My Hug Project & Other Madness

Ok, so I’ve been thinking (scary) and observing. As a reformed “Don’t even think about getting in my personal space” person AND the fact that Lent begins tomorrow and my “Lenten To Do” list was a bit lacking, I’m making an addition. From March 8 until April 24, I will hug someone every day. If you think this is an no-brainer, think again.

A hug can be supportive, comforting, affectionate, or welcoming. We are born with the “innate need for human touch”. Several years back, I tried to explain this basic need to a group of friends. My comments were met with, “there she goes again” looks and the subject was changed. But I press on. When I lived with a houseful of people, I never thought about it, either. In my techno world, I can communicate with tons of people on a daily basis without actually seeing live human being for days. Not. Good. Physical connection is healthy and hugs are nice so there you have it.

I’ve got two weeks covered; daughter visits and trips. But the rest of the time … well, talk about stepping out of my comfort zone. I might have to hug strangers, which could lead to my arrest and jail is not a good place to launch a “hugging project”. But I’m getting ahead of myself. At the end of the day, I think it might be good. Will keep you posted, whether you care or not. Must add a warning to “dates” during this time:  if I hug you, it is NOT an invitation to grab my ass. It means I am fulfilling my daily duty AND  I don’t like you enough to even produce an air kiss. The old “hug and SHOO!” Just sayin’.

Speaking of madness (see header), let me tell you how insane the state I live in is. I won’t address public education, which the powers that be are trying to do away with. Really. I won’t address the fact that our state has a “rainy day fund” for education emergencies and the moron Governor does not consider this tsunami a rainy day. But I will briefly address mental illness (not mine, ha!).

Drive by any bus stop in my city, and I promise, you will see someone talking to themselves. In a crazy way. Because when the mentally challenged use up their chits at state institutions, they are loaded up on a bus and dropped off – wherever. This process is tragic. As I drove  into the Target parking lot this morning, I saw a woman pulling a suitcase toward the door. She was yelling up a storm – at nobody. She obviously had some mental issues and her angry ranting was scary. I parked, went into the store, and started my bargain hunting. She was right behind me. And she was some kind of pissed off. I kept moving to different parts of the store, but I could hear her wherever I went. “I’m a 33rd level Mason! I don’t have a husband! But I’m a Mason.” Don’t know much about Masons but I’m pretty sure they are men. I was outta there. But not before she verbally assaulted two checkers and ventured back into the belly of the store. I suggested they might want to have security “assist” Ms. Mason, especially since she has her suitcase in her cart and God only knows what’s in there. They laughed. As I left, I noticed security filing her fingernails; that’s what 16-year-old security guards do, I guess. Situations such as this make me feel helpless. And I hate that.

On a different note, I’ve got my F-It Bucket all ready to go. For those of you who are unaware of what a FIB is, you will have to read my previous post. Or not. Your choice. Nevertheless, … ta -da ……..

All credit goes to Amy Sedaris for idea

This may only be big enough for a couple of days. But it is the official F-Bomb depository. Feel free to add yours – all I need is the name of offender/offensive situation that makes you want to say “F-You”; I’ll write it out and make a deposit. Sharing. Hugs. Madness.

Happy F-ing Tuesday!


How I Lost 250+ Lbs and a Bunch of Other Stuff in One Easy Step

Good Grief! My mom just called to rehash how lucky I am to be “unencumbered” by last year’s Cooking Partner. Tell me something I don’t know.  I was just texting my locksmith about my new safety situation. Just in case. 

Didn’t plan on writing about this, but when the inspiration presents itself, a woman’s gotta do what a woman’s gotta do. If you are expecting me to call him a big, fat, lying, creepy, tightwad con job – forget it. I’m taking the high road.

This was Round 3 with him. Round 1 ended with me thinking, “Maybe he has some serious issues“. Plus, I was in no shape to even make a grocery list, much less deal with man troubles. Round 2 was a tie; it left me thinking, “Wow. I can’t deal with his serious issues. Have enough of my own, thank you very much!” Round 3 – which lasted about 11 confusing months – ended as the holidays started. And I thought and will think forever, “HE AIN’T RIGHT IN THE HEAD”. Shoo!

Family and friends have threatened intervention AND a good, long stay in a mental ward if ever I speak to him again. AS IF. But, considering I did go three rounds with him, I understand where they are coming from. But friends and family, you have my word, I’d date a greased pig before that would happen. Correction: the similarities between mr. loser and greased pig are way too close; I’d rather date a … a … I’d rather live with 500 cats and watch Grey Gardens over and over and over again. Capice?

Back to mother, her nicest comment regarding the human lugnut included, “I think he was two-timing you.” Ya think? Crossed my mind many moons ago; also crossed recreational fun and games right off my “to do with CP” list. So sad, too bad, love dad. Gah! Gak!

Oh, meh! My high road isn’t as high as I thought. Ending this right now so I will not get ugly.


*If anyone spots a large loser with an Oriental rug, new luggage, gourmet cooking skills, and a bunch of other good stuff, please make a citizen’s arrest. He is an inventory criminal. Just look for a big old boy wearing fake topsider Crocs as dress shoes. Air-conditioned shoes …SO not cool. Oh yeah, and donate my stuff to Goodwill. Merci!


Ciao Ciao for Now

For all 2-1/2 readers out there (yes, the dog counts as 1/2), I’m taking a tiny break. Am purging my home for “garage sale items” which means everything that’s not nailed to the wall. The big, dirty, stinking event is this Saturday with a spiffy 6:00 am set-up situation. I hate participating in garage sales but I like money. And I better make a mint. That, combined with trying to start a new business and maintain a wiggly social life, leaves me no time to write. At the moment. But I fully expect to be as snarky as ever long about Tuesday. Try to behave yourselves. (Just kidding).

If you see this sign, come on by.




How I Quit My Job in Three Easy Steps

It’s elementary. When self-immolation is preferable to going to work, something’s gotta give.  Let me think here … oh yeah, my right arm was accidently engulfed in fire when I was seven. Still wearing the evidence. Didn’t feel good then and not a hot look now (no pun intended). So, my choice became crystal clear a week ago today. Here’s how I did it:

  1. Say “I quit.”
  2. Go on a road trip with a bunch of fun friends for at least a week.
  3. Post sign below until further notice:

Pretty much sums it up

As I am nowhere near independently wealthy, the hunt for new cash flow is on.  But first, I need a nap. The thought of hunting anything at this moment makes me sleepy. <Big Yawn>


Home Sweat Home



No, I didn’t misspell “Sweet” in the headline.  Just returned from the BEST vacation (much more on this later); it is 100-degrees in the shade here.  I don’t care because I’m so blissed out, nothing is going to pop my happy balloon. Re-entry  usually makes me seriously grumpy. But not this time…..  

  • After my plane landed, I headed to the taxi stand. Once settled inside my ride, the teenage(?) driver took off at warp speed. So fast my hair blew back and my hair is very short;I believe the polite word for it is “gamine”. Teen  driver was multi-tasking; he had the accelerator pushed to the floor as he tried to punch my address into that talking direction box thing while squirting Eau de Reek throughout the vehicle.  His typing skills were nil so I was spelling v-e-r-y  s-l-o-w-l-y and LOUDLY.  I determined, from what I could understand, that he’d just come from Lebanon via Iraq because his uncle, the real taxi driver, had a bad back. While flying from side to side in the wildly careening cab, I began texting my family and friends about making my funeral arrangements as my demise was imminent. But God is good;we screeched to a halt in front of my home in about 20 minutes.  The airport is a good 45-minute drive when there is no traffic.  That’ll be $80, which I gladly paid in return for my life.
  • Surprise!  College Girl was at the house.  We had a brief happy reunion.  Then she said, “You have no food”.  Too happy to be snarky, I pointed her toward the grocery store and gave her a push.
  • Went to check voicemail.  Several “Are you ok?”messages.  How does anyone know about that taxi ride yet?  Well, they didn’t. Apparently lightning had its way with a number of homes around me – four across the courtyard, six behind me.  All completely toasted. Horrible but no one injured. I was damn lucky to be alive AND have a bed to fall into.
  • Cooper’s boarding school called bright and early the next morning with a plea for me to fetch him.  Lisa, the Principal, told me he was a “talker”, he doesn’t like dogs but he does like people.  Because he thinks he’s a person. So he spent a week bitching in his own special way about his accommodations.  Glad to see him go, they were.
  • Returned home to an email from Miss Peach.  She is tired and needs a check she left with me deposited into her account. SHE IS ON A GREEK ISLAND. And apparently out of moolala. Whatever. So I found her check, promptly lost it, and had to email her dad to stop payment, blah, blah, blah. After losing everything but my head while traveling with Cowgirl, she suggested I might have a spot of ADD.  Am beginning to think she’s right, and spot is just a drop in my ADD bucket.  Still blissful.
  • Finally got to spend quality time with my cooking partner.  As we were strolling the grocery store aisles, I asked him about the upcoming holiday. You know, plans and stuff.  He has them; he and his buddy are in a marathon fishing tournament. In a place where fish live.  Which would not be here. My bliss turned to piss briefly, then I regained my composure. I am still alive and have a bed to fall into and a dog who thinks he’s a person.  All good. Plus, there’s a nasty tropical storm brewing near the Gulf AND the fish are likely escapees from the oil spill which = inedible. Hope that storm stays away and fish migrate from California … but you never know.

So, to wrap this ramble up, the bliss remains … despite family medical scares (everyone is fine), fire and brimstone, Fourth of Stinking July fishing tournaments, and a dog who is applying for his SSN#.  I didn’t watch a second of television for a week (bliss!) …only to find out that a very bad boy tried to sell his “used” mother on eBay AND that rancid slice of bologna, Jake the Bachelor, split from his fake fiancée AND allegedly drew back his fist to punch her during an interview.  Enough!  

Cooper and I are going to sit in the refrigerator and cool off …. 


If I Were A Lion, I Would Roar

I know it’s Tuesday but it feels like Dumbday.  And I’m feeling bitchy.  You have been warned.

  • In the We-Are-So-Screwed Department, apparently the Feds have asked director James Cameron to brainstorm with the Powers That Be on how to stop the BP DISASTER in the Gulf of Mexico.  Excuse me, I don’t give a rat’s ass if he is an underwater technology guy – HE MADE A MOVIE ABOUT A SINKING SHIP.  Really, is this the best we can do?  We have an environmental disaster beyond measure and the Feds call Hollywood? And point fingers?  Can some smart people please take charge here. Jeez……..
  • The last report I read, BP stock continues to sink.  The company has lost somewhere in the are of 65 billion or so.  Hmmmm …. a company that can lose 65 billion or so and still be in business? Wow.  And NOT have a backup plan for rig disasters? Double Wow. Have always loved a quote of John Wayne’s, “If you don’t like something, don’t bitch. Get off your butt and do something about it.” Well, John, I would if I could, but I don’t think getting in a canoe and paddling out there with a net is going to make a difference.  Hence, the bitchfest.
  • Someone snuck in my room while I was sleeping and removed part of my brain.  There is no other reason why I would purposefully turn on the television shows I have.  Last night, for instance.  Accidently turned on “The Bachelorette” – and it was horrible.  Not reviewing the show, but what happened on air.  There are a bunch of “men” trying to win Ali’s heart.  One of them is a nice weather weenie.   The other, a dental appliance salesman. A scary, psychotic, cruel, nutbag sort of guy.  He taunted the weather weenie so much, it was painful to watch.  The weather weenie told on him and dental devil did not receive a rose.  Two things made me angry: the other “guys” didn’t tell Satan to shut the hell up at any point and, he’s really so scary I fear for any man or woman who ever gets near him.  This show continues to choose disturbed contestants.  And it is disturbing ……
  • As if that wasn’t enough, next on was “The Real Housewives of New Jersey“. Don’t want to get whacked so must be careful here.  Suffice it to say there were major rumblings on the show, along with ex-cons on parole.  One of the parolees wanted to do bad things to other people, but parole would end in six days if he kept his hands to himself.  While the show was very real, it has nothing to do with any sort of housewives I’ve ever known. The only ex-con would be the guy in high school who was caught literally shaking down the washing machines for quarters at the washateria.  These people on tv are very scary.

Cooking Partner asks, “Why do you watch that trash?”.  And I do not have a good answer.  I don’t have an answer.  Because part of my brain is missing.  Think I’ll go look for it … ending this bitchathon.  You’re welcome.


Barometer Head Filled With Glee

I’ve got a barometer head.  It does not have an odd shape, but whenever the weather changes just the slightest bit, I get a migraine. Yes, I can predict the weather in a most uncomfortable way.

 If a hint of oncoming torture appears during the day, I can usually ward it off with a strong cup of coffee and Excedrin Migraine.  But I woke up with a humdinger yesterday morning and it was already wreaking havoc on the right side of my head.  My migraines are always on the right side behind my eye and surrounding area. A “Phantom of the Opera” mask, complete with ice and heat, would take care of this headache in a jiffy.  Am happy to report that three ice packs, two rounds of heated eye pillows, coffee, Olba’s Natural Inhaler from Whole Foods, two generic over-the-counter migraine pills, two pain pills plus 24 hours and the migraine is gone!  Best Mother’s Day gift ever!  Along with the first season of “Glee” and the third season of “The Tudors“.

Am doing happy dance…in the rain.  Which will clear up in a few days.  Promise.