Musing...

I've been reading a lot of opinion pieces or "news" lately, and I've decided if other people can post unverified, inflammatory or 100% wrong swill, then I can too. And if I write enough fluff and foolishness, maybe some of those new sites will find my writing "hard hitting" and "on the nose" (whose nose by the way?). Maybe they will be so enamored by my ability to write farce with a straight face, they'll be beating down my virtual door! Then, I can be a freelance writer. Heck, I won't even have to proofread (I'll be starting right now) because if they aren't interested in fact who the heck even cares about misspellings, poor grammar or proper formatting. Even if I wasn't a grammar Nazi (and I'm not) my little pea-pickin English lovin' heart has clutched the pearls so often I'm afraid to wear jewelry. 

Anyone who knows me knows I have opinion to spare, so why not get paid to spew? Does anyone out there care what I think?

No, but why should I let that stop me? 

Hey There Stranger...

 I know it's been a while since I posted, but maybe some one is still out there, eager to hear my newest tale. Let's get started shall we...

 On July 4th, Babe took Miney and Moe out to see the fireworks. They stopped along a bridge with approximately 700 other people to watch said fireworks. I didn't go because I didn't want to. About an hour after they'd left, Babe calls me up to ask if "I'd heard". To which I replied, "heard what?"

"We've been in an accident," he tells me.

Fabulous.

But it gets so so much better. Babe was parked facing South. Dude comes up the road headed North and just wandered to the other side of the road. He hit our car in the back passenger door and because my daughter is ten feet tall, her head grazes the ceiling at all the times and she hit the window, causing a slight concussion. Dude being the gem he is, tries to drive away, but his car was busted too, so he got out of his car and jumped the railing! Dude straight up ran away. Also, the car had paper tags...that were expired.

Captain A$$hole's Stolen (probably) Car

Heartbroken Babe's car.

I hopped in our Teenmobile and rushed out to pick them up. The police showed up, a wrecker or two showed up, people gawked as they passed and weren't terribly concerned about there being minimal space on the road with a wrecked car on either side because apparently there is only one way in and out of Fort Worth and this was it.

Now, I'm not angry about the car. No one got too badly hurt, we have insurance and it's just a car. However, I am nursing a new kind of irritation over the whole thing that I am going to call General Ineptitude or How To Have Someone Else Do Your Job.

It starts like this. Babe called on Monday to find out what was happening with the repair estimate on the car. He is told it's probably about 10K. The next day, the total is higher. Yesterday, he calls again and they tell him they haven't even had a chance to look the car over. So where did those first two estimates come from? He asks if they've includes the damage to the interior. Guy apparently hadn't even considered checking the interior. Babe helped Guy do his job.

Babe has also been following up with the police department. First, they can't find the police report. Then, they find the report, but explain that it has been rejected from the system because of some error. The police department then invites Babe to call the officer and let her know the file was rejected. Seriously? The officer in question works nights and doesn't have a voice mail. I beg Babe not to tell them about the voicemail for fear they will ask him to set one up for her because we're having other people do our jobs these days.

Then he contacts the detective...

Listen, I know no one is perfect and we all have off days, but this has crossed the threshold from ridiculous to enraging. Just do YOUR job. It's one thing to follow up, it's another thing entirely if you can't be bothered to inform your employee of a mistake in her report so instead ask the customer to inform your employee of the mistake in her report. Who does that?! 

Well, three of the companies involved in this accident, that's who.

The New Guy...

My oldest, Eenie, got married this year. For the sake of privacy, the man she has married shall ever more be referred to as B-Mo in this blog. I may also call him B-Mo in real life as B-Mo is a character in Adventure Time and I love that show. 

So Ennie and B-Mo married in March and we had a lovely reception in our back yard. I planted lots of flowers and the grass was a lovely shade of green. The weather was wonderful and it was just a really nice end to a days long activity.

See Eenie and B-Mo wanted to get married in San Antonio. Thus the Thursday before the ceremony, the bride's peeps (that would be us) drove out to San Antonio where we stayed the night. Friday morning was spent primping and prepping, then the ceremony was performed that afternoon. We are Latter Day Saints or Mormons, so the marriage was performed in the temple there. Thanks to COVID, only five from each side could attend the actual ceremony while the rest waited outside. 

The guests who waited outside were some serious troopers, I tell ya. They drove for four hours even though they knew they would have to wait outside. I've never felt such love for my family as those people showed us that day. 

After the ceremony we spent hours and hours and days posing for pictures before the sweet release of dinner, which our new son's parents graciously hosted. Then, we drove home one passenger lighter because Eenie wanted to stay with that guy she'd married. Poo. 

We got back to the house late Friday night then spent the next morning setting up for the reception. Some things I learned through this process:

1. Renting tables and chairs can be pricey, but sometimes it's better to pay the money to avoid the aggravation of finding the time and resources to pick up and drop off those same items from a third location. Thankfully, that last minute revelation didn't bite me in the butt, and I was able to rent the items we needed just in time. 

Aren't they just adorable?!

2. One basically agrees to surrender one's entire house to the wedding for months before, and a solid month after, the event. Those cute cupcake towers and punch bowels do not store themselves. We were very fortunate to have had everything basically handed to us by a woman whose daughter was married over ten years ago. Those bins of lights and tablecloths have fulfilled the purpose of their existence many, many times, and a super bonus is they have already moved to the next family in need of wedding décor. Huzzah!

3. Just rent the dang tent. You can buy one for what it costs to rent one, but it's made of toilet paper and bread ties. The money is gone anyway, so do yourself a favor and fork over the dough.

4. Be prepared to have food and drink coming out of your ears for at least two weeks after the party has ended. We still have bacon wrapped jalapenos in the freezer. I've heard it's better to have too much than not enough. That's what they say, but I'm still not sure. 

5. My mother in law is a SAINT. Marriage is an adjustment and not just for the happy couple. Sometimes, I draw blood for biting my tongue so hard. I can only imagine how frustrating it had to be my own mother in law. DFD, I am so sorry for sometimes making things harder than they needed to be. I hate to break it to all the young people out there, but you've only been adulting for a handful of years. Try to remember that when you think you know all the things. 

So now I have achieved the rank of mother in law. It could be worse...for B-Mo.

Muahahahaha!

Aren't we just adorable?!

                                           

I've Never Been Accused of Being Graceful...

 I just can't win. I was telling a friend it seems like our guardian angels have left us to our own devices because we just can't not hurt ourselves. I've had some pretty moronic accidents that have left me with bumps and bruise, accidents I couldn't recreate if you paid me. My one comfort was that at least I had a fun story to share. 

Then this happened...

My toes are hidden in the shadow. Promise.

On the plus side I had just gotten a pedicure.

 

I used to have an ankle here.

Thursday last week I stepped off a curb. That's it. That's what happened. Somewhere between the curb and the pavement my foot stopped supporting me. Or maybe I just needed to lie down? At any rate, I found myself forcefully moved to the ground.

After a moment of reflection and gratuitous cursing, I hauled my hinder off the ground and limped back to the van. Miney had accompanied me on my errand, but had applied all of her attention to her phone thus she did not see me disappear from the rearview mirror. If she had, she would have already been well versed on so many, many things. My ankle was throbbing, but Miney is unlicensed so I had to drive myself home. As I gingerly loaded myself into the van, she asked where we were headed next and I said, "Home, because I have fallen." She was unconcerned because I fall all the time, so what?

Well, by the time we got home, maybe ten minutes later, my ankle had swollen to an unbelievable size and the pain had become unbearable. It hurt like a bad dog when Babe pulled my sock off. My ankle bone was the size of a softball and it hurt. A lot.

I was so certain I had broken that bugger that I had Babe run me to the Carenow, but because I half-ass everything, it wasn't broken just severely sprained. The doc splinted my ankle and sent me on my way. Babe got me ice cream on the way home.

So now I'm gimping around the house on crutches or "death sticks," if you will. My lack of grace is amplified with crutches and I'm just waiting for one of Moe's shoes to pop up out of no where, trip me up and launch me into space. My dogs have decided the best way to help me is to walk ahead of me, then decide at the last moment to move to the left, no the right. Wait! Yes, the left.

One of the pups has also decided the best place to hang out is right under the recliner where I sit with my leg propped six feet in the air. So when I have to go to the bathroom, I have to make sure she gets out of the way because the kids would be upset if I accidently killed her in the chair.

Potty breaks are a fun trip in themselves as I have to push my stack of pillow to the left, reach for my crutches and make sure the foot rest snaps snuggly in place before I stand up, or it will pop back up and smack me in my ouchie ankle because, of course it would.

We're headed to Florida next week so I'm thankful it isn't broken. I need both feet for jellyfish stings and I am capable of bring sand inside without involving a clunky cast.

Update: It has been a year since I hurt myself (that time). I still walk with a limp and my ankle swells if I walk too far or stand too long. Clearly I am of an age where once it's broke it stays that way. The trip to Florida was fun. The place we rented was super tiny so crutches were just the best. Also, the floor was tiled because sand, so the grips on the bottom of my crutches had nothing to grip, but did make for a heart stopping slip and slide ride.

I made it out to the beach the first day, but the sand was difficult to traverse on crutches (you probably already knew that, but I'm not the brightest bulb on the tree) and my splint picked up a lot of sand, so I mostly hung out in our cabana.

I want to go to Florida again, but I'll plan to stay sedentary, wrapped in bubble wrap, for the weeks preceding the trip. 

I regret nothing!

                                                            

Oh, Rats...

 Freakin' furry monsters.

Earlier this year, Judy (our beloved Toyota Sienna) was sent to the Big Farm to retire. She'd put in sixteen years of hard labor and the wear was beginning to catch up with her. We had decided last year's high dollar repair was the last repair so when she was diagnosed with another high dollar repair, we pulled the plug. This left me without a vehicle, which was fine because I never go anywhere, but because Babe is the best, he was already scouting for a replacement.

A month or two later he found me a truck. OMG! I was so excited. However, that excitement was dampened a hair when I learned we'd have to drive half way across Texas to pick it up. No joke, it was five hours round trip. So not really half, but a whole day nonetheless. We decided to make a day of it so that worked out. We toured the jail where some guy murdered some other guy and then was murdered himself, and had some "meh" barbecue. Also, the previous owner was a smoker so I drove back with the windows down. Seventy mile per hour wind is a lot of wind, just so you know, and cigarette smoke permeates EV-ERY THING.

Anyway, now I've got an awesome truck with a liner and back-up camera and everything. The back-up camera is more on the annoying side because it beeps if you get too close to the car behind you. Which means it screams bloody murder if the tailgate is down, which happens sometimes. No I don't accidently leave the tailgate down, if that's what you're thinking.

My first order of business was to get some dirt so I could load it into my truck. Woot! Also, I needed dirt for the Garden of Contention which will get some attention in another post. Anyhoo, I have since made several trips to the dump, helped my sister move and pretty much filled that bed as often as I can. If you need something hauled, just call!

So, here we are not five month later and I was helping out a friend by taking her child to gymnastics. As the site of the class was in the middle of friggin no where, I waited in the truck for the clock to run out. About half an hour into my idle, my truck kind of sputtered and then stopped. 

It started right up, so I didn't think too much about it until the next day when it threatened to die at a stoplight. I went to AutoZone to have my battery and alternator checked and they weren't the problem. I checked the air filter. It wasn't that. I made sure the gas cap was tightened, and checked the windshield wiper fluid as well as the blinker fluid, for good measure.

After running my errands, I was headed back home when all of a sudden I was coasting down the street. Thankfully, it was the street to my house so I coasted into the driveway. I tried starting the truck several times and the one or two times it turned over, it immediately died again. I could hear my debit card start sobbing from my wallet. Awesome.

After some googling, consulting with my male siblings, and hoping against hope, I was no closer to an answer. So I took Pixie (that's her name) to the mechanic. 

The drive short, but anxiety inducing. She died at the first light where I was paused to turn right. It took several tries to start her up again. Then, I found myself in a school zone so I got to creep ever so slowly and sweat ever so profusely through that. Then, I found myself behind two of the slowest drivers ever to grace this earth. I couldn't change lanes because they were in both of them. I was beginning to worry I might have to push my truck the rest of the way to the mechanic when one of the cars finally moved up enough that I could get around both of them, but Pixie was stuttering and pulling so I wasn't sure how much longer she would last. And then the check engine light popped on. The suspense was thrilling. Would I make it in time? Would I have to push my track for the last few miles? Would there be anyone to help or would they all stare wide-eyed and stupefied as they passed? Should I just leave her on the side of the road? I had a lot of time to think while I was behind those two morons.

I just made it to the garage when she died again so I coasted into a spot and let her rest. A day later, I got the prognosis. Rats had gotten up under the hood and gone to town on a few of the sensors. And I had an oil leak. 

What is it about plastic coating that rats find so delicious? 

The repair or "check for one rat's meal" cost us three car payment. Imma find that rat and take those three car payments out of it's hide. Imma skin it and hang it's pelt in the back window of my truck as a warning to it's wife and progeny. Also, now I'm a little bit paranoid it will happen again. I've heard peppermint is a deterrent. So if you smell candy canes, it's probably me. I'm also looking into sonic boom tech to cause the little rodents auditory damage. They also invaded my garden and shat in my planters so they have it coming.

Damn rats. 

Then There Were Killer Hornets...

I know Killer Hornets are old news at this point in 2020, but I was reminded, today, of my frequent and plentiful run-ins with wasps lasts summer.

For whatever reason, all the wasps in the DFW area opted to take up residence in my backyard. I found nests under fence posts, in my trees, under planters, clinging to the decorative fence and other places I was unaware of until I happened upon them. For this reason, I opted to wear long overalls and garden boots every time I went to play in the backyard/garden. I would like to remind everyone that safety measures make no difference because I tend to get hurt anyway, but those wasps were serious. So in triple degree weather, I'm tromping around in long pants and boots to avoid painful consequences. 

Lord. Help. Me.

I was working in the garden with my pal Ang, and was strolling across the yard when all of the sudden I felt a prick on my inner thigh. Suddenly, the prick began to burn and there was another prick and then another. I realized one of those fetchers had flown up my pants leg! I ran for the house, stripping my overalls off along the way and dumping them at the back door, where that little bugger flew out of my pants and into the house. I grabbed a broom and chased it into a corner where I attempted to broom it to death, but I managed to fling it into space after the first smack. The burning around my thigh and knee abruptly became my focus, so I neglected to look for the body. Five great big welts formed on the front and back of my leg. Five welts, but on closer inspection, seven holes. 

The next morning, I heard a frantic buzzing at the living room window and wouldn't you know, it was my un-dead wasp. It's mother would not even be able to identify it's body by the time I was done taking those seven stings out of its hide. Then, just to pre-empt any hive minded retribution, I headed outside and went scorched earth on every nest I found. I went through three cans of hornet spray. 

My leg was swollen and itchy for a solid week before I began to heal. I could barely bend my leg, but after that whole episode, I realized if I had been wearing shorts and flops, that damn thing wouldn't have been able to sting me seven times in a row. So the next time I went into the garden, it was in a t-shirt, shorts and flops. I also wasn't too worried about running into any more wasps because I had just mass murdered all I could find. 

It was the ones I didn't find that got me. Three more times, between my toes.

Three is less than seven so I call that a win!

That's hot

This Year...

2020 has kind of been the worst. I know, I know the virus has made things...unpleasant, but the year literally started sucking on January 1st. Babe left for the Philippines that morning for a three week work trip. In twenty years of marriage we have never been so far apart for so long a time. I was missing him before he left the van at drop off.

It was hard enough to have him gone, but it became even more unpleasant the morning he called to tell me, "don't panic, but there's a volcano erupting here." He was mighty casual for a man who has never actually experienced a volcano first hand. Even with "rocks falling from the sky," he was frustratingly calm. He's low-key freaking out about this virus though. It's almost funny how the rolls have changed. I have seen enough volcano disaster movies (Dante's Peak, Volcano, Joe Versus the Volcano, Lavalanchala) to know better than to poo-poo the raging murder fiend called "nature." Yet, I am not nearly as panicked as he is about our current situation. I went out to lunch with friends this afternoon (gasp) in public (uber gasp)! I am the harbinger of death!

Eenie moved up to Utah at the end of January. She called me this morning and told me, "don't panic, but there was an earthquake this morning." I've gotten far too many calls that begin with, "don't panic, but..." this year. It's only freakin' March. Oh, and then there's this little inconvenience by the name of COVID-19 running willy-nilly through the countryside.

The worst part of the pandemic (that's what it's been labeled) is just how horribly people are behaving in the face of this threat. I blame the media. It has become a consequence-free-for-all with the very deliberate "Just run the story, we'll fact check later, maybe," school of thought they've rabidly embraced. The problem this position has caused is a "react first, think later" position among the general public. With the announcement of Captain Tripps...I mean, Corona Virus people all around the country have lost their collective minds and have taken to panic hoarding water, hand sanitizer, sanitizing wipes and toilet paper. Toilet paper! It's a respiratory virus. The only bum issue this virus causes is the one where people have rammed their heads into their asses. Toilet paper isn't going to fix that condition. A change in perspective is only only cure for asshead.

The country is closing down to try and prevent the spread of the virus, Church and schools have been cancelled for the next couple of weeks. Restaurants, bars and lounges are closed. Facebook has become SUPER touchy, blocking any comment that maybe, might, just a teenie, tiney chance perhaps be construed as hate speech. There was a post about how Korea has managed to lock down without the panic seen here in the U.S. (they still have toilet paper on the shelves) I commented that America is the worst, because guess what gang, Americans ARE the WORST and my comment was tagged as hate speech. One of my other friends quoted C.S. Lewis (A Christmas Carols, C.S. Lewis) and his comment was tagged by Facebook. Maybe Facebook is the worst.

Just ask the people who can't find meat because of the panic. Maybe ask the woman who watched another woman shove the last pack of toilet paper into her already crammed with 12 count packs of toilet paper cart what she thinks about Americans and their ability to be rational. Or how bout the guy who decided to buy up all of the hand sanitizer for three counties so he could jack up the price and sell it on Amazon in the hopes of making a tidy sum off of the shortage.

Our cruise was cancelled. Babe is working from home for the foreseeable future. It's the end of the world as we know it, and I feel fine.