Under My Skin

I’m so peaced out, nothing gets under my skin. Except EVERYTHING. I’ll try to keep this brief.

  • Bad Press = More of the Same: In the olden days (last year), employees of GIANT DELIVERY SERVICES actually brought packages to your door. Numerous news clips over the past few months indicate some employees simply use your address as a target, the package as an arrow. We won’t even talk about the condition of the contents of said package/arrow. One would think GIANT DELIVERY SERVICES would have a chat with their staff, requesting true delivery of packages as opposed to Hail Mary target practice. Not so much. My recent experience:

Thanks, UPS

  • Car Dealership Service Departments: Maybe it’s just me, but I believe these should be renamed “Car Dealership So What Departments”. Living in a huge city, there are often numerous places to have your car “maintained”. Not mine. One dealership-from-hell. The service department is chock full of truly angry people with a collective offensive linebacker mentality when it comes to service. Slam that customer to the ground asap. Should your car need anything, it’s all your fault, not covered under warranty, and that will be 17 grillion dollars plus tax, tip, title, gratuity, and first dibs on future grandchildren to recover your vehicle. See ya never!

All I needed was an oil change 😦

  •  So Where Do I Get My Car Serviced?: Faced with this question yesterday, I went straight to the Wizard a.k.a. Google. Spent the better part of the day doing my research online. Selected the lucky service garage (keyword “loaner car”), rang them up, made my appointment for today. This morning, I packed some supplies (food, water, phone) and headed out to the garage. Which is in another town. I did have a map but am directionally dyslexic; maps serve me as well as Car Dealership So What Departments. One hour later – complete with 456 twists and turns – I’m there! Wherever that is. Everything is going along perfecto until we get to loaner car. Apparently there are just a few from which to choose. And here it comes …. “Can you drive a stick?”. Yes, of course I can drive a stick but haven’t since I was in my teens. “No”. A little bit of hemming and hawing and a big white thing appears in the driveway. I have no idea what it is but it goes forward and backward automatically. So I’m not really ranting about the new service provider, just the fact that I have to leave town to get my car taken care of. Wackadoodledo.
  • Car & Pet Wash: Swear on everything, I saw this place on my way back from wherever my car is. I am so taking photos tomorrow to prove it. In the meantime, I am quite confused how this situation works. Do you multitask by attaching dog to hood of car? That’s unacceptable. Does the cat drive the car, with perfume flowing through the air vents? Have you ever heard of this?

Is it too early to drink?

Later.

Are You Kidding Me? Part 200

If I were an angry person, I would already be in prison. As it is, I’ve already pulled out all my hair because of these STUPID questions I can’t answer.

I just moved all my insurance. I just paid for all my insurance. Now, I get a million pages of questions about said insurance which must be answered a year ago:

  • Number of amps in electrical system – The only amps I’ve heard of are on an electric guitar. 
  • Fuses: Yes or No – Yes, I have a fuse and it is getting shorter by the second.
  • Knob & Tube or Aluminum Wiring – I am not wired to give out this information even if I knew what the hell you are talking about.
  • Plumbing system condition – The toilets flush.
  • Open or closed foundation – My home sits on something; have no idea about the emotional state of my foundation.
  • Copy of burglar alarm permit – This one is so easy; in my city, you have to apply, and then they DON’T send you a copy. So you go online and request a copy. Which is impossible to obtain unless you are an accomplished hacker.
  • Aircraft on premises? – Yes, I live in a townhouse and I have a DC-10 in my garage. Doesn’t everyone?

I immediately phoned and emailed my insurance agent for help. HELP! Was tickled pink to receive the following message:

“Hi! This is your insurance agent!

 I will be out of the office until the 12th of Never.

If you need to speak to someone, call your mother. Have a great day!”

Am sure there are many women who know all these answers. I’m not in your club.

Must make choice now: move insurance AGAIN or self-immolation. Leaning toward latter.

Later.

Maybe.

Don’t Want to Know!

Noise makes me nervous. Noisy nonsense makes my hair hurt. In an effort to retain a few strands … here is a list of what I don’t want to know about:

  • Anything that has anything to do with Snooki, The Douchebag Bachelor, and The Real Bitches Housewives of Beverly Hills, Orange County, Pinot Noir, etc.
  • How much political candidates spend on their campaigns. Here’s a novel idea – what if you people led by example?  Announce your office intentions, take the grillions of dollars you use to attempt to get that office and spend it on all sorts of programs that will help your fellow citizens and make this country a better place? Swear you would get more “coverage” than you are paying for, more votes, and you’d sleep better. Just a thought.
  • “Who’s Zoomin’ Who?”- there was a time when I enjoyed hearing all the juicy details about EVERYONE. Sick, I know. Thank God, life changes can happen. If you can’t say something nice about someone, don’t sit next to me.
  • Another story about a woman/man overboard. Just this morning, a new report about a woman mysteriously disappearing while on a cruise. With her boyfriend. In a last-ditch (no pun intended, really) effort to patch up relationship. Note to people in relationships spiraling downward: NO VACATIONS. Tragic.
  • The end of the world. When it happens, it happens. Not worth a millisecond of worry. Live Big each and every day you find yourself on this side of the terra firma.

A solar flare is currently headed our way, threatening to wreak temporary havoc on all things electrical.Must shut this puppy off before it goes up in flames. And clear my head.

I wish there was a vacuum cleaner for the brain.

Later.

Bucket List Antithesis

There’s not a bucket big enough to hold all I want to do. But here are a few things I never want to do again:

  • Get stuck in small space with overserved man who has just inhaled a handful of chocolates: Don’t shake your head and wonder how this happened. It did. And the space was immediately filled with overwhelmingly heinous fumage. Would have fainted dead away, but space too small and I’m too polite (ha!). Had no choice but to stop, drop, and roll into a ditch. Still gagging.
  • Eat green peas and/or liver: More gagging. If I am on a desert island and all there is to eat are green peas and/or liver, I take this back. Note to self: no boat rides.
  • Register for “Do Not Call” lists: What a total waste of time. You crafty telemarketers and your “anonymous” and “private caller” handles! And for the managers of all “Do Not Call” lists, YOU’RE FIRED!
  • Reply to comment, “What country are you from because you don’t look like an American.”: Final answer: “I am a conehead. From France. Merde!
  • Work for people who are missing several teeth in the front of their mouths: If you have a “thriving” business, you can afford to go to the dentist and get some chompers. My experience with you tells me your business is anything but thriving because my paycheck bounced AND you don’t have a mirror. Basta!

Off to mind my own business.

What are your “never agains”?

Later.

Freaking Ridiculous

My brain blew into a million little pieces because:

  • Bill from idiotic doctor: Just got a bill from Doogie Howser; he charged me $28 to walk through his office to the lab. Which he doesn’t own. The independent lab bill has been paid. Have always “walked” free. Times may be tough, dude, but you aren’t getting a penny from me. <sticking tongue out at dumb doc>
  • Liar, liar, magazine on fire: Waiting for another appointment, I thumbed through a recent fashion magazine. One feature focused on how make up can make you look so rested. Then I saw the before/after of the woman in the photos. I knew her. She had everything from the shoulders up “redone” by a plastic surgeon before the photo shoot. Of course, the magazine failed to mention that , instead crediting her bright mug to new lipstick and blush. What a bunch of crapola! If you choose to believe it, the make up will cost you $30,000.
  • Running into old boyfriends: In the past few months, I’ve run into an unreasonable number of one of my friend’s old boyfriends. Better hers than mine, but this is getting ridiculous. Note to friend: run into your own old boyfriends. Thank you.
  • “So all you are going to do is work the rest of your life?” and “We are worried about you, financially”: Two comments, different friends. Note to friends: Here’s my bank account number; feel free to make large deposits frequently. Then I will be able to sashay about the planet and you won’t worry. Win-win.
  • Lose weight by watching tv:  If you want to lose your appetite, turn on Strange Addictions. I’m sorry these people do what they do. Even if you have a stomach of steel, five minutes into this show will, at the very least, produce some serious gagging and an aversion to snacking between meals. Wretched.
  • “Your wait will be 18 seconds.”: Groovy! Got this customer service message yesterday when calling about insurance. Change that message! Waited 20 minutes and then instructed to leave a voice message. Yeah, right. Customer service, my ass.
  • Phone rings. “Hello?”:  “What are you doing?” Oh, accepting the Nobel Peace Prize, building a rocket in the kitchen, rotating my tires …. I am answering the damn phone. And I thought it was obvious. Meh!

Enough! Ranting is no way to start the day. Better go check my bank account for large deposits.

Cockeyed optimist, I am!

Later.

Here’s to You, and You, and You

Just getting it off my chesticles:

  • To 32-year-old civil rights lawyer with really long hair: love your job, long hair is cool, dancing at event is fun but anything else, NO CAN DO! Not a fan of Harold and Maude situations. Give Demi Moore a jingle when she gets to feeling better. Caio!
  • To woman who asks me my name despite the fact we’ve met 346 times: none of your business, obviously. Get off the meds, you’ve lost whatever mind you had.
  • To the waiter from hell on his first night: bless your heart. You got a 20% tip because we felt sorry for you. Please, in the name of all diners, seek a new occupation. Art school? Banjo player in Vegas? Anything BUT waiting tables.  Thank you.
  • To the woman who thinks she knows it all: oh no you don’t! Go to the hardware store, buy some duct tape and put it over your mouth. Then go to the compassion store and clear the shelves. Haven’t the faintest where you can get a conscience, but wouldn’t be a bad idea to look into that, either.
  • To my dog: yes, I love you to the moon and back. I take better care of you than I do myself.  But you must stop creeping around eating God knows what in the middle of the night. Waking up to the sound of gagging does not put a festive spin on the day. Thank you.
  • To the woman who used to tidy up my house and empty my liquor cabinet: all is forgiven, it is a heinous job. I would get drunk, too, but alas … you drank me dry. Nevermind.
  • To all the nice friends we ran into at the “no one goes there” restaurant: that was not me in the baseball cap. Evil twin. Swear.
  • To Amazon, Kindle, Nook and other businesses selling/delivering books to iPad, etc.: stop blaming “the publishers” for the inflated book prices. You could do something about this if you wanted to, but you know how lazy we are. Stop It. While the product is convenient, it is usually riddled with weirdo spaces and funky words. STOP IT. Note to self: get up and go to the bookstore. Stop the madness. You should be ashamed of yourself. I am. Over.
  • To the Food Channel: I became an addict a few days after 9/11 … because your spot was all happiness and recipes and a total escape. Please lose “Fat Chef”. No disrespect meant to the plight of the obese but sad doesn’t look good on you. Make a deal with Lifetime or Bravo. Thank you.

Enough ranting.

Off to find my happy pants!

Later.

Crazy Soup: Stir Often

There must be a sign somewhere on my bod that says, “Say anything to me, especially if I don’t know you.” I am a magnet for unsolicited information. My ears are physically diminutive,  but I guess they work really well. And my momma raised me to be polite, so ear plugs and/or stink eyes are not an option. The tales from this week:

—————————————————————————————————————-

  • The first words out of her mouth were, “I don’t like people.” The stranger was talking to me, so I just nodded my head and let her roll.  An hour later – and yes, she talked to me for an hour – I just couldn’t give her a hall pass. She was happy, attractive, socially active, had a big girl job, and was married. She even showed me her serious tattoo-in-progress (not my request, but wth). How does she think she got here? Via at least one person and turkey baster. And she’s married to a person. She works with and for a lot of people. And she said she was so glad to meet me. I’m a people. Sheesh!
  • “I called the lady a “bitch” so the church is kicking me out for not giving money.” This, from a very agitated, sweetly challenged woman pacing the grounds where I walk my dog. I tried to calm her down, telling her it wasn’t much of a church if she gets kicked out for not giving money but it might behoove her not to yell “bitch” thereUsing the word “behoove” distracted her, she ran off to find a dictionary. She was calmer. And I have no idea who the church lady/bitch is.
  • “How was your weekend?”. Feeling snarky, I replied, “Well, got robbed, beaten,  and fell in a hole.” The reply was, “That’s nice.” That happens a lot. Not the rob, beat, fall but the response. Don’t ask someone a question if you don’t want to hear the answer. Really.
  • “These squirrels really like the peanuts I give them”.  This, from my neighbor who has dementia and leaves “styrofoam peanuts” around all the trees in the area. “Yep, they seem to love them but too many might kill them.” The landscapers are forever collecting squirrel carcasses after a styro binge. “Nope, the squirrels like to nap after eating my peanuts”. Nap my ass.

Good grief!

Later.

Throw Some Water On Me!

 I am melting. Along with the rest of the city, state, country, world.

When you wake up early and the temperature is 97-degrees, it’s hot. When 80-degrees indoors feels decadently delicious, it’s damn hot.

Spent four days in Oxford, Mississippi last week. I met with friends for breakfast one morning. Afterwards, we walked all over Oxford. I was dressed for breakfast, not for walking tour. My wardrobe never crossed my mind until we were halfway between here and hell. My jeans felt like they were made of aluminum wool. As did my shirt and sports bra. Tom’s are great shoes; they are not walking- for- 100- miles shoes. When we finally made it back to the MoJo (sort of hotel/motel facility), I drank any and everything in my room. Couldn’t get those jeans and shirt off fast enough. Turned the AC to zero and collapsed on the bed. I got up only when my body temperature reached a normal range. Lo and behold, when I looked back at the bed, it was a Shroud of Turin situation – had the shrouded person worn an electic orange sports bra. Whole body imprint. That, my friends, is HOT.

As I can think of nothing else, I’m offering my favorite “heat” sayings; am too hot to care what you do with them.

Hotter than…

  • “… a pair of sweat pants full of barbecue”
  • “… a whore house on nickel night”
  • “… a June bride on a feather bed”
  • “… two rats having sex in a wool sock”

It’s so hot that…

  • “… the chickens are laying hard-boiled eggs”
  • “I saw two trees fighting over a dog”
  • “I saw a fire hydrant chasing a dog”

In keeping with the dog theme, mine is apparently allergic to the heat. Each time I try to take him out (as in “do your business, damn it”), he runs. If I can catch him and drag him toward the door, he gives me the same look. The look that says, “Hey, Lady – are you kidding me? I’m wearing a fur coat!”.

Anyone know a good carpet cleaner?

Later. Maybe. After I move to Iceland. But I’m too hot to pack. Never mind.

Later.

When Life Gives You Lemons, Throw ‘Em Back

 

It’s not all lemonade and lollipops around here; sometimes it’s a sauerkraut and  Draino martini situation. That would be the last 24-hours. Despite my insane determination to maintain inner composure and be happy no matter what, my cup almost boiled over.

  • Took eldest daughter to dinner last night to celebrate her birthday. We had a nice time. During dinner, a friend and his daughter walked past our table; I had to say his name to get his attention. He said he didn’t recognize me because I am always reinventing myself. My reply, “Yep, me and Madonna.” WTH? Maybe it’s because the last time I saw him, I had shorter hair and a job.

 

  • Mi Madre called as I was running errands earlier. She wanted to let me know “what’s going on”. She probably needed to vent, but it was one misery after another. When she came up for air, I asked her if there was anything positive? NO! Wow. No matter how many times this happens, I don’t know how EVERYTHING can always be wrong. I can’t live there. Yikes.

 

  • Get a text from youngest daughter. She’d planned on driving four hours to one city, run a half-marathon, drive five hours home, attend Day 6 of her sister’s birthday festival, stay over for Mother’s Day lunch, then drive three hours back to school. We’re talking one weekend here. Her text said she realized she couldn’t do all that and I complimented her on being smart, not to mention, safe.

 

  • My friend calls and the conversation gets around to her sucky job. She said, “I think I want to quit and be like you, but I don’t have your bankroll.” Surely she meant “bedroll” cause that’s the only roll I have. I just said, “YE GODS, WOMAN, DO YOU KNOW OF WHAT YOU SPEAK?”. Then my cell phone went dead from lack of juice. Whew.

 

  • Get an email from younger daughter stating she could drive all over the state and would be doing so. Emailed back, “PLEASE RECONSIDER – NOT SAFE! I then text eldest daughter about Mother’s Day brunch and that her sister’s plans were not a good idea.

 

  • Get a rancid phone call from eldest daughter. I love her with all my heart, but she has a bit of a stubborn streak. She’s a teacher and probably had a rotten day.  The only words I was able to understand from that spew was that I had assassinated her character(?). I could tell she was just getting started so I did what I always do when this happens; say “I love you” and hang up. No one speaks to me that way, especially my children. I mean, if God wants to talk, I’m all ears but that ain’t happening either. That I know of.

So now comes the part where you just know I am going to throw myself off the roof or at least wallow like a pig in a self-pity pool. SURPRISE! I’ve got fresh sheets on my bed, a sweet little dog that follows me wherever I go, food in my stomach, and a roof over my head. That trumps any and all of the day’s crapola.

Later.

Tomorrow will be a better day. Indeed! Right?

Massage Mayhem

Just mentioning the word “massage table” might give you the idea that I am filthy rich and eating my weight in bonbons. When I’m not on the massage table.  And you would be wrong. You would also be wrong if you thought I was at one of those *wink wink* massage places. Just so you know.

I “accidentally” signed up for a monthly massage (reduced rate) at a massage therapy spot nearby. I say “accidentally” because I don’t want to be rude. And the first visit was great. They charge me for a monthly massage, whether I’m dead or alive. I thought I could cancel easily … but the fine print says I must send a handwritten letter in a bottle on the second day after a blue moon. Aggghhhhhhh! I thought it would be a good idea to cash in on my monthly “purchase”; am residing in Stressville and, to quote my dad, currently, “If I didn’t have bad luck, I’d have no luck at all.” I thought a massage would help. I am an idiot. A polite idiot, but idiot nonetheless.

“Jacey” took me to my room where I disrobed and jumped under the covers. He returned, asked me what type of massage therapy I wanted, and I was VERY CLEAR that it would be shoulders, neck, and arms ONLY.  And I began to relax as he removed my shoulders from my ears. Ten minutes in, I was r-e-l-a-x-i-n-g.

The next thing I know, “Jacey” moved to my feet. And the conversation in my head went this way for the next 50 minutes:

“I HATE feet. What is he doing? Feet are ugly. Useful. But ugly. How can he confuse feet with shoulders?”

Oh, God. He has a foot fetish. What is he doing? This is weird. Get away from my feet or I will kill you.”

Then he wrapped my feet in hot towels and told me to flip over. I thought maybe now that I was face up, he’d snap out of it. My mistake. He put an eye pillow over my peepers, then proceeded to drape the covers so that my right foot, leg and almost my “privacy” was exposed.

“Excuse me, freak, but that is not a shoulder. What is he doing? Get away from my privacy. I’m supposed to relax. This sucks!”

He returned to foot fetish land, working that right foot for all it’s worth; then regrouping and groping the left one.

“What is the freaking deal with my feet? I am NOT relaxed, I am in a misery. And am too chicken to yell at you, you perv!”

Finally, he covered my feet. Then he came to the head of the table and ruffled my hair, as you would a little boy or a dog. WTH? And then he left.

“God is good. He’s gone. I am free!”

It was the second weirdest, worst massage ever. Second only to the one where the massage therapist had a hang nail and when she was finished, my back looked like a barber pole.

I need to grow some. When my life luck changes. Hopefully sooner than …

Later.

Sheesh.