When the Clock Goes Crazy…

 

 

*This post is not sad, sorry, or whiney; crazy, yes. Anything else, not so much.*

Truth is stranger than fiction. I don’t know if you have a “clock” thing, but I do. I don’t wear a watch just because. When I do look at a clock – in the car, at home, wherever – nine times out of ten, it reads, “11:11“. I have a clock that belonged to my grandmother; it works, but always stops at the time of her death, no matter what. I just use it as an accessory. Unwound. It has been my experience, when a clock goes crazy, so goes everything else.

Last Friday, I noticed the enormous clock in my kitchen was crazy. Twenty minutes behind, then an hour ahead. I didn’t even think about the clock crazies. It can be good crazy, bad crazy, mixed crazy – but crazy, regardless. Sort of like me. Sharing:

  • My family of origin has been playing hospital tag for the past year. I’d planned on going to the farmer’s market Saturday morning.  Instead, was sitting in the ER. Hollering, “MORE MORPHINE, NURSE HOLLY”, as the patient was in severe pain. She was very accommodating. We are the Loud Family. I noticed there were four people in the room across from ours. And only the nurse was speaking. Being the Nosy Otis I am, I looked in there; everyone in the room was signing. How do you scream, “morphine”, in sign language? Before I pushed my bossy self in “to help”, a patient advocate appeared and all was well. In that room.

 

  • Ok, so Mother’s Day Brunch was not happening. Miss Peach (eldest daughter) and I went to the hospital. Where I got to storm the nurses’ station, with the same request, “MORE MORPHINE, NURSE HOLLIE”. Two nurses, same name … what are the chances? Peach and I left, picked up some food, and came home. Then a crazy beautiful bouquet of flowers are delivered to my door. On Sunday. From Miss Peach. Love. But Miss Peach says they are wrong. They look right to me. Then I get a text from McPaddie’s beau. McPaddie is youngest, texting, calling, emailing me love bombs from the basement of her house where she is trying to finish last project for graduation. Bless her bones. Her beau’s message was also crazy beautiful – to a mother’s eyes. It said, “Happy Mother’s Day. Thank you for McPaddie“. Crazy good. Love my girls. Went to bed at 4 pm.

 

  • Morphine. Cowgirl explained hospital morphine to me; apparently it is diluted somewhat – not pure. So you can ask for it a lot. Good to know.

 

  • Monday was Pro Flowers Day. I called customer service, told them the arrangement wasn’t what Peach ordered; they were lovely and another bouquet was on the way.

 

  • Tuesday was big crazy. Patient to be released from hospital, no diagnosis, but no pain. Rah!? I get to go to see Lien. She makes my hair look amazing – even though it is not amazing as I am growing it out. Last month, I looked like Justin Bieber before he cut his hair. When I got to her salon, she seemed fine. She had to excuse herself, mid-cut, for about 20 minutes. I think she’s preggers. For the first time ever, she phoned in the hair. I left looking like Dan Fogelberg (RIP!). A tall, skinny, white woman does not look good with Justin or Dan hair. That’s ok, she wants to be pregnant and I can wear a baseball cap for three more months (her estimate).

 

  • Am failing mightily at this housekeeping thing. So today I walked into my dry cleaners/wash-n-fold for the first time in two years and handed over the laundry pile. Standing behind the counter is my favorite friend, Pung. She screamed, “WHERE HAVE YOU BEEN?” Pung and I have history. We have laughed a lot, we’ve cried together, I love her. Crazy good reunion. She wants to get pregnant, too. What is in the air?

 

  • Ding Dong. Pro Flower delivery. Open that big green box up and … oops, not what Peach ordered. Got back on the phone with customer service (they are so nice). And another bouquet is on the way. If this continues, my house is going to resemble a funeral parlour. Not complaining. I love flowers. So, crazy good because Pro Flowers has excellent customer service. Taking extras to patient’s home. Win-win.

In between, my friend sent me a great piece of writing I love by Oriah Mountain Dreamer. She’s very cool and I feel good when I read her writing. Am also reading essays by Regina Brett and enjoying her writing thoroughly. Am thoroughly pissed off at Angry Birds Rio/Rovio/Apple/Blue Sky Productions/ Chillingo because the promised May update hasn’t appeared. So I guess that makes me an angry bird.

I must go as I am very busy. I must pray for family health, great friends, babies for Lien and Pung, deliver flowers, take the damn clock off the wall, and remember to be thankful for good crazy, healers, calm during storms, good writers, amazing daughters, baseball caps, and anything else I will remember after I push the Publish button.

Favorite quote today: “If I keep a green bough in my heart, the singing bird will come” (Chinese proverb)

Off to mop the kitchen floor. Tomorrow. Maybe. Or not.

Later.

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Snarky Thursday: A Book, A List, & Questionable Songs

 

It’s a beautiful day in Snarkville. As I sit here at my desk, looking out the window, my eyes fix on two birds. One is big and fat, the other needs more meat on her bones. I know she is a she because BIG FATTY is trying to have his way with her. I must say, he is not subtle. He has repeatedly jumped on her back and bounced around. GET A ROOM NEST WHY DON’T ‘CHA!

Just finished “Bossypants” by Tina Fey. She’s funny. She thinks funny, she writes funny. I wonder if she has an extra pair of bossypants? Mine mistakenly went into last year’s Goodwill pile. Speaking of pants, I was horrified when recently wandered into the lingerie department of Nameless Store. All of the undies were psycho neon but that wasn’t the problem. Every pair were size 70XXXL granny panties. Must have wandered into alternate underwear universe; happens all the time.

Have been inventing jobs possibilities; the latest are:

  • Passive/Aggressive Mean Letter/Email Writer
  • Bird Hotelier (see above)
  • Telemarketer Whistle Sales – ok, this is GOOD. I could sell a line of whistles that attach to the phone. When telemarketers call, you answer the phone and immediately blow that sucker with gusto. Presto! Your number is off their list. I know of what I speak and this is a necessary item now that the sneaky telemarketers have started using cell numbers. Also effective for all sorts of people in your life. Think about it.

I’m not a fan of questionable song titles. But they do demand an answer, non? I blame this rant on Miss Britney Spears‘ cover of a Bellamy Brothers’ song. The rest of those listed are real as well. Meh!

  • “If I Said You Had A Beautiful Body, Would You Hold It Against Me? No, but I will punch you in the nose.
  • “Why Does It Hurt When I Pee?” Because you are stupid and have a urinary tract infection which is nothing to sing about.
  • “How Am I Supposed To Live Without You?” Not. My. Problem. Stop. Whining.
  • “Why Can’t We Be Friends?” Because you suck. 🙂
  • “Can You Feel The Love Tonight?” Zip up your pants and beat it, Buster!
  • “Do Ya Think I’m Sexy?” Nope, but I think your pants are way too tight.
  • “Where Did I Go Wrong?” You were born.
  • “Tommy, Can You Hear Me?” No. Duh. Deaf mute.
  • “How Can Anybody Possibly Know How I Feel?” They don’t. Shut up.
  • “Am I Going Insane?” Yes. Yes you are.
  • “Why Bother?” My point exactly.
  • “What If No One’s Watching?” Trust me, they aren’t.

Gotta dash – it’s time to watch paint peel. I will leave you with today’s snark; tuck it away as you might need it.

“I’m going to memorize your name and throw my head away.”

(anonymous)

Sooner or later.

 

Are You Superstitious? Part 13

 

Parts 2-12 do not exist. But if you  are superstitious about that number, you can call it, Part 2. Am currently wearing a press-on device, $7, guaranteed to give me a brow lift in one hour. Which would be proof that I’d believe anything … including superstitions, except for the following:

  • “Wear your underwear inside out for good luck.” Trust me here, if you turn that frown upside down with inside out panties, you will NOT get lucky. And you might be drunk.
  • “A dog chasing its tail brings tornadoes.” No, no, no! Rabies? Yes. Tornadoes? NO! Rabid Luck … or drunk dog.
  • If you have a hole in your jeans, you will have a visitor.” Especially if the hole is in front of your privacy. A bit too “come and get it” for me.
  • “Eating a hair from a horse’s forelock is a cure for worms”. Let’s think about this. If you have worms, you are either dead or sick – if the latter, go to the damn doctor. If you can’t find a doctor and think this horsehair/forelock thing is the way to go, please wear a helmet. This is a recipe for a head injury, indigestion, and an isolation unit until the end of time.
  • “A cat onboard a ship is considered good luck.” Well, double duh and slap me silly. Of course a cat on a ship is good BECAUSE of all the rats on the ship. Purr Luck.
  • “Never bring a hoe in your house.” Especially if you can’t spell and you are a married man. Bad juju.
  • “If you drop a dishtowel on the floor, a worse housekeeper that yourself is coming to visit you.” Not. Possible. At. My. House. Dirty luck.
  • “If you sleep with a teabag tied around your head, you are an idiot”. ‘Nuff said here.

Must dash off to the store. The one hour, $7 brow lift worked! It lifted every piece of skin, from brow to scalp, right off the front of my face. As my skull is exposed, I either need to tie a pirate bandana (arrghhhh!) around my head for 4-6 months or find a perky, come hither, man magnet skull-cap. Ta Ta For Now!

Later.

Mrs. Brown, You’ve Got A Lovely ……

 

If you are easily offended, please do not read this post; come back another day. You have been warned. 🙂

Got an email a couple of weeks ago that promised to make me laugh. All I had to do was watch the You Tube video. It features part of a BBC show, apparently about the Brown family. When the title is, “Mrs. Brown Gets A Bikini Wax“. I love British humor; despite the fact that “bikini wax” in the title is a bit much, of course I looked it up and watched. And laughed my self silly. Should you need a good laugh and are a bit twisty, please watch it to the very end. You can find it here:

I’m a link loser so just go straight to You Tube and type in the show title. Oh, don’t complain, like that’s a bunch of trouble.

Speaking of losing, since I have taken on the odious chore of cleaning my house, I have found lots of surprises. Each day I discover something amiss. Today, it was the shower door.  Most of the time, I shower downstairs. My shower exerts as much pressure as a new-born baby. But I was in a hurry. Have worn glasses for about a month. Looked at the shower door, which is all glass, as I got in. It had been cleaned with a Brillo pad and looks like a cat with metal claws went into a glass-slashing frenzy. Who in their right mind would do that?

Delving into my kitchen cabinets, I found all sorts of cutlery and dishes that were obviously removed from the dishwasher and put away – but the dishwasher was never used. GROSS.

Later, I went to my liquor cabinet. Never go there unless I’m having company … and happy pills treat me much better than moonshine. When I opened the door, I saw a slew of empty bottles: tequila, scotch, bourbon, gin, vodka. Of course, my first thought went to my girls. Wrong. They are of age and live elsewhere. Who in the world drained all the liquor bottles?

I pondered these mysteries while walking Cooper earlier. And ran into my friend, E. We chatted and I complained about house cleaning, glass slashing and the missing adult beverage material. She gave me a look that said, “HELLO!” I always wondered why my former house helper had a hard time getting to her car at the end of the day. And that also explains the glass door mess, the dishwasher that wasn’t allowed to do its job, and all the gouges in my walls and woodwork.  There was a cocktail party, attended by one, every week at mi casa. God knows, house cleaning is wretched, but get drunk after work, like everybody else.

Dumber than a bag of hammers, I am was. I once was blind but now I have glasses. Which I accidentally wore into the shower today. Whatev.

Off to bed now as I must get up at three a.m. to attend the Royal Wedding. I wonder if Mrs. Brown was invited?

 Nighty Noodles.

Later.

*Not a peep from Ms. DeGeneres … yet. 😦

You are the Reason I’m on Medication

 

Good Grief! Bear with me here – the three “situations” I attribute my need for medication to – are not the only reason(s) – I own my kookiness. Nevertheless, I was already thinking I needed to up my dosage after the last week. As of today, I know that’s right! Yikes!

  • People Who Have NEVER Had A Good Day and Don’t Think You Should, Either: “Who can take a sunrise and sprinkle it with dew doo doo?” Unhappy people, that’s who! Have you never heard Abe Lincoln’s saying, Most folks are about as happy as they make up their minds to be?”  Didn’t think so.  God knows, I’ve been one unhappy person many a time and thought that therapy throwdowns like,Happiness comes from within” and “Happiness is a choice” were pure horse shit. Am happy to say I believe those words and there is nothing horsey about them. Here’s something to chew on, Eeyores: Carlos Castaneda said,“The trick is in what one emphasizes. We either make ourselves miserable or make ourselves happy. The amount of work is the same.”

It’s no secret that I am right up there with the best of them in the Dating Hall of What The Hell? Don’t get me wrong, I have had some lovely relationships. On the other side of the coin, some have been anything but. What are the odds I would have encounters with two of the unlovely in one day? And, to quote my friend, Cowgirl, “it’s not even a full moon”?

Encounter #1:   Fueled by a need for food, I drove to Whole Foods. Got my little cart and headed to the prepared food area. I felt a presence near me at the counter, looked over, and there was one handsome man smiling at me. As I smiled back, I spotted an Ex examining the rotisserie chicken. I ducked because I know him to be a NUTJOB x 200. Last time I ran into him – at another grocery store – he grabbed me and tried to have a make out session in Aisle Two. Gross. When I instantly went from 5’7″ to 3’7″, cute guy evaporated. Had to duck walk to checkout. Checker asked me if I needed assistance. Told him I was practicing a new form of walking yoga. Totally legit in Whole Foods. Crawl into my car – feel shaken, not stirred. Woo Hoo!

Encounter #2:  Sitting at my desk, doing all sorts of things you do at your desk when you are unemployed, I hear the “zing” my phone makes when I get a text message. This is what I read: “You can run … but I will always find you!!” This, from another EX I haven’t seen or spoken to in a month of Sundays +. Read: no contact, period. Feeling shaken and stirred. Any more of those “zings” = Restraining Order. Good grief!

Is it any wonder I’ve deferred all dating decisions to Divine Intervention? And take happy pills? Off to supersize those puppies!

Later.

*Ellen DeGeneres has not contacted me about a job … yet. I still think she ‘s funny.

*Par-Tay, if you read this, please do not share with parentals or you will need to take out a restraining order on me. xo

Angry Birds, Royal Wedding, Ellen DeGeneres & Other Randamonium

Well, hello there! What’s on your mind today? Here’s what’s on what is left of mine:

  • Angry Birds: If you “know” me, you know birds like to use me as a restroom. But I’m not talking about those birds. Talking about all the Angry Bird games. They are making me crazy. I get the utmost satisfaction when I aim a bird, let it fly, and it decimates a bunch of green pigs. Especially when I give the dastardly pigs names, usually names of people I know. Am greatly stressed at the moment because there are just some levels I have yet to win. Games should be relaxing but this one is making me crazy crazier. Back off, PETA; these pigs are animated and I love animals. Except fake green pigs. Meh.

 

  • Royal Wedding: Unlike most of the population, I’m not pissed I didn’t get an invite. Although I should have. My relative was the Queen of England … for eight days. Have stayed at The Goring, where Kate and Co. will stay until the wedding. It’s quite a lovely hotel and conveniently located right around the corner from Buckingham Palace. The only odd thing about the place is that the bar includes a herd of sit- upons resembling stuffed sheep. Of course, there’s an explanation for this, but I didn’t read the book. Baaaaaaaa! The sheep seats, ha!  These two lovebirds are getting hitched as quickly as possible; weddings are not held in the Anglican/Episcopal Church during the Lenten Season. Usually. And one more thing … Ellen DeGeneres didn’t get an invite, either, and Kate‘s her cousin. Someone has forgotten her manners. Maybe that’s common among commoners.

 

  • Ellen DeGeneres: She is one of the funniest people I don’t know. And she is kind and generous. She helps people. I’m still hunting for a job. So, I decided to write Ellen, requesting her help in this area. DON’T LAUGH OR I WILL CUT YOU… out of my will.  Am well aware that she gets grillions of letters, requests, pleas and such. Am also aware that I am not her demographic target. Nevertheless, I press on. I do know, from prior work, there are people hired to specifically go through all the communication and cull, giving her what they deem a “possibility” for her show. So I included a note to the person reading my words – “*Pretend I am your mother*” Maybe a tiny guilt trip will get my words in front of Ellen. Am not asking for job on her show – just employment that pays $$ that pays the bills. Will keep you posted re: any communication from Ellen. I don’t tweet, but I can dance. So we shall see ……….

 

  • Be Specific: Need to be more specific with my personal prayer requests. Finding myself in the dating pool at this stage of the game – well, I’ve uttered the phrase, “God help me!” about a million times. Usually after a date. So praying for a nice man or gaggle of nice men to enter my space is most necessary. That has yet to happen … or maybe it has. I live with a male who loves me unconditionally, would protect me to the death, who thinks I’m the nuts and soup. He’s awesome. But he is my dog, Cooper. Methinks more specificity is in order … need to add “human” to the mix. Silly moi.

Okay, Happy Day to all.

Am off to eat my weight in chocolate bunnies.

Later!

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!

Later.