My life resumes. Hope all is well with everyone out there.

Oh. And two more things. I would like to post my public thanks to Hubcap for being not only a great cook but also ENJOYING cooking (which I don't). He cooked both leg of lamb AND prime rib this weekend. I am so freaking spoiled it's not even funny. Thanks, HC!

And thanks to both HC and PU2 for all the hard work over the long weekend. The remodel is done, the rooms are moved around and redecorated (except for PU2's light kit for her fan---why the hell don't those things just WORK, already?), and I was as happy as a pig in slop.

2004-12-29T08:37:00.000-08:00

Alert II

If you need me, I'll be in Tahiti.

Ann

2004-12-28T14:11:00.000-08:00

Alert

If the SBC Home Entertainment repairman doesn't get CrankyMom's Weather Channel fixed before 6 p.m. today (as promised), you will never hear from me again, as I will have entered the witness protection program, moved to Tahiti under an assumed name (I am thinking about Ann Richardson) and left no forwarding address.

Apparently six days without TWC is a sufficient cause for multiple psychoses, gout, hangnails, swollen glands, fire ants, black mold, poltergeist, and who knows what.

UPDATE: 3:00 p.m. The repairman is there. God help us all. Maybe he can get it fixed.

2004-12-27T08:01:00.000-08:00

Holidays

A belated Merry Christmas to all! I didn't post over the holiday weekend....I was too busy painting and practicing my carving arts on my left ring finger with a craft knife. And then painting some more wearing a latex glove to protect the stitches. Mind memo: Craft knife=sharp. Nancy=stupid. But PU2's room is THIS CLOSE to being done, and the carpet comes Thursday.

Hubcap ordered a hoity-toity Wolfgang Puck cookware set with some Christmas cash, and we bought a pot rack for it yesterday. Last night was a challenge as PU2 and I stood on the island and tried to find studs (joists) in the ceiling to hang this hungarian torture device from. Mind memo: my studfinder=POS. But the rack is up, and the cookware looks GOOD. Did I mention that Hubcap is a good cook and enjoys doing it? Yeah, I don't get it either, but he does. Thanks, Hubcap.

I spent my Christmas cash on new cushions for the patio furniture. Of course, I didn't actually PUT them on the furniture, as it is supposed to rain. For days. Inches of it. Stupid weather.

CrankyMom and BestDadintheWorld came over for Christmas Eve and then we took Christmas dinner to them. It was all pretty good. No good CrankyMom stories to tell. Oh, well, one. She was (and is) terribly upset that The Weather Channel has quit working on her tv. It is a matter of national emergency. We are at DefCon 4.

Love you all!

2004-12-20T08:05:00.000-08:00

Remodel

Well, the remodel is mostly done. We had burlydudes come demo a wall and move it out 4 feet to give PU2 a bigger room (she seemed to think the current postage-stamp-sized death coccoon was too small for some reason). It was a hoot eavesdropping on the burlydudes as they worked. The burlyboss, Mark, came in two or three times a day to bust chops and yell, then left (seagull manager). Sample burlyboss diatribe:

"What is this? What the HELL? This was right when I LEFT this morning! What the hell did you DO? Pedro, what did you DO? Izzy, what is the MATTER with you. You are killing me here. I am dying here. Do you want me to draw you a picture? Where the hell is a pencil. I am dying here."

At any rate, the wall is moved.

PU2 and I took over yesterday and did the painting in her room. She chose a terrific dark federal blue that looks simply gorgeous on someone's foot after that someone has stepped, barefoot, into the paint pan. Pictures below. I am delighted to report that the carpet was going to be replaced anyway. Did I mention that PU2's toenails now look at bit...cyanotic? But only on one foot.

Did I mention that I HATE to paint? I mean, even when it DOESN'T involve cleaning paint from between my daughter's toes. That's a lie. I didn't touch her foot. I gave her an Ace Hardware bag to stick her foot in and told her to hobble off to the shower.

So now we have to paint the ceiling and baseboards and see how much damage we can do while doing so. Oh, and then paint the room on the other side of the new wall that is now four feet smaller. And, of course, new paint upstairs makes the rest of the house look dingy, and you can see where this is going.

But on the plus side, the room is looking great.

2004-12-09T08:00:00.000-08:00

Childhood memories

Sergei got me started thinking about the memories that our kids take away from their childhoods.

When PU1 and PU2 were small, I was always mindful of the memories I was creating. I would work on a special Halloween costume (PU1 was a teenage mutant ninja turtle in a unique, hand-made, really-you-had-to-see-it-it-was-great costume) or a special birthday party (eight eight-year-old girls making puff-paint tee shirts in the living room). I once planned a field trip a day for a week (during summer vacation) to places like the fire station (Sparky did tricks for my two kids alone) and the newspaper (what kid doesn't want to see a huge printing press?). Are these the things that my kids remember? Hell no. Not even. If you ask them about their fondest childhood memories, these things wouldn't even come up.

I can't speak for PU1 (he isn't answering his cell right now, so I will ask him later)....but I know that one of PU2's favorite memories was this one. She was recovering from the chicken pox, so I was home with her. She was about three or four, I guess. Our house was next to a creek (actually a drainage ditch, but we called it a creek), and a very heavy rain had resulted in the flooding of part of our yard. I put PU2 on my shoulders and went out in the drizzle to see the flood, walking in ankle-deep water to watch the debris flowing by in the flood water.

My point? You can't possibly control what your kids are going to think of as memory-worthy. But I would bet you good money that Sergei's kids will remember forever more the fun they had dancing to their parents' CDs in the living room after dinner. And years from now, they will tell THEIR kids about it...and try to recreate that experience for them (probably failing miserably, because it just doesn't work like that :-)

2004-12-03T08:41:00.000-08:00

The Return of CrankyMom

Reasons why the latest caregiver, Susan, didn't work out well for CrankyMom.

1. She dusted the furniture with a wet paper towel (antique wood furniture, not sealed. A BIG no-no) and wouldn't stop when mom told her to.
2. She picked up trinkets to dust under them and put them back on other pieces of furniture (did I mention my mom is OCD?)
3. Mom told her to back out to the left and she backed out to the right.
4. Mom told her to get in the left lane and she got in the right lane.
5. She piled all her belongings on mom's kitchen cabinet (see no. 2, parenthetical).
6. She stood in the kitchen and talked on her cell phone most of the afternoon.
7. She wouldn't leave when mom told her to leave.
8. She couldn't figure out how to use the call-in box on the gate to get in the gated community (maybe that should have been number one. Hmmmmm...)
9. She couldn't figure out how to use the vacuum cleaner.
10. She lectured Mom and Dad about smoking. Oh, yeah. She did. She's lucky she left alive.
11. My poor dad took refuge from her by sitting on the patio until icicles began to form on his extremities.

Actually, you know....I would be cranky too. It's tough when you have a caregiver only two afternoons a week. You can't get any continuity. You just get who they have to send you. Sometimes they are great, sometimes they are Susan.

*sigh*

2004-11-30T08:09:00.000-08:00

A dearth of material

I have to say, there's not much foolishness going on in my life right now. Thus, there's not much for me to blog about.

CrankyMom, either due to improved nutrition since her move west or due to increased attention from her eldest and favorite child, is doing much better and hasn't been cranky at all lately. She's giving me nothing to work with here, people. I could tell you about the drapes from hell that PU2 and I have worked on no fewer than five times but that still do not operate properly, but it's too dull to contemplate.

The Greatest Father in the World is as wonderful as ever. He gives me great material, having a world-class sense of humor...but I find that it is one of those "you had to be there" kind of things.

Thanksgiving went well. No dropped turkeys, no forgotten cranberry sauce, no fat, humping, slobbering dogs (well, okay, CJ was there, but he doesn't count), no redneck, hunting-obsessed cousins (see The Pissed Kitty for more on those topics). It was a pleasant meal, much laughter....

The tree is up and decorated, the lights are up outside....I have begun my Christmas shopping. I don't know. If I had a duller life, I think I would be comatose.

2004-11-24T13:12:00.000-08:00

The Stuffing Talk

Like many families, my family has many traditions regarding Thanksgiving. Things have been done a certain way since my great-grandmother, maybe even before. When I was a young married woman, I started taking notes as my grandmother and mother made TG dinner. My notes became a booklet, a how-to guide that I followed when I took over the meal a few years later. TG has been my holiday since then, and always I have followed "the book."

One of the most complicated parts of the book is the dressing. I won't go into boring details about it here, but much chopping is involved, as well as pre-baking of cornbread and pre-drying of white bread and the use of fresh, grown-in-one's-own-garden sage. Altogether, it adds at least 2 hours to the process of preparing the meal. The turkey has to go into the oven after the turkey comes out, which means that tom gets wrapped in foil and buried under kitchen towels to stay hot in the meantime (one glorious TG, but only one, I actually had two ovens *sigh*).

The TG after that glorious two-oven TG, we moved to California. That was 2001. The next TG that came around, my husband confessed to me that he didn't care for the family dressing and would prefer StoveTop. PU2 said she preferred StoveTop as well. I preferred saving the 2 hours of doing the family dressing all by myself for people who didn't give a crap about it, so we dropped it. Problem solved. Happy family.

But this year, mom and dad are out here, and TG will be for ALL of us again. Thus arose the Stuffing Crisis. Do I go back to the family style, which I know is what my mother prefers but adds time and pain to the process? And, remember, neither Hubcap nor PU2 likes it, so that's like saying, "Nanny nanny boo boo, my mom is more important than you are!" Or do I do StoveTop, which my mom, with her million allergies can't eat, which is like saying "Nanny nanny boo boo, you aren't important!" Wringing of hands. Searching of conscience. I decided that I had to have The Stuffing Talk with my mother. There was no way around it.

I put it off for several days....looking for the right moment. She has been in such a good mood lately. I am afraid The Stuffing Talk will send her into a spiral. Finally, it can't be delayed any longer. We were in the car, on our way to some umimportant place. Me driving. Mom in back. (Dad always rides in front.)

I carefully explain the situation, couching it in language such as "this will be easier for you, it's hard for you to stand and chop and such...blah blah blah." Would it be all right, I ask (beg?) if we DON'T do the family stuffing? I hold my breath.

"Sure, I don't care. I never ate it anyway. I just made it for you kids."

"What the...what?"

"I just ate a bit of the crust. Never really cared for it that much."

OMG.

2004-11-23T11:38:00.000-08:00

Given the title of this blog...

I HAD to link to this.

2004-11-23T07:36:00.000-08:00

The Fire Department

My father, aka "the greatest father in the world," was on the fire department all of my young life. In my small town (now not so small) when I was a kid, the fire department was all volunteer. No one lived at the station. The trucks were locked up there, and when an alarm was called in, someone who lived nearby would hurry there, jump in the truck, and roar off. The volunteers, who lived all over town, were alerted by a "squawk box" radio. There were two companies, A and B. Both companies responded to fires in town; only one company (and it rotated between the two) responded to country fires. The squawk box sat on the top of the kitchen cabinets in our house.

I grew up listening for (and loving, I might add) the sound of that squawk box. The fire department was like a reality-tv interactive drama in which I took part. If Dad left for the house for a fire, I didn't get to go with him. But if we were out in the car as a family when an alarm went off, we ALL went. So a trip to a local restaurant might turn into a race to a house fire. Or a quick grocery run might turn into a grocery store fire. It was just the best. (My apologies to those whose belongings were destroyed in my reality drama; as a child, I didn't think that way. I just liked the adrenalin rush.)

When I was about 12 years old, my mom and dad remodeled the upstairs of our huge old house, adding heat up there and making bedrooms for my brother and me. All of our furniture was carried out on the porch and painted, pink for me, turquoise for my brother. The plaster and lathing was removed and shoveled down a shute into a truck, and sheetrock went up.

One night Mom and Dad were upstairs sanding the floor in my room with a floor sander. I was downstairs getting something to eat. Over my head, the squawk box screeched the two alarms that indicated a run in town.

"Attention all firemen. Attention all firemen. We have a house fire reported at 601 N.W. B. That is a house fire at 601 N.W. B." I walked to the bottom of the stairs, a bit stunned. Dad called down...

"Where did they say it was, Nancy?"
A puzzled moment of silence. "Here."
"What???"
"They said it was here."

We could hear the sirens...the truck was about three blocks away. Then my mom realized that all that newly painted furniture was out on the front porch. She streaked past me like a mad woman, running out on the porch just as the truck pulled up, prepared to sacrifice her (extremely small) body to prevent damage to the paint job.

Apparently, someone had seen the bright lights in the upstairs window, coupled with the dust from the sander and thought out house was on fire. It was most entertaining for the firement to be called to a "fire" at our house.

My dad went on to become fire chief of the department, as had been my grandfather and my great-grandfather. He was the first fulltime paid chief after the department went fulltime, no longer volunteer. I loved those guys, each and every one of them. I even dated a fireman later in life---who might have become the fourth chief in the family. And I still get a bad case of the "wanna goes" when I hear sirens.

Remind me to tell you about the grocery store fire...and the rice hulls fire...and the big hotel fire downtown. Come to think of it, my life has been anchored by fires. "Oh, yes, that happened just before the Massey fire, but after the Hunt fire." Gotta love it.

2004-11-22T15:59:00.000-08:00

The David Copperfield Mountains

To the north of where I live (north being relative in this state) are the San Bernardino Mountains and the San Gabriel Mountains. They are not more than 50 miles away, at their closest point, but they are invisible for much of the year because of air quality issues. Sometimes I get a glimpse of them during the summer. But most of the time, if they are going to be visible, it is in the winter.

And when they appear, it is startling. It really is as if they were beamed in overnight or magically appeared. Where one day there are foothills with nothing behind them at all, the next day there are these craggy mountains.

And it is even more amazing when there is snow. That is the case now. We had a humdinger of a storm over the weekend in SoCal....an actualy thunderstorm, with lightning and thunder that was near Arkansas quality and wind that was as good as the best Arkansas straight-line wind. Trees were laid over all around us (one into a house, with the occupants inside), and the temperature dropped to the point that the wind chill in Irvine was in the 30s...and the snow level was under 3,000 feet. There is even some snow on Saddleback today, the first time I have seen that in my three-plus years here.

But that is nothing compared to the snow on the more distant mountains. It is so beautiful! I am sure that it is less beautiful to the truckers trying to get over the Cajon Pass and more beautiful to the resort owners in Big Bear, but it is beautiful. I must remember to bring my digital camera tomorrow....

The first time I ever saw the mountains, I had lived in Irvine for months with no idea whatsoever that there was a view of mountains from here. One chilly morning, I left my subdivision to take PU2 to school, turned "north" and WHAM. There they were. Just like someone had trucked in a backdrop for a photoshoot. Breathtaking. I still get a thrill every time I see them like that.

What a place this is to live. 20 minutes from the beach. An hour from the mountains. Try not to hate me. :-)

2004-11-16T07:35:00.000-08:00

Furniture was purchased

Yes, my friends, by me. Well, by us. Sorry. It was a family decision.

First, Hubcap and I went to the furniture store, looking for a dining room table. We are rearranging our house so that instead of having a dining room end of a living room we have an actual Dining Room. ETA Thanksgiving for all improvements to be completed. So we needed a decent table that doesn't fold up against the wall.

Hubcap had to keep redirecting my focus in the furniture store. There was mission style furniture that was screaming my name (but screaming it with a HUGE price tag), and there was a highboy secretary that whispered to me, and a million other "Ooooo....look at that!"s But he finally adjusted my blinders and turned me toward the tables...and we narrowed it down to two styles that we liked.

Then we called in the cavalry---PU2 came roaring up in her hot new truck (blonde chicks in black trucks get a LOT of attention) and swooped in. We turned her loose without telling her what we liked. She was immediately drawn to the high-dollar solid oak stuff. Not those, we said. Try again. The mission style furniture was okay too. Not those. After a few tries, she finally noticed one of the two tables that we liked. Then we presented her with the actual choices. She was relieved that one particular table wasn't in the running. ("You buy that table and I'll move out of the house and live in my truck," she said.)

So we went back and forth and back and forth and back and forth between the two tables, as PU2's eyes began to roll back in her head and there was a bit of frothing at the mouth. She thinks we are the king and queen of indecisive. (Where to you want to eat? I don't care, where do YOU want to eat? No, you choose. No, YOU choose.) We began to examine the mechanisms for inserting the leaves. If you haven't bought a table this decade (or in my case, this lifetime), you would be AMAZED at how the leaves function now. While we were watching a salesperson demonstrate how the leaves work for another customer, the customer said, and I quote, "Beautiful. I'll take it." And before my eyes, a "sold" sign appeared on my table. Oh. Is THAT how it's supposed to work? Damn. Who knew. PU2 began to lose consciousness and stumbled to her truck to make her escape. The people in the furniture store had taken to saying, "Oh, are you still here?"

So we got the other table. Black trim, cherry top, butterfly leaves. Simple? No. We were in agreement on the table, but then there was a matching hutch....Black? Cherry? Black? Cherry? Wait, bar stools? Matching bar stools?

I will tell you no more. Suffice to say, decisions were made, plastic was burned, and delivery dates were set. Wednesday it will all be at home in my new dining room. Want to come for Thanksgiving?

2004-11-09T07:35:00.000-08:00

Shopping for CrankyMom

It's never easy. It's never simple. It's never just "get me some bar soap." It's "get me Camay." They don't SELL Camay out here. I am ordering it on line. And "get me this house brand of Gas Relief." Gas-X won't do. It has to be a house brand for an Arkansas-owned grocery store (called the manufacturer and found out what other names it is sold by). And truffles. The kind they sell at Wal-mart. Not Sees, not any other kind. And a toaster. No, not THAT toaster. Don't like that one. Another one. And a can opener. No, not THAT can opener. Another one. And nylon windbreakers, one navy, one black. Nylon windbreakers in Cali? Not likely. How about a Roxy hoodie? No. Ok. And fake ficus trees, two of them, three and a half to four feet tall. No, I said ficus. And fake greenery to make arrangements with. Green only. No color. Ivy, not philodendron. And Magic Tape. 1/2 inch. No, not 3/4 inch. They sell that everywhere. 1/2 inch that you have to go to Staples for. And bread with no preservatives. No, not that bread. That's too hard/sweet/dark. And Kraft pudding cups, chocolate fudge. Only chocolate fudge. Lots of it. Oh, and Wernet's dental powder. No, not polident or fixodent or even Sea Bond. OMG, no. It has to be Wernet's, which is totally unavailable. Thank God for drugstore.com.

PU2 and I spent about two hours last night at Walmart, Michaels, and Staples, but we still have Chick's to go to for the windbreakers and a couple of other stores for other odds and ends. We even had a couple of poor Michael's employees climbing ladders in the back storeroom and searching for 4-ft ficus trees in the out-of-season stock.

And would you like for me to tell you about hanging CM's drapes? Hm? Wouldya? My mom is the kind of person who can tell who last talked on the phone by the way the cord is lying. She has every knick-knack in her house in the exact same spot, with not even 1/16th of an inch of leeway. She rearranges the shower curtain into even pleats every time she goes into the bathroom. She folds her trash. Let me repeat. She folds and stacks the trash in the trashcan. Paper trash goes to the right. Ashes and non-paper trash goes to the left. Paper towels (one per use only) are rolled very tightly and taped before being put in the trash. Get the picture? OCD delux.

So can you imagine what it was like to try to get new drapes hung in her living room and bedroom? Can you imagine the number of trips up and down the ladder I made adjusting this pleat and that pleat, and this drapery pin and that drapery pin? And then back the next day, doing much of it again because "I can see the drapery rod on the right when the drapes are closed" and "they don't overlap correctly" and "we need to train that third-from-the-right pleat to pop out" and "they cover the window too much when they are open." And she was really really trying to be agreeable. Really, she was. I know she overlooked a jillion other adjustments she could have asked for. God help me.

But the worst - and PU2 will tell you that this is when she decided that her grandmother is totally round the proverbial bend - was the ficus tree. Next to the drapes is a eight- or nine-foot fake ficus (all her plants are fake - mom is allergic to everything). After all the drape work was finally done and the couch was finally exactly centered in front of them and the coffee table in front of it, mom asked me to work on the tree. PU2 and I assumed that the tree was in the way of the drapes. But no. The problem was that one tiny branch---at the very top and on the back---was turned "upside down" so that the bottoms of the leaves were visible. It had to be turned over and reshaped. It was very important.

Argh. And I do mean argh. PU2 gets very high marks for hanging in there with me. She goes over often when I do, and we do tag-team CrankyMom management. When she starts seeing steam pour from my ears, she steps in and spells me while I get it under control. Then I tag her, and she gets to go play with her PaPa for a while.

Did I mention that my dad is the most wonderful man in the world? And certainly, when they handed out patience, he got back in the line at least four or five times. (Come to think of it, maybe he got MY share. Hmmmm....).

Enough. Sorry. No more whining. But remind me to tell you sometime how she is allergic to water.....

2004-11-01T13:27:00.000-08:00

Cranky mom is not so cranky after all

Apparently mom has decided that moving to Cali was a big win-win. She seems happier than I have seen her in decades. I hope it lasts. I took them to the beach Saturday, and she was like a kid...They aren't strong enough to actually walk on the beach any more, but I found them a bench with a nice view within earshot of the surf, and they enjoyed it thoroughly. She seems to have relaxed and let some of her "I can't handle it all" fears go to me. I am cautiously optimistic that this new mom will stay around for a while. What a plus for all of us.

So, it's November. Thanksgiving is at my house. Who all is coming? I need to know how big a table to buy.....

Don't forget to vote tomorrow!

2004-10-27T14:17:00.000-07:00

Conversations with CrankyMom

Me: (Opening her mail, which she is now unable to open herself since she has me around to do it.) This is from your insurance company. It’s the insurance cards for your cars.

CM: Oh? What’s that other trash in the envelop?

Me: The agents here give you a nice folder to put everything in – your insurance card, a summary of your policy, and an accident-report form to fill out if you are in an accident so you can remember to get all the details. You put it all together in the glove box of your car.

CM: (Firmly) I don’t put insurance cards in the glove box. I put one in my wallet and the other one in HIS (gesturing toward my long-suffering dad).

Me: Oh. OK. Well, then, I guess the rest of this is just to throw away. You can put the cards in your wallets. (Throwing away the other parts and leaving the cards on the desk).

CM: Where is the stuff that goes in the glove box?

Me: (in my usual state of confusion) What stuff? You said you don’t put it in the glove box.

CM: Well, I’m going to put it in the glove box. What did you do with it? I need it to put in the glove box.

Me: (under my breath as I dig through the trash) one….two….three….four….five…..

------

CM: I will need an ashtray to put on the patio table. There are some up there (indicating the top of the kitchen cabinet).

Me: OK. (Getting a step stool and getting into the cabinet—seeing three ashtrays, two white, one blue. The table is green. I am smart enough to know that CrankyMom will never allow a blue ashtray on a green table. I get a white one. Put up ladder. Put ashtray on table.

CM: (spying ashtray) Oh. (you know that “oh”? The one that says “Substandard! Unacceptable!”)

Me: What, Mom?

CM: Oh, nothing (You know that “oh nothing” that says “Substandard! Unacceptable! Read my mind and fix it NOW!”)

Me: Is it the ashtray?

CM: Well, it’s just…..well, that ashtray is awfully fragile. I wanted one of the GREEN ones.

Me: There weren’t any green ones up there, mom. Just blue and white.

CM: There should be three green ones too, two triangular and one round.

Me: No, mom. Not up there. (opening the cabinet so she can see for herself.) Maybe they are over there above the refrigerator.

CM: No, I didn’t put anything over there.

Me: (thinking, “No you didn’t put anything ANYwhere, cause I am the one who unpacked you, remember?) I think I put some up there. (Step stool, cabinet, ash tray found. Ashtray put on the green patio table.)

CM: Oh.

Me: *sigh* What, Mom?

CM: It’s just that you need to put the white ash tray back up.

------

You know what, never mind. I am tired of this. You get the picture. But, as they say, I made my bed….now I will waller it all to pieces and leave the sheets in a pile on the floor.

2004-10-27T08:39:00.000-07:00

So here’s the 411 on the big move.

I drove the parental units in their Escort. My daughter (PU2) followed in her new (to her) truck. My son (PU1) brought up in the rear in a 17-foot U-Haul pulling a vehicle trailer. And off we went, from Arkansas to California, like some scrap-iron Conestoga caravan.

Since the parental units couldn’t ride for extended lengths of time (Mom has arthritis, Dad has had a hip replacement), we stopped often for bathroom breaks and such, and we made fairly short days of it. It is a 24-hour drive, and we took four days to do it. We stayed in Sayre, Oklahoma; Albuquerque, New Mexico; and Kingman, Arizona. We came to love Love’s truck stops and Flying J’s Travel Plazas. And in Sayre there is an AmericInn that is the love of my life.

Mom and Dad both smoke like a ’55 DeSoto, and I am a non-smoker, so driving with them was a challenge. At bedtime each day, my eyes looked like something that should be hanging on a Christmas tree. A bigger challenge, though, was the fact that my mom is a compulsive, non-stop talker. It helped somewhat that she was in the back seat….there were times when I couldn’t quite hear her. Thank God. But she basically talked non-stop for 1600 miles, and she still hasn’t stopped. Oh, well. So it goes. I knew the risks when I signed up for this gig.

The good news was that the parental units go to bed early, and I shared a motel room with PU2, so after 8:00, I was “free.” Whew. PU2 was a great help with all things parental and has a gift for “reading” when I have reached my limit and stepping in for tag-team grandma management. PU1 did a great job as a UHaul wrangler, though his small-town Arkansas heart did go pitty pat in trepidation at the sight of Cali traffic. He hung in there, though, until he was able to park the UHaul and say, “I will NEVER do THAT again!” Oh, and by the way --- motels with indoor pools ROCK.

We saw the largest cross in the western hemisphere…and drove along the route of historic Route 66 nearly the entire way. My dad said, “This is plumb uninspiring country, isn’t it?” about 95 times. He also asked “what mountains are those?” so often that I started making shit up. Did you know that you drive through the Alleghenies and the Alps between Arkansas and California? Hell, yeah! :-) We laughed until my sides hurt.

So the ‘rents are living in a 55+ apartment about 15 miles from me now. They are all unpacked, and the wind chimes are hung from the patio with care, so they should be good to go. Dad is a bit confused about where he is (his sight is very poor and he has some periods of mental confusion). I think he thinks he is still in a motel and will be going “home” soon. But they seem to like the apartment and the view and the weather (though it has rained twice since they have been there, the weatherman apparently not realizing that I promised my parents that it never rains in southern California).

2004-10-06T11:16:00.000-07:00

Yawn

I should post something. It has been days.
I am gearing up for the CrankyMom move. Today my to-do list is get the OP's utilities turned on. Such excitement.
So I called CrankyMom a while ago to get the information I needed for the utility companies.
She's not feeling well. No great surprise there. I can't remember the last time she DID feel well. This is not lack of sympathy on my part exactly...just pragmatism. If I jumped and ran every time my mom was "sick," I'd be a marathoner by now instead of a fat old lady sitting in a computer chair.
I make appropriately sympathetic noises.
She remembers that that doesn't much work anymore, so she plays the trump card.
"Your dad isn't feeling well either."
Aha. She has figured out that she has WAY worn out the word "wolf" but that everyone in the family is always worried about dad (who is the world's greatest dad and a truly wonderful man, and I adore him), so now it is "dad's not feeling well."
Now if Dad himself told me he wasn't feeling well, I would be on it like a possum on a pile of shit. But the fact that MOM tells me this means nothing. It's just "wolf, etc." Sheesh.
Well, soon they will be out here, and I will be able to check it all out myself. You would think that that would be great for mom. She will get much more attention and have people dropping in and out regularly, as opposed to the isolation they are in now (she having run off everyone she knows). But watch this space. I bet within two months I am reporting that nothing out here suits her. I am not visiting enough, she is feeling abandoned, she is sorry she ever let me "force" her into moving to begin with.
Boy. Am I ever feeling sorry for myself today! My apologies.

2004-10-01T15:46:00.000-07:00

J.H. Kohley Candy Company

Back in the days of my youth, back before small-town America even dreamed of Wal-Mart Supercenters, the countryside was dotted with Ma and Pa grocery stores. They were in garages or in outbuildings, in a curve of the highway, or down the street from where we lived. Near where I lived at 601 NW B Street, there were two of these little stores within walking distance. I don't remember the name of one of them, but the other one was The Busy Bee Grocery Store, and I used to love to ride there on my bicycle and buy a popsicle or Hostess cupcakes.

But before I was old enough to ride that bicycle on the mean streets of Bentonville, when I was very small, my great-grandfather (whom I called PaPa) had a candy business. He received shipments from the candy makers via JTL trucks, and he drove all over Benton County delivering candy to the hundreds of little stores. These were the days when Hershey Bars were huge...and nothing was better under the sun.

PaPa kept the candy in a very large enclosed section of his garage, and he delivered it in a black panel van with "JH Kohley Company" on the side. My MaMa would be at the house, waiting on deliveries from JTL and unlocking the warehouse for the boxes to be stacked in.

Spending any time with my great-grandparents (and I spent a lot--I lived only one block away) involved two exciting events. One was the arrival of the delivery truck. But the greater one was when PaPa came home and took me out to the storage room to get me a treat.

Oh, the smell. I can't begin to describe the smell of that warehouse. Heaven smells like that. Chocolate blending with coconut blending with wood blending with cardboard. I can still smell it now. And his idea of "getting me a treat" was to give me an entire BOX of Hershey bars or a Pez dispenser and a double handful of refills for it. It was kid heaven....

I have no idea what kept the candy from melting out there. I guess nothing kept it from melting. Nothing was air conditioned in those days, and it got very hot in the summer. It may be that all the Hershey bars I ever got as treats were the ones that had "blushed" from melting. I sure didn't care. They were heavenly.

2004-10-01T13:22:00.000-07:00

Miscellaneous

1. PU2 passed her drive test yesterday and is now a full-fledged driver! Woo hoo! Alert the CHPs!

2. My volcano blew off some steam this afternoon. Bet that felt good.

3. I shouldn't post this. I really should have more self control that this. But I gotta. It's bigger than I am.

Mom and Dad are getting ready to move out here to be closer to me, as I have mentioned here before. Moving day is Oct. 12. All they really need to do is just sit in their recliners till I get there and the movers need to load the chairs. But that is not my mom's personality. She is a ditherer and a worrier....

I got a call from the woman who works for them three days a week, taking care of them and running errands. The woman, Pam, had taken them to buy groceries, and mom had a very long list, with multiples of many items, such as cans of tuna and light bulbs.
Pam: Why are you buying so many things? You are just going to have to pack and move them.
Mom: I know. But I am not sure that they have things like this in California.

Lord help me. What am I getting myself into.

2004-09-30T09:19:00.000-07:00

Miscellaneous

1. I remember fondly the couple of weeks when I was in the third grade that our school cafeteria served chocolate milk instead of white milk. That all seems pretty silly now when you read about the cafeteria in Virginia that served margaritas! Who knew Virginia was that far ahead of Arkansas. Damn.

2. Earthquakes and aftershocks in California, Mount St. Helens about to erupt in Washington--it is a good week for the geologydork.

3. Anyone watching "The Apprentice"? Damn, those women make we wish for a sex change operation. Please! Stop it! It's just downright painful. I haven't seen anything like that since the last eighth grade bunking party I went to. I am beginning to think that "there is no estrogen in TEAM."

On the other hand, I think all college-age females should be required to watch the show. It is VERY educational.

4. "We think there is a heightened possibility that we could see an explosion," said Cynthia Gardner, acting scientist in charge at the observatory. "We are expecting that either nothing could happen or perhaps we could have an explosive event." Either nothing could happen or perhaps we could have an explosive event? There's some good information. You could say that about the landscape burm in your front yard. Sheesh.

2004-09-29T16:51:00.000-07:00

Mount St. Helens

My volcano is "ramping up." Woo hoo!

The big eruption in 1980 occurred on my birthday, and MSH has been "mine" ever since.

2004-09-29T16:05:00.000-07:00

Dear Mom and Dad,

Welcome to California. I am sure you are going to love it here. Please remember to sticky-tack your glasses to your shelves and tie your furniture to the walls. Oh, and you might want to rethink hanging pictures or swag lamps above your bed. But the good news is that the weather is always wonderful and there aren't any bugs.

2004-09-29T07:56:00.000-07:00

Sweet Sixteen

My "baby" is 16 today. Happy birthday PU2!! I hope you will let me ride in your new truck with you!

2004-09-23T07:50:00.000-07:00

Built by Committee

As Hubcap and I are coming home from dinner last night, walking along the path in front of our house, I glance through the window, through the house, into the family room. PU2 is on the couch, on her knees, peering between the slats of the blinds, looking into the back yard. CJ the Psychotic Dog is standing by, aflutter with attention and preparedness. "What the hell?" I ask myself.

As I walk into the family room, she spins around and drops onto the couch, her face a mask of deadly seriousness. "Don't hurt him!" she says.

Him. She has a him out there, and it is someone I probably should be wanting to hurt. What "him"? Past boyfriend? Chester the Child Molester? Who has this girl got trapped in my backyard???

"Hurt WHO? What are you talking about?"

"The possum."

Of course. There WOULD be a possum in my back yard. Silly me. Metropolitan area of Orange County, California, that should have been my first guess. NOT.

"What...." I begin.

It is the last word I say for a while, as the story begins tumbling out....

"I was sitting out there reading and I saw something move and there he was, on the ground, and I was afraid to move because I thought he might attack me, so I just sat there and stared, and when I moved, he was like *imitation of dead animal that I wish like HELL I could describe, because it was so freaking funny* and then he was like *imitation of live animal with little feet and projecting front teeth* and he climbed the tree and then I thought, well, since he is up the tree, he probably can't get down and get to me all that fast, so then I got up and came in here, and when I got us, he was all like *imitation of dead animal again*, but after I came in he was all like *live animal*, but he was really nice and didn't hiss at me or anything, but he is hideous, really fucking ugly, but he's cute, and don't hurt him!"

A few background details. Our "back yard" is a patio that is about 3 feet by 2 feet. Okay, maybe that is an exaggeration, but it is small. The "tree" is about chest high and had just been pruned, so it was more a branchy dead-looking stick. The possum was, in fact, a possum. This girl is from Arkansas. She knows her possums. And it wasn't a baby. It was probably a teenager. With some serious BO. But I get ahead of myself. Oh, and finally, I would NEVER hurt an animal, not even a butt-ugly built-by-committee oversize rat of an animal.

PU2, Hubcap, CJ the Psychotic Dog and I are all peering out various windows at the tree rat, and PU2 continues to beg for his ugly life. I finally convince her that I am NOT going to hurt the damn thing. Sheesh. I will, however, model for her the non-girly way to deal with unwanted creatures (the one that does NOT involve standing on chairs and screaming and looking pleadingly at the nearest carrier of testosterone). Hubcap, knowing this to be my approach to life, laughingly goes upstairs to work on the computer, leaving me, Super Possum Hunter, to handle the situation.

From the garage I retrieve a laundry basket and a plastic hanger. My thinking is that I will nudge the possum into the basket and put him down outside the courtyard so he can go on his merry way in the wilds of Orange County. I ask PU2 if she wants to nudge or hold the basket. She declines. No problem. I have two hands.

I position the basket under the "tree" and begin nudging. I don't know if the frights that the possum has already withstood have caused him to beshit himself, or if he just always smells like that, but my oh my, this fellow is RIPE. He also decides that I am not worth playing dead for, so he hisses, looks hideous, and uses the basket as a convenient way to get to the top of the fence. Attempts to nudge him from the top of the fence result in stinking and scurrying as he dashes down the length of the fence into a dark corner.

I give up. The PO with BO, as PU2 has named him, has claimed a hidden corner. I think to myself, at least he is out of sight of CJ the Psychotic Dog. I was afraid that CJ was going to rearrange the blinds all night long trying to get to him. For although CJ is terrified of bubble wrap, he doesn't have any fear at all of huge rat-like committee creatures.

At the time we went to bed, PO with BO was still on his corner of the fence. This morning he had disappeared. Will we see him again? Will PU2 recover from the trauma of being stalked by a possum? Will he return with his possum posse to terrorize the entire household? Only time will tell...

2004-09-21T15:06:00.000-07:00

Serenity now

Serenity now serenity now serenity now serenity now serenity now serenity now serenity now serenity now serenity now serenity now serenity now serenity now serenity now serenity now serenity now serenity now serenity now serenity now serenity now serenity now serenity now serenity now serenity now serenity now serenity now serenity now serenity now serenity now serenity now serenity now serenity now serenity now serenity now serenity now serenity now serenity now serenity now serenity now serenity now serenity now serenity now serenity now serenity now serenity now serenity now serenity now serenity now serenity now serenity now serenity now serenity now serenity now serenity now serenity now serenity now, goddamnit!

2004-09-21T08:39:00.000-07:00

Santa Ana

First significant Santa Ana wind event of the season today. After weeks of on-shore breezes blowing the trash one way, today it is all headed the OTHER direction, along with all the leaves that had been hanging on to the trees, small children, and mini vans. I love the Santa Anas. Makes me feel like I can fly. Wait, I AM flying. I'll be danged.

CJ the psychotic dawg does NOT love the Santa Anas. When we adopted CJ just over a year ago, we didn't KNOW he was psychotic. He hid it well. But then, I don't know, maybe his meds wore off or something, and he started presenting. First, it was noises that sounded like storms that set him off. Even a storm on TV would send him into the bug-eyed shakes. Then he graduated to freaking out about other noises outside, noises we couldn't even hear. Then he stopped going out after dark. No more last-walk-of-the-day walks. He would fight against the leash and refuse. Now he will just suddenly, for no reason we know of whatsoever, start shaking and panting, his eyes bugging out of his head. He hides in our closet a lot.

So at 5:30 this morning, he starts the panic attack. He goes into PU2's room and tries to get into her closet. Then he tries (I swear, she told me this) to climb out her window. (Bad move, psycho. It's a second-floor room. Doggie go "splat.") Then he climbs in bed with her, shaking so hard he is rocking the bed. All I can figure is that that is when the winds started picking up. We had our windows open, so he would have heard the change in the sounds. I don't know what else it could be.

I need someone to hook me up with some doggie prozac.

It's actually pretty funny, in a way. CJ is a brindle-colored boxer and/or pit bull mix who weighs in at nearly 70 pounds and looks ferocious. When we walk him, people cross the street to avoid coming anywhere near him. And he is afraid of the sound of carrots snapping.

"Get that dog back! I have bubble wrap, and I'm not afraid to use it!"

Sheesh.

2004-09-16T07:54:00.000-07:00

That won't work...

Reading The Pissed Kitty this morning has inspired me to bitch. No, not about Kitty. Kitty is hilarious, a daily read for me. But reading about her mother caring for her grandparents...

Here's the thing, kids. Most of you have parents who are, well, MY age....and probably out playing golf or taking gourmet cooking classes or paragliding and nowhere near being frail or decrepit. At least I hope that is the case, and God bless you and them. But if you live long enough, and your parents live long enough, eventually they will be old people (or O.P.s), and you will be in the position to either have to care for them or else duck the responsibility with the agility of a Chinese gymnast (have I mentioned my brother? but I digress...).

PU2 and I have spent countless hours the past few months researching living arrangements in Cali for my parents. They are still in Arkansas, though all the rest of the family has left there, and their health is deteriorating rapidly. They are in "independent living" now, but they probably should be in "assisted living," and they undoubtedly should be nearer one of their two children. That means me. Bubba simply can't cope. Mom is NOT an easy person to deal with. But I digress again.

So we are looking at choosing between a regular apartment with hired help to come in a few afternoons a week or assisted living. The difference in cost is huge (reg. apartment x 3 = assisted living), and frankly, they can't afford any of it. Arkansas is cheaper, but they can't take being alone.

So PU2 and I research and visit places and call Mom with the latest recommendation. Usually PU2 and I are all excited because we think we have found JUST the right place...nice apartment, attached garage, fireplace, overlooking nature trail, near shopping....and then, the bucket of water on the top of the door crashes down. "I just don't think I can live in an apartment. I need more support than that. I need assisted living."

OK. Back to square one. We research assisted living. We visit three places (mind you, these visits are time consuming..."this is our dining room, this is our card room, this is our laundry facility...."). We find it. A perfect place. For an additional cleaning deposit of $1500, they can even smoke in their apartment! We call Mom, all excited. Bucket of water, door. "I just don't see how I can afford assisted living. Besides, if I can't ride my scooter there, how will I get to the dining room? That just won't work. I need something cheaper. I think I will just get an apartment here in Arkansas." (#*%^^#*!~~???) "Mom, if you are going to get an apartment, you need to get one out HERE where I can look after you. I'll look at apartments."

Back to square one. But they know me there, and there is a chair with my name on it. So we look at senior apartments and at regular apartments, apartments less than a mile from our house, apartments apartments apartments. Have recommendation. Call mom. Bucket, door. "I just don't know. I just don't know. I am afraid we just can't get by in an apartment...."

I have maintained my patience thus far, which has required more control than I even knew I was capable of, but I think it is time that I loosed my temper. And that is not a misspelling, thank you. I am going to have to make a decision and call her up and say, "I have a deposit on an apartment, and the movers will be there to pack you on --fill in the date--" Otherwise, six years from now, I will still be doing this, with my head dented from the bucket.

I pulled out the sheaf of materials that I have accumulated from all these site visits last night to look through them, and PU2 let me have it. "Put those up!" she said, sternly. "Don't spend another minute on that stuff until SHE commits [SHE being her grandmother, my mother, Mrs. I Don't Know]. You have GOT to stop stressing over this!" I protested. I really don't think I HAVE been stressing. I am just doing what I have to do to live with myself and not feel like I have abandoned them (have I mentioned my brother? But I digress....) She would have none of that. She loosed HER temper on me for about five minutes, telling me to get a spine and quit opening the door and complaining about the bucket.

Oh, by the way. There is a father involved in this too. My dad is the world's most wonderful man, funny, charming, beloved by everyone who knows him. He sits in his recliner and says, "Whatever you want to do, dear." I adore my dad. I truly do. And getting him out here closer to me is motivation enough to keep me going. Unfortunately, I have to deal with the three-headed hound of hell Mrs. I Don't Know.

Oh, Lord. I feel guilty now. What an ingrate I am. But that was fun. By the way, to my brother, in case he reads this....I'm sorry. I don't blame you. OK, I do. But I understand. OK, I don't. But I forgive you. OK, I'm trying to. But I love you.

Oh, and PU2, you are the BEST!!! I can't believe how you have hung in there with me. I PROMISE I will NOT do this to YOU! :-)

2004-09-14T13:33:00.000-07:00

Things I wish I had done...

1. Attended the taping of the Oprah show last Thursday
2. Asked for Walmart stock for a high school graduation present
3. NOT gotten married at 18.
4. Gone to grad school in Boston instead of Arkansas
5. Taken the job in Aliso Viejo three and a half years ago instead of the one I took in Huntington Beach
6. Held on to the family's 1965-1/2 Mustang GT
7. Stayed skinny
8. Majored in geology
9. Not stepped off that curb on June 6, 2000, in quite that way...
10. Appreciated my grandmother more
11. Had a whole lot more sense a whole lot sooner

2004-09-09T13:00:00.000-07:00

Do you ever

get the feeling that someone is watching you?

2004-09-08T14:20:00.000-07:00

PU2

I tried to tell her she is too young to be a red-hat lady....

2004-09-08T10:47:00.000-07:00

The word for the day is...

Colon mole. Noun phrase. Cars that follow so closely on your bumper that you think they are going to crawl up your tailpipe.

Long, hot weekend for me that ended only this a.m. Hubcap, PU2 and I spent some quality time with the in-laws Sunday and Monday at the Lawrence Welk Resort (yeah, no kidding). Yesterday PU2 and I looked at housing options for my parents (thinking about moving them out here). It's hot. Hotter than SoCal is supposed to be. And that makes me cranky.

The good news: our house is off the market, so no more posts about staging and real estate.
The bad news: our house is off the market, so no more posts about moving and buying a neat new house.

Happy Wednesday!

2004-09-02T15:53:00.000-07:00

From Snopes.com

[Some of these have been around for a while, but I think they are good for a Thursday giggle anyway.]

Here are the top nine comments made by NBC sports commentators during the [2004] Summer Olympics that they would like to take back

1. Weightlifting commentator: "This is Gregoriava from Bulgaria. I saw her snatch this morning during her warm up and it was amazing."

2. Dressage commentator: "This is really a lovely horse and I speak from personal experience since I once mounted her mother."

3. Paul Hamm, Gymnast: "I owe a lot to my parents, especially my mother and father."

4. Boxing Analyst: "Sure there have been injuries,and even some deaths in boxing, but none of them really that serious."

5. Softball announcer: "If history repeats itself, I should think we can expect the same thing again."

6. Basketball analyst: "He dribbles a lot and the opposition doesn't like it. In fact you can see it all over their faces."

7. At the rowing medal ceremony: "Ah, isn't that nice, the wife of the IOC president is hugging the cox of the British crew."

8. Soccer commentator: "Julian Dicks is everywhere. It's like they've got eleven Dicks on the field."

9. Tennis commentator: "One of the reasons Andy is playing so well is that, before the final round, his wife takes out his balls and kisses them . . . Oh my God, what have I just said?"

2004-09-01T08:43:00.000-07:00

Random thoughts

What is a "rampart," and do I have one to watch o'er?
Was there an announcement this week that people could drive in two lanes at once and I just didn't get it?
My dog is now afraid of the noise the tv makes when there is too much white on the screen.
Unless you are planning to have sex with someone, why should you care what his/her sexual preference is?
I saw four Rolls Royces in three days last week.
My Palm Pilot dropped dead, but I found a great source for repair. Let me know if you want the info.
I cannot live without my Palm Pilot, and neither can anyone else in my immediate family (MY palm, not theirs).
When will "Carnivale" be back on?
It has been very quiet recently as far as earthquakes in SoCal are concerned....does this mean something more significant is just around the corner?
PU2 takes the driving part of her driving test Sept. 30. Everyone prepare accordingly.
Realtors who say they will be there "around 5:00" and never come at all suck pond water.
Anyone available to dog sit Sunday night?
My neighbors got a new minivan yesterday, and all their friends flocked around to see it as if they had never seen a minivan before.
Who are those people who have time to play softball, and how do I get a life like that?
"Scrubs" is back. God be thanked.

2004-08-31T15:28:00.000-07:00

Headline: Comet research pioneer Fred Whipple dies

That is such a shame. He really knew how to make good scouring powder.
I wonder if he is the one who insisted on squeezing the Charmin?
Hmmmmmm.......

2004-08-30T13:36:00.000-07:00

Your assignment, should you choose to accept it....

is to read about the attack squirrel of death But go to the bathroom first. Trust me.

2004-08-30T08:32:00.000-07:00

Thought du jour

"When you are proclaiming peace with your lips, be careful to have it even more fully in your heart." - St. Francis of Assisi

2004-08-27T16:40:00.000-07:00

See you in September

I know I should leave you with something pithy, something erudite, something at least marginally educational for the weekend, but I got nuttin. The summer is screaming to an end, with Labor Day just around the corner. The poor kids elsewhere in the country have already started back to school. Not California. No, no. PU2 won't actually start her classes until the week of Sept. 13. So late. Why bother. Just forget it and go to the beach.

People are cramming last-minute vacations into too few days. Everyone is getting that "I-can't-believe-it's-almost-September-and-I-haven't-(fill in the blanks)-yet" look. Me? Nah. I did everything I wanted to this summer. Lived life to the fullest. A prime example of the Uhmurkun Dream in the flesh.

Everyone have a great weekend. Or, if you don't, keep it to yourself. Cause I am ALL out of sympathy. *kisses*

2004-08-26T08:21:00.000-07:00

Does this make me look fat?

Someone please tell me, is my font different on your computer today? I turned on my page this a.m., and the font has gone miniscule. Everyone else's seems to be the same. Is it just me? And if not, then WTF? I haven't made any changes to the template at all. But then, my yahoo page looked miniscule too. Honey, I shrunk the fonts!

2004-08-25T16:26:00.000-07:00

The word for the day is manskank

PU2 is hoping that her first vehicle will be a pickup truck (although that is up to her dad, not me), so we spend a lot of time looking at trucks on the road as we travel about. Her favorite trucks are the Ford Lightning and the Harley Davidson edition F150.

Yesterday we were out for a drive, with PU2 practicing her driving skills (which are already prodigious), when she spotted a truck she liked. It was in the lane to our right and slightly ahead of us as we were stopped at a stop light. We were checking it out, commenting on the color, the interior, the white retro gauges, etc. As the light changed and we began moving forward, we moved up beside the truck, and I became aware that the man driving it was giving us a look....a look that said "Oh, yeah, I still got it, I am SUCH man candy!" He had noticed our interest and assumed, incorrectly!, that it was in him, not in his truck. I burst out laughing and described the situation to PU2, who was duly horrified that some 40-year-old manskank thought she was warm for his form.

Then we became aware that the manskank was, in fact, attempting to catch up with us on the road. I was about to pee in my pants from laughing as PU2 took evasive action, changing lanes and speeding to get away from his nasty ass. She finally turned onto a side street and made her escape. I was imagining the conversation with the police. "Well, officer, I am not quite sure what happened, as I was incapacitated with mirth, but I believe my daughter was attempting to flee a manskank when she rearended the Lexus."

On the plus side, we probably made that guy's week....

2004-08-24T08:50:00.000-07:00

Fear in the Neighborhood

PU2 and I were walking CJ yesterday in our gated housing complex. I first realized something was amiss when I saw a teenager crouching behind a wall at the top of an exterior stairway. He was looking down the street intently. Then I saw another teenager lying on his stomach in the front yard of the same house, peering between the leaves of a shrub, in the same direction. I said to PU2, "Whoa. What's going on here." It felt, I don't know, dangerous. It was broad daylight, midday, but these hoodlums were clearly looking for trouble. I didn't know either one of them (and our development is pretty small, so I see everyone). I crossed the street, partly to avoid any trouble, partly to keep CJ from loving the teenager to death as he passed by. Then...across the street...another one! In the bushes, crouching...looking down the street as well. Clearly something was very amiss.

I pulled CJ away from the third one. The kid didn't change positions and hardly even noticed us as we walked by. What the hell was going on?

We looked down the street, and there was a fourth teenager, boldly walking down the center of the street toward the other three. He was young, maybe 14, but BIG. Probably 6 ft, near 200 pounds, I don't know. Crew cut. Looked mean as hell. I heard excited whispers behind me.

"Here he comes! Come on, guys!"

"No, Adam, don't do it!"

"Come on!"

Teenager number three, apparently named Adam, came running past us, straight toward Teenzilla. Adam was about the same age as Teenzilla, but half the size. However, Teenzilla turned and ran, taunting Adam, "Don't you get on OUR side!"

"Turf war?" I said to PU2. [Thinking, "Gangs come to Irvine! Film at 11:00!"]

"Dunno," PU2 replied, apparently completely uninterested in anything that these dorks might be up to.

Then we heard it. The words that strike fear into every honest, law-abiding citizen just trying to live in safety in suburbia.

"Watch the flag! Watch the flag!"

They were playing capture the flag. Yes, right there, in broad daylight, in Irvine, California. Obviously, it is a good thing we are moving. The neighborhood has totally gone to hell.

2004-08-20T14:05:00.000-07:00

Complaint

I would like to register a complaint about straw paper. You know the paper that straws come in when you drive around Wendy's or dash in 7-11? The quality of straw paper is definitely below par these days, and I want to know to whom I should complain. Time was when straw paper was nice and strong and solid. You could tear one end open and blow, depapering the straw in the direction of the target of your choice. Those were the good old days. Today you tear and blow, and you get this fizzzzzzzzzssssssss as the entire length of the seam gives out. No depapering. No attack on target. No satisfaction. Just fizzzzzzzsssssssss and a tattered, limp mess hanging on around the straw. I can tell you this--it has seriously affected my relationship with my daughter. I am thinking about sueing for mental distress and emotional whatever.

I am struck by a sudden memory. Crow's Drug Store, downtown Bentonville, Arkansas. Walking there after school in Junior High (there's more to that story, but I don't want to digress). The fountain. The booths, seats covered with bowling-ball red vinyl. Ordering a cherry coke. Taking the straw. Dampening one end of the paper. Tearing the other end of the paper. Blowing into the torn end, with the paper pointed at the ceiling. Kersplat---the damp end sticking to the ceiling, and the straw clinging, yet another straw paper among the inverted forest of stalactites there from previous patrons.....

2004-08-19T16:47:00.000-07:00

Hi, my name is Yogi, and I'm an alcoholic
Hi, Yogi.

SEATTLE, Washington (Reuters) -- A black bear was found passed out at a campground in Washington state recently after guzzling down three dozen cans of a local beer, a campground worker said on Wednesday.

"We noticed a bear sleeping on the common lawn and wondered what was going on until we discovered that there were a lot of beer cans lying around," said Lisa Broxson, a worker at the Baker Lake Resort, 80 miles (129 kilometers) northeast of Seattle.

The hard-drinking bear, estimated to be about two years old, broke into campers' coolers and, using his claws and teeth to open the cans, swilled down the suds.

It turns out the bear was a bit of a beer sophisticate. He tried a mass-market Busch beer, but switched to Rainier Beer, a local ale, and stuck with it for his drinking binge.....

2004-08-17T15:57:00.000-07:00

Scatology 101

If you don't regularly read The Pork Tornado, go read "Pass the Old El Paso." OMG. I nearly hurt myself laughing. Now, bear in mind, I am more than marginally juvenile...and if you don't find bathroom humor amusing, then never mind. But otherwise....dude, this guy is as funny as hell.

2004-08-16T10:09:00.000-07:00

Tap tap tap tap tap tap tap

This is one of those times. Waiting. House not selling. Can't move yet. Need a place for my mom and dad to move to. Hard to find one that meets their requirements. Hubcap has started new job. Has no time to play with me by email during the day. He is working long hours. My job is boring to a startling degree. The "rest of my life" is just right there---right THERE---but I can't get to it yet. Still stuck, still mired, still killing time. PU2 is back from her visit to her dad, though. That's good. She keeps me entertained for part of the day. Other than that, waiting.

2004-08-13T10:43:00.000-07:00

Busy busy busy

It's a busy time at work (on deadline on a product) and at home (still for sale), so no good posts lately. My apologies, if anyone has been disappointed.

What I would rather be doing (circa 1963) than what I am doing:

teetertottering
clothespinning playing cards to the spokes of my bicyle tires
swinging out on a rope swing and dropping into the swimming hole
eating Hostess cupcakes on the back porch
climbing the dogwood tree by the alley
reading a library book on the window seat
playing on the giant top in the swimming pool at Bella Vista
making popsicles in those tupperware moulds
tormenting my baby brother
walking down the alley to see my bestestest friend
watching for my dad to come home from work

Everyone have a great weekend....

2004-08-09T08:22:00.000-07:00

Tribute

A sad tribute to Honeycar....I hope she is in one piece and will find her way back to Mo.

2004-08-05T11:22:00.000-07:00

Update

On the minus side, we finally withdrew our offer on house # 1 because they continued to ignore us.
On the plus side, we made an offer on house #2, which we loved.
On the minus side, there were multiple offers on house #2.
On the plus side, they accepted our offer and took the other offer as a backup.
On the minus side, we have to sell our house now, and fast.
On the plus side, there has been some interest in it.
On the minus side, no one has actually made an OFFER.
On the plus side, we do have a contract on house # 2.
On the minus side, I find out that contracts on houses mean next to nothing in California.
On the plus side, someday this will all be settled and I have will have something more interesting to write about than houses!!!

2004-08-03T16:31:00.000-07:00

The following post...

will NOT be about selling OR buying a house.

So it's, what, Tuesday? That would be a day not particularly close to Friday, right? Is there anything that we can do about that? Some way to shake up the space-time continuum so that Friday follows Tuesday? Or better yet, Saturday follows Tuesday, and is followed itself by yet another Saturday? And another? We need to pull some of those scientists off that unimportant stuff like solar power and curing cancer and get them on this weekend-all-week-long thing.

It's a balmy day here in SoCal...the birds are singing, the sun is shining. Not too much wind. It's 27 minutes until I can leave this place and go home. Wait, can I say "home"? Yes. I believe that doesn't depart from the rules I set for myself in the title and first line. I can go home. And walk my dog. CJ the dawg.

I visited an "independent living" facility today, a place to which my parents may be moving (no mention of buying or selling houses there, so that is legal). I had lunch with the residents to give the food a go (not bad, but what the heck is a choice between brussel sprouts and lima beans? OMG!!!! Just let me eat pencil sharpening debris and be done with it).

Dull. My life is so freakin' dull. I got nothing. I could tell you I need to wash my car. I could tell you they have changed the coding for the periods again where I work. I could tell you I need a nap.

I need to change the title of this blog from "Solo in the HOV Lane" to "Paint drying." *yawn*

Later.

2004-08-02T14:20:00.000-07:00

Staging

If you are tired of reading about house-selling-related stuff, please don't hesitate to stop right here. You won't hurt my feelings. It's just all I know right now.

If you are still with me....If you have ever sold a house and worked with a realtor, you are probably familiar with the concept of "staging." If you haven't, but you have ever watched HGTV, you may be familiar with it. Staging is what you do to your house to make it look good to a potential buyer. There are various degrees of staging. The houses on shows like "Designed to Sell" are staged to the tune of a $2,000 budget--repainting, refacing kitchen doors, major furniture rearrangement, maybe new furniture purchased, landscaping, etc. That would be high-end staging. Low-end staging would be covering the dirty sneakers with the gym clothes to minimize the sneaker smell in the closet. In the course of getting our house ready to sell and then looking at houses for sale, we have seen it all.

At our house, we moved out unnecessary furniture, rearranged furniture, packed items that we didn't actually need, spot painted, scrubbed, changed window treatments, changed nicknacks, etc. In fact, the stuff that we prepacked is probably more than a lot of people own in their entire homes. Needless to say, if you need a button sewn on a shirt, you better see the dry cleaner, because I have NO idea where my thread is. Or my needle. Our realtor also told us to take down all personal pictures so that the people viewing the house could envision themselves living there rather than focusing on the people who DO live there. Makes sense. And I never leave the house without nice scent in all the rooms.

So what do we see when we go in houses?

1. If the strip is blue.... Almost every house we have gone in, there have been personal pictures. Sometimes there is an entire gallery of personal pictures. Mr. Realtor was right--you get so busy counting the number of kids in the pictures that you forget to notice if there is a walk-in closet or not. We joked our way through one house about "telling those people what was causing them to have so many kids," and I don't even remember the house.

2. Laboratory experiments.... Dirty bathrooms. Most houses have been clean, but a few have been rather yucky. Last Saturday our two realtors (both women) were talking what it would take to bleach the shower in one house.

3. Have you seen my halter top? Laundry. No, I don't mean laundry baskets with stuff in them. We all have that. I am talking about walk-in closets that you can't walk in because of the mounds of clothes on the floor. What are these people WEARING? Everything they own is right here in a pile!

4. Have you seen my son? Clutter, especially in the kitchen. Excess furniture, high chairs, serving trays, toys toys toys....Oh and that one house, holy toledo....there was a teenager's room that you could barely open the door to. It was 12 feet by 14 feet of horizontal storage. There was no seeing the floor. Now I know as well as the next mom that teenagers are like that. I KNOW that. But if you want to sell your house, don't you at least TRY? You should see PU2's room....it looks like something out of a magazine layout. It CAN be done.

5. Bad dog! Pet smells. I love pets. I HAVE pets. But I don't want to smell them the minute I open the front door. Ack.

6. Ride 'em cowboy! I love a good bumblebee nursery as much as the next mother, but I have never seen so many mural-painted rooms in my life! I have seen jungle rooms and train rooms and cowboy rooms...and the bumblebee room. Of course, they can all be painted over. And I have the vision to see what it would be like. But it is a bit .... strange. Clouds on the ceiling? Oh my.

7. Stop these people before they paint again! On the same note, I know a lot of people do their own painting to save money. Heck, I do that myself. But at least I attempt to do a good job! I know what painter's tape is and how to use it. SOme of the paint jobs we have seen...lordy. There was one house this weekend that it seemed that every wall was a different color....forest green, chocolate, maroon....Boy. Do I sound bitchy. I should stop. But I'm not going to.

8. Are there pygmies in there? Unmowed grass. TALL unmowed grass. In the front yard. Why?

On the other hand....we have seen some absolutely gorgeous houses with scented candles burning, fresh flowers, fountains founting, and---my personal favorite---a bowlfull of peanut M&Ms. I LOVED that house......*mental note: get M&Ms before next open house.....*

2004-07-30T08:03:00.000-07:00

What a guy!

My thanks to Sergei, who has so kindly found Hubcap and me a house. Take a look. I think it will work beautifully for us.

2004-07-29T07:56:00.000-07:00

Interpreting House Ads II

I was discussing the previous post with Hubcap last night, and it occurred to me that I wasn't properly appreciating California housing. I mean, compared to Arkansas housing...well....

Here is the Arkansas interpretation of house ads:

"Designer colors" means "Rustoleum spray paint."

"Pool-size back yard" means "farm pond."

"Former model home" means .... okay, that means nothing. There ARE no model homes in Arkansas.

"Peekaboo view" means "Next door to the pharmacist's widow."

"RV parking" means your house IS the RV.

"Look at all the shopping being built in the area!" means "You don't have to go far to get bait."

"Reduced $30K for a fast sale" means "We will pay YOU."

"Big dogs! Call before showing" means "What is that smell under the front porch?"

"Prestigious neighborhood" means "You can hardly smell the hog farm way up here."

"Just back on the market" means "Bobby Joe violated parole again."

"Three-car garage" means "A barn and two old chicken houses."

"Three-car tandem garage" means "Pa, we found a use for that big hole in the basement foundation!"

"Easy access to 15, 210 and 10 freeways" means "Freeways?"

"Street too new to be on Mapquest" means "Turn left at the big catalpa tree and follow the beat-down-grass path toward the creek."

"Turnkey" means "Except for adding indoor plumbing and fixing that hole in the roof, she's good to go."

"Space-saver kitchen" means a barbeque pit and a cooler out back.

"Nice trees" means a yard full of walnuts hulls, catalpa worms, and mulberry birdshit.

2004-07-28T08:40:00.000-07:00

Interpreting House Ads

I don't know what intrigues me more about this house: the new pain inside or the shooping center.

VERY NICE HOUSE WITH NEW PAIN INSIDE AND GOOD CONDITION. HUGE BACK-YARD. GOOD. GOOD NEIGHBORHOOD, CLOSE FREEWAY, SHOOPING CENTER, AND SCHOOLS. MUST SEE!!! WE JUST REDUCE PRICE AND CONSIDER WITH ANY OFFER. PLEASE SHOW AND SELL IT, SEE YOU IN ESCROW. PLEASE MAKE OFFER WITH THE PRE-QUAL LETTER, THANKS.

"Designer colors" means "It looks like Barney threw up all over the bedroom walls (purple and green stripes? Why???).

"Pool-size back yard" doesn't guarantee that it would accommodate an ADULT size pool, now does it?

"Former model home" means "this house has been walked through by a population equivalent to that of the continent of Asia, and you can see every footstep on the whupped-ass carpet."

"Peekaboo view" means "if you stand at the top of the roof and jump really high, you might be able to see something. Maybe."

"RV parking" means "Half your yard is concrete."

"Look at all the shopping being built in the area!" means "your view from the master bedroom window is the loading dock at Ralphs."

"Reduced $30K for a fast sale" means "No one is buying this turkey."

"Big dogs! Call before showing" means "The last agent who went in there has never been heard from again."

"Prestigious neighborhood" means "right next to the freeway."

"Just back on the market" means "it was in escrow and didn't appraise at anywhere near what they were asking for it, so it dropped out."

"Three-car garage" means "Three cars if one of them is a Little Tykes Cozy Coupe."

"Three-car tandem garage" means "One of your cars is so far buried the bowels of the house that you will need a map and a flashlight to ever find it again."

"Easy access to 15, 210 and 10 freeways" means "Under the three-way interchange."

"Street too new to be on Mapquest" means "You are going to be surrounded by new construction for months."

"Turnkey" means "If you don't count the fact that you are going to hate all the wall colors and have to repaint, and replace the cheap countertops, and rip out the carpet to add the hardwood flooring that you really want, and punch a hole through to turn two small bedrooms into one larger one, and build a patio cover, and landscape the backyard, and replace all the windowcoverings, it is ready to move in to."