For Lori

I do not usually respond to comments, but today is an exception.
I logged into my e-mail for this blog for the first time in a long time. In there was a comment about my "Today Sucks" post that I wrote on Mother’s Day. I consider it more than a coincidence that according to the time stamp on the comment it arrived on my Mom’s birthday.


Thank you for writing. I am glad that it was helpful. I want you to know that I am thinking of you, and that you will really be ok.

You will not feel ok for a long time, but one day you will realize that not only do you feel like yourself again, but that you feel like a new improved kicked a lot of ass took a lot of names version of yourself.

Everything you feel is ok, it is normal, and you are entitled to have all the feelings you have.

A lot of people will say a lot of stupid shit to you. They mean well, try not to kick them.

This is a secret club; nobody talks to you about it until you are in it. You will often be surprised at the comfort you receive, as well as its sources.

Lastly, people will have different ways of dealing with this. Try to be gentle with yourself and others for the differences in how you each handle this situation.

My sincere condolences go out to you by way of cyber space, remember to take care of yourself.

True Story

Like all cancer survivors, my Dad had to go for regular check ups after he had prostate cancer in 1998. He was notoriously reluctant to go the urologist. So, when the little reminder post card came, I called up and made the appointment, then I went and talked to my Mom.

Me: Mom, Daddy has to go to the guy gynecologist for his check up. I am going to schedule the geezer van to pick him up. Can you go with him?

Mom: How come?

Me: Because he is naughty, and if I put him on the bus by himself he will take the ride to the doctor, and go hang out at Dunkin' Donuts instead until the bus comes back. You know how he is always complaining about the urologist being a fucking Nazi who likes to Roto Rooter his dick. What the fuck is the Roto Rooter anyway?

Mom: They put a big tube up the urethra, and…

Me: (putting my fingers in my ears) La, la, la, la, OUCH!

Mom: How come you don’t want to take him?

Me: Come on Mommy, I don’t want to go to the winkie doctor with Daddy and talk about his penis!

Mom: (replete with impish smirk) Oh really, whose penis DO you want to talk about?

Procrastination

The past month has been interesting to me. I have done a lot of thinking. The main reason I have not been writing is that so many things come to mind to write. They get all jumbled up in my head, and every time I start to write, I just keep going off on all kinds of tangents because every word I write triggers another fleeting thought, or memory, or idea. Being a life long procrastinator, I just know that is my perfectionism kicking in, which I know is actually a form of extreme assholeness because what makes me so special. I mean I know I am special, but I am not so damn special that my every action and word, and thought needs to be above reproach, especially by a tightass such as myself.


I have a bad habit of not doing stuff I want to do, holding off on it until do something I should be doing. I have been "going to paint my room" since May. I just could not get motivated to do it. I am not sure why because I am quite the little multitasker. I want it done, and I am absolutely sure that I will feel better, more settled in this house, and more centered if I get a place to sleep all established for myself. Actually, when I moved into the house, I had not had much time to get the house in any way shape of form cleaned out. It took me forever to get my younger sister out, and to get the mortgage, and my landlord had already had found a new tenant, so I was fucked, and just had to get out, and move in here, and punt until I defenestrated. After I put my Mom in the nursing home, I ordered a hospital bed for her for when she came home. Ever helpful, my sister dragged Mom's bed into the living room to make room for the hospital bed in my Mom's room. My parents told people they did not sleep together because my Mom was a restless sleeper and my Dad's snoring got horrendous as he got older. This was the official story. Truth was my Mom was diabetic, and my Dad had been a prostate cancer survivor, so they slept separately in order to facilitate quick exit from bed and travel to the bathroom. Just in case you were wondering about the sleeping arrangements. I often teased them because there were many times when I dropped by when my sister wasn't home, and I would catch them together in my Mom's room allegedly watching television. Because my Dad kept all their financial records, and all the papers I would need after he died carefully labeled in his room, it was where I had gotten the most cleaning done by the time I moved in. I just pulled my Mom's old bed in there and had been sleeping there. For some reason, I had a really tough time clearing out the rest of the crap my Dad had in there. Some things about cleaning the house out are tough. I have to do what I can when I can.


Eventually, I moved my mattress into the living room for awhile, and began working on cleaning out the room. Then I moved it again into a different bedroom because I decided I am too fucking old to be sleeping on a mattress in my living room. As if sleeping on a mattress on the floor of a bedroom that I use for a closet is any better. Because of my convincing myself I had to do my bedroom before I did anything else, I have not done much of anything else constructive except develop elaborate ways to avoid being home. Finally, I got down to business. It took forever. It has been very damp here, so every layer of mud took an eternity to dry. I had to do some serious repairs to the walls, so that was quite a project. Then I scrubbed every surface, and primed it all. Also having to wait for it all the dry. Right now I am waiting for the paint to dry. I found I few flaws I missed before that I am going to sand out and repaint, and I did a shitty job on the outside corner, and one inside corner. I am a dork. My eyeglasses were getting all fogged up because they slipped, and bumped my dust mask, and I could not see, so I missed a couple spots. I feel like this is progress because I am pretty calm about it. In the past I would have been such a stickler about getting it perfect, I would be berating myself for my lack of flawlessness. Now, I am chilled out about it. I know how to fix it, the world will not come to an end, and it looks way better than it used to. My only main fuck up was that when I did the ceiling, I should have lapped down the walls a little. Unfortunately, some of the old nasty paint showed where the walls meet the ceiling, so I went back painted those areas with the wall paint, so now my edges are no longer perfect. I’ll live. The whole wall color thing really slowed me down anyway. When I did a test, I really hated it. A nice old dude at Home Depot named John helped me try to find a recipe that could make a color I liked better. See, when paint is tinted they use certain measures of certain dry dye colors to mix with the white paint to make a color, so I would have needed to find a new color that had at least as much of all the tints already in the paint. No such luck. John suggested I try lightening it with some white. Well, I am using a very light almost white yellow for my ceilings. I love it. I mixed the half-gallon I had left into the two gallons of wall paint. It turned the way too pinky looking mauve that was not what I wanted at all into a really nice deep lilac. So I can live with it until I marry a rich guy to hire somebody to paint it over for me because I ain’t doing this shit again. I am sure in the course of painting my next room, when I open up my next can of ceiling paint, I will go back into my bedroom and fix the mess I made on the edge of the ceiling. I am excited about sleeping in a real bed, and putting up my Monet prints, and pulling my furniture in there, and putting up curtains. I think I will feel much better and expect to be all set by the weekend, as long as Ikea has the bed I want in stock.


In addition to my temporary home improvement aversion I have also been disenchanted with the job search process. I am just not up for it at all. I am so sick of temp agencies contacting me about my resume on Monster. I want a real job. I am an accountant with over ten years of experience. I went back to school and got an official Accounting degree, while I was working full time, and taking care of two terminally ill parents no less. Now I am trying to get the public accounting time to get a CPA license. These freaking clowns at the staffing agencies keep calling me up with these "opportunities" that remind of that old joke. You know, about how my parents had to walk ten miles to school, uphill, both ways, and fight off bears with their notebooks. "We have reviewed your resume on Monster.com and feel we have an excellent position that will suit your skills and career aspirations. It is a part time third shift position with no benefits, at one third your salary level and only two hours drive from your home in an only mildly shady neighborhood." FUCK YOU! So, I am thinking I am going to try to get a job at Starbucks. At least they have insurance. I am just afraid they will sense my disdain for the petty and inane and fear I will not be able to be sufficiently obsequious to sexually frustrated soccer Moms and sexually retarded lotharios. I’m actually not bullshitting about this. I cannot take accountants as seriously as they take themselves. I have never had a stick that far up my ass, and trust me, for a significant portion of my existence I was a poster child for uptightness in all forms. I think of the Starbucks idea as a recovery job, which if you know any recovering anybodys you will know what I mean. It is basically a job to get you back in the swing of things, get you out in the world, and with not too much stress or responsibility. I need a little bit of recovery from my life. Back when I was going to the shrink she told me I have/had, whatever, PTSD. Basically I lived such a spectacular clusterfuck for so long, that I kinda wig out about idiot shit, at completely inopportune times, while simultaneously handling very daunting stuff like I am gonna win a prize. So except for the whole having no money thing being an unemployed loser doesn’t bother me, however, I yelled at my cats over the weekend because they hopped up and tried to play with the paint roller while I was rinsing it off. My poor furry babies looked at me as if to say "Mommy, please don’t make us into chicken chow mein." And the real reason I yelled was exhaustion and fear they would get sick and die from licking paint. I scared the living crap out of them, and it just made me feel even worse. I have no idea how I would manage if I had people babies. Man; imagine what kind of therapy MY kids would need.

Bless Me Father

Ooooops, just logged onto e-mail. I have a cut and paste error here. The whole thing is on my memory stick, which I forgot at a cafe last weekend, so I will repost the whole thing this weekend when I get it back.











For I Have Sinned.

God, as you know it has been nearly twenty four years since my last confession. You know this is because;

1) I am still performing the penance the priest gave me the last time I went.
2) You know I decided a long time ago that I do not need anybody to intercede with you when I want to reflect on my sins.
3) You know I am not sorry for most of the stuff the church thinks I should be.

So, at any rate these are my sins, they're worse than last time...

Last time, I told the priest, and he told you, that I hated someone. Now to your credit, you told Father Jerry to ask me why I hated this person. How is father Jerry by the way? He was very good with dealing with high school freshmen about to embark on the commitment of Confirmation to Catholocism. I have not seem or heard of him since he was shuffled off to whereever he got sent when he decided he wanted to be a husband more than he wanted to keep an arcane vow.

Resentment

At the end of July I was fired from my job. It was a welcome relief from a bad situation. I believed I had accepted a full time permanent position with medical benefits. The benefits never materialized. The hours were erratic, and often less than twenty per week. Further, I was treated to a constant barrage of abusive written and verbal reprimands regarding everything from my flagrant disregard for proper paper clip placement to my complete failure to properly complete sections of tax returns on which I had not worked. Yes, really. I had begun to try to find a part time job to supplement the income since I have the mortgage from hell. I felt I should stay as I thought I ought to shore up my resume with a little bit of longevity in a position. I know I am not a fuck up in any way shape or form, but life circumstances have made a mess of my work history. I feel like I have made a lot of professional missteps and I am just not really sure what I want to do with myself professionally anymore. The unemployment office here where I live is very supportive. They give all kinds of seminars, and advice, and there are all sorts of resources. I talked to them about my job history. They tell me not to worry about it at all, and by the way, no one in their right mind would have been comfortable with all the circumstances that have led to my freakish work related angst. I asked them if they have a seminar called "Weeding Out the Crazy" so that I can be sure not to get a job with a racist, or a misogynist, or a psycho overage skank bully, or a raving alcoholic, or a sleazoid pig, or a underhanded liar whose behavior is sanctioned by the work environment, or even worse the person who is in charge is guilty of one or all of these filthy sins. Truthfully, they did give me some good tips on questions to ask, and things to make note of during interviews. It has really given me a lot of confidence, but I still have not found anything that is a good fit for me.


Reluctantly, I signed up for unemployment, but I am worried about money, very worried. I do not have much cash anymore at all. I am angry because I spent a lot of money bailing my siblings and nieces and nephews out of various difficulties. Not a lot of money at one time, but it adds up. Also, I have very prudently made repairs to this house. But fixing a fixer upper is a cash-sucking endeavor. My sister has been out of work for almost two years. She did have a couple very brief stints in a couple positions. She really is gifted in her field, but she is not good at supervising. She cares too much about people liking her, and like a lot of people who are good at what they do, it is hard to shift to teaching and supervising others doing it from doing it yourself. So, she has faltered along, spending the money she got for her half of the house when I bought it, and collecting unemployment until it ran out. I feel angry with her for her failure to take care of herself. I feel angry with her for her clear expectation that I will swoop in and fix it, which I have been very good at avoiding for the most part. She has several health issues, many of which could be eliminated if she endeavored to do so, and others that can be well managed if she took medications as prescribed. But she is not responsible. I have tried very hard not to solve her problems, but to instead suggest what I might do in a similar situation. My friends advise me to stop worrying; they remind me I am not culpable for my sister’s circumstances, her choices, or the consequences of her choices. I know this, but it is not fun to watch her crash and burn. I gave her lots of advice such as contact your doctor to get free samples for the medications you need. Get a part time job. Clean out your couch cushions. Everything. Finally, she has gotten to the point where her health issues are so serious that she cannot work. So I told her to apply for help. I told her if she did not get some drugs soon, I would need some. She has applied for disability, disability insurance, food stamps, etc. etc. She has been approved for most of this stuff and will begin receiving benefits shortly. So she does not have to worry about health insurance, food, rent, or anything else. All she has to do is continue to not function and she has it made in the shade. This is not an option for me because in spite of the fact that my family has tried mightily, I am not mentally ill, though I am sure if I were I would take my fucking pills. I have no excuse for wanting or needing help except that I am a human being and I am scared.


I resent this, heartily. I have always worked very hard to take care of myself, and I am mystified by people who do not even consider the idea that they need to get their shit together and make their way through life. I am sick of it always being poor you; I am worried about you, etc. When our parents died several people told me they were worried about her, and wanted to know what I was going to do to take care of her, and so on. Why the fuck doesn’t anybody ever worry about me, and feel obligated to take care of me? Why doesn’t anybody pay my bills, and buy my food, and bail me out of my mistakes? Why doesn’t anybody ever just call me up, and ask me how I am, and how they can help me? Why do I give a fuck about any of this? Right now I am angry with myself. My funds are seriously depleted and I am terrified of how I will pay my mortgage, and feed my cats, and gas my car. Yet, my sister did not in any way try to plan, or manage her money, or do anything to get her own ass in gear, and she ended up with no food. So I took her grocery shopping. I would do the same for anyone, but I was aggravated with her. While I do not think people should eat things that make them ill, I do think you should be a little mindful of the fact that if you want all name brand stuff, you need to get your ass a fucking job and buy it yourself. I do not buy myself the label brand of butter, or cereal, or milk, or much of anything. Minnie just wandered up and down the aisles, throwing items in the cart with no regard to economy, practicality, or reasonableness. That annoyed the shit out of me. Finally, I told her; "you know, I don’t have a job either." I am terrified that she is going to ask me to come live here. I have no idea how I will survive telling her no. But I know I will definitely not survive telling her yes. I would never make such a nuisance of myself, or impose on people like she does. It is very painful and difficult to me to love and care about someone who does not seem to even consider how burdensome they are to me. I am trying to look out for number one without feeling like number two, but I really just wish I had somebody to look out for me.

Shameless Product Endorsement

Through the process of being a home owner of a fixer upper that also was my childhood home, where things were not so good for a lot of my childhood, I have learned a lot. I have always been a neat freak, but I have had to learn some heavy duty cleaning type stuff. I have become an expert at dumpster rental. I have learned about clearing brush. I own and know how to use probably as many tools as Norm Abram at this point. I hate painting trim. Contractors drive me nuts. I will probably drop dead from shock if I ever get a contractor who shows up on time, does what they are hired to do, in the time they said it would take, does not break any of my stuff, cleans up after themselves, and does not come up with any other stuff that "needs" to get done.


My roof looks great, it is working very well at protecting my house, but my roofer pissed me off. It was some of the longest three days of my life dealing with him and his crew. I should have fired him before he even started, but I was desperate to get the roof done immediately, and I just could not wait to hire someone else. I had seen his finished work, and it was good. He showed up, unannounced, half in the bag, a few days before he was supposed to start, dumped a bunch of equipment in my yard, on top of tarps and equipment I had in my yard, and put a generator in my rickety ass garage. I did not want anyone in my rickety ass garage or fucking up my ladder, tarps, and other tools. While they were here, I was unable to get in my house because they felt the need to simultaneously accumulate their debris on the front and back porches. They also decided to unplug the motor home, which needed to stay plugged in to keep the mechanicals in it from deteriorating and unplug a freezer full of food as well. My favorite part was that he and his crew kept parking on the grass, when I told them not to do so. The capper was when he told me I could not tell him he could not park on the grass because technically the first fifteen feet in can be annexed be the city through eminent domain so it is not mine anyway. This is wrong in that the land potentially subject to eminent domain for the purpose of widening in the road is not anywhere near fifteen feet in my town, and also, IT IS MY FUCKING YARD! The day I came home and found they had unplugged the motor home, which is quite a feat, instead of using the extension cord, and outlets I told them they could use, was the last straw. I was visibly livid. He asked me what he could do, I told him he could finish the roof and get the fuck out of my yard. I handled that well, huh?


My electricians were great, they did everything I asked, including some stuff they did not have to do, like pull all the old TV and CB antennas down for me while they were up the ladder hooking up the new service. They always showed up when they said the would, cleaned up after themselves, and even told the plumber to stop being a pain in my ass. So that worked out very well. Unfortunately, they are high end and very busy, so I had to find another electrician to come and do the little stuff I need help with as those things pop up. They are good too, but I keep finding little wire carcasses all over the place after they are here.


The plumber, what a freaking prima donna. After this experience I decided I am going to marry a plumber because mine was always on vacation in exotic locations, had all kinds of high tech equipment and trucks, a huge house, as did his ex-wife, and he worked about 72 minutes per day three days a week. Suhweet. Sounds like lotsa fun to be Mrs. Plumber. Being plumber’s customer not so fun. Plumber is a slob, plumber makes a fucking mess everywhere, and "will clean it all up when he is done." Yeah, fuck you, so I can either clean up after you or put up with piles of debris in my yard, my basement, my hallway, and my living room until you decide to get around to finishing. Also, so not cool that I caught him putting his tools on my couch. Dipshit!


The plumber is also the contractor thanks to whom I came up with the joke that when a contractor tells me a job will take two weeks, I need to be sure it is two weeks in a row. I hired him in early June, he started mid July, and when he had not yet shown up for the finish work he was scheduled to do the third week of August, I just had the electrician do it. He eventually called me to tell me he had been trying to get in touch with me. So not true, I have caller ID. I explained I figured he quit since he did not show up as scheduled, or call. So he told me ok, he will be right over to pick up his final payment. I printed out a spreadsheet of what I hired him to do, what I had paid him thus far, and docked him for all the shit the electrician did as well as all the shit he and his crew broke. I will be honest, the plumbing is great, the bathroom looks amazing, and it was the best money I ever spent.


When it came to the tile, they thought I was nuts, and gave me a lot of static. They finally shut up when I told them; "well, if it sucks, good for you, I write you another check to fix it, and you can say I told you so. Otherwise, all you have to do is tell me I am right." I think they were more enticed by the possibility of an "I told you so" than by the possibility of another check. They did what I said, and it came out amazing. It looks great, and they, as well as all the other contractors said "you were right." I did have them redo the grout because it was cracking and not filled well in some areas the first time. Rookie error, I did not know all the stuff to double check. Eventually, it seemed to me that the grout around the edge of the tub was crumbling. So, I made one of the grave tactical errors I have made since I became a homeowner. I half assedly caulked over it. So, of course, I ended up with caulk encased mold, which aggravated me no end, particularly since it was my own damn fault. I tried several things. Cleanser, liquid cleanser, bleach, shampoo, dish soap, laundry soap, old toothbrush, baking soda... At last, I found salvation. Tilex Mold and Mildew Remover. Buy It, Use It, Live It. It got rid of the mold. The edge of the tub is once again shiny and pristine. When the weather gets cold, I will pull out all the caulk and grout and regrout and reseal the edge of the tub, but until then, I am blasting the crud back to the Stone Age with the Tilex.

Shameless Product Endorsement

Through the process of being a home owner of a fixer upper that also was my childhood home, where things were not so good for a lot of my childhood, I have learned a lot. I have always been a neat freak, but I have had to learn some heavy duty cleaning type stuff. I have become an expert at dumpster rental. I have learned about clearing brush. I own and know how to use probably as many tools as Norm Abram at this point. I hate painting trim. Contractors drive me nuts. I will probably drop dead from shock if I ever get a contractor who shows up on time, does what they are hired to do, in the time they said it would take, does not break any of my stuff, cleans up after themselves, and does not come up with any other stuff that "needs" to get done.

My roof looks great, it is working very well at protecting my house, but my roofer pissed me off. It was some of the longest three days of my life dealing with him and his crew. I should have fired him before he even started, but I was desperate to get the roof done immediately, and I just could not wait to hire someone else. I had seen his finished work, and it was good. He showed up, unannounced, half in the bag, a few days before he was supposed to start, dumped a bunch of equipment in my yard, on top of tarps and equipment I had in my yard, and put a generator in my rickety ass garage. I did not want anyone in my rickety ass garage or fucking up my ladder, tarps, and other tools. While they were here, I was unable to get in my house because they felt the need to simultaneously accumulate their debris on the front and back porches. They also decided to unplug the motor home, which needed to stay plugged in to keep the mechanicals in it from deteriorating and unplug a freezer full of food as well. My favorite part was that he and his crew kept parking on the grass, when I told them not to do so. The capper was when he told me I could not tell him he could not park on the grass because technically the first fifteen feet in can be annexed be the city through eminent domain so it is not mine anyway. This is wrong in that the land potentially subject to eminent domain for the purpose of widening in the road is not anywhere near fifteen feet in my town, and also, IT IS MY FUCKING YARD! The day I came home and found they had unplugged the motor home, which is quite a feat, instead of using the extension cord, and outlets I told them they could use, was the last straw. I was visibly livid. He asked me what he could do, I told him he could finish the roof and get the fuck out of my yard. I handled that well, huh?

My electricians were great, they did everything I asked, including some stuff they did not have to do, like pull all the old TV and CB antennas down for me while they were up the ladder hooking up the new service. They always showed up when they said the would, cleaned up after themselves, and even told the plumber to stop being a pain in my ass. So that worked out very well. Unfortunately, they are high end and very busy, so I had to find another electrician to come and do the little stuff I need help with as those things pop up. They are good too, but I keep finding little wire carcasses all over the place after they are here.

The plumber, what a freaking prima donna. After this experience I decided I am going to marry a plumber because mine was always on vacation in exotic locations, had all kinds of high tech equipment and trucks, a huge house, as did his ex-wife, and he worked approximately 72 minutes per day three days a week. Suhweet. Sounds like lotsa fun to be Mrs. Plumber. Being plumber’s customer not so fun. Plumber is a slob, plumber makes a fucking mess everywhere, and "will clean it all up when he is done." Yeah, fuck you, so I can either clean up after you or put up with piles of debris in my yard, my basement, my hallway, and my living room until you decide to get around to finishing. Also, so not cool that I caught him putting his tools on my couch. Dipshit!

The plumber is also the contractor thanks to whom I came up with the joke that when a contractor tells me a job will take two weeks, I need to be sure it is two weeks in a row. I hired him in early June, he started mid July, and when he had not yet shown up for the finish work he was scheduled to do the third week of August, I just had the electrician do it. He eventually called me to tell me he had been trying to get in touch with me. So not true, I have caller ID. I explained I figured he quit since he did not show up as scheduled, or call. So he told me ok, he will be right over to pick up his final payment. I printed out a spreadsheet of what I hired him to do, what I had paid him thus far, and docked him for all the shit the electrician did as well as all the shit he and his crew broke. I will be honest, the plumbing is great, the bathroom looks amazing, and it was the best money I ever spent.

When it came to the tile, they thought I was nuts, and gave me a lot of static. They finally shut up when I told them; "well, if it sucks, good for you, I write you another check to fix it, and you can say I told you so. Otherwise, all you have to do is tell me I am right." I think they were more enticed by the possibility of an "I told you so" than by the possibility of another check. They did what I said, and it came out amazing. It looks great, and they, as well as all the other contractors said "Lana, you were right." I did have them redo the grout because it was cracking and not filled well in some areas the first time. Eventually, it seemed to me that the grout around the edge of the tub was crumbling. Rookie error, I did not know all the stuff to double check. So, I made one of the grave tactical errors I have made since I became a homeowner. I half assedly caulked over it. So, of course, I ended up with caulk encased mold, which aggravated me no end, particularly since it was my own damn fault. I tried several things. Cleanser, liquid cleanser, bleach, shampoo, dish soap, laundry soap, old toothbrush, baking soda... At last, I found salvation. Tilex Mold and Mildew Remover. Buy It, Use It, Live It. It got rid of the mold. The edge of the tub is once again shiny and pristine. When the weather gets cold, I will pull out all the caulk and grout and regrout and reseal the edge of the tub, but until then, I am blasting the crud back to the Stone Age with the Tilex.