heigh ho, heigh ho its off to work i go.........

My husband is on the verge of retiring at which time our marriage will be on the verge of expiring. Having him home all day, every day just isn’t gonna work. Since I only work part time, the 16 hours a week I am away from home wont be enough to restore my sanity. He recently started taking a day or so off each week just to see how it feels. He explains it is a big deal for a man to retire. (He should only know how hard it is on the woman.)

The first week it was kinda fun to have him home. I made him toast and eggs while he made the coffee. As we ate breakfast together...I read the paper while he watched the news. I did the dishes while he took out the recycling. A real Ozzie and Harriet moment. Week two…not so good. I did the dishes while he watched TV. I folded laundry while he napped. I vacuumed while he snacked. A real Archie Bunker moment. But by the third week I told him that if I saw him so much as sit down while I was washing, dusting or folding something I would have him killed. To his credit he did try. He waited til I was in the bathroom to sneak a snack. He waited til I was on the phone to sneak in a nap. With all this sneaking he figured it was easier to just go to work. Not as stressful.

We tried to figure out what to do with all our new found time together. I opted for making sure his life insurance policies were all in order while he suggested we could travel across the country in an RV. He suggested an RV! A recreational vehicle. The man has no recreation unless it is changing someone’s oil.  I imagined myself trapped in one of those one room on wheels  and thought of the endless hours of driving down some rural roadway as we discussed, ummm while we talked about the….errrr….yeah my point exactly. What the hell would we talk about as we motored across state after state.? And where would we be heading anyway? Graceland?  Dollywood? I thought perhaps traveling abroad. He made some sexist joke…a broad…ha ha get it…(I hate him!) and it was dropped. And for that, I got out my pad and made him a list of things that he could do around the house. Things he started and never finished.

The barbeque ignitor. He ordered the part, picked up the part, and examined the part….that’s as far as it got. Three years that part is in the junk draw waiting to be an ignitor.

Clean out the shed. We have two. One was here when we bought the house and he immediately filled it with crap. At best the first foot in was accessible. So for a Father’s Day oh so many years ago the kids chipped in and bought him a shed to go with his Carvel Fudgie the Whale cake. He transferred the ‘old shed shit’ into the new shed making it ‘new shed shit.’ Several years later we bought another shed, for the bikes, lawn mower etc. It was a huge shed that cost way to much but I foolishly thought that the ‘new shed with the old shit’  was coming down when the new kid in town was erected. Wrong. He just filled it up with more crap. So we have two sheds that are totally useless as far as storage goes. I have no idea what is even in those sheds….but if my husband goes missing….well don’t look in the sheds!

Change the outlets. I am married to an electrician that from all accounts is a very good one. I wouldn’t know however since every outlet in my house is from 1970 when the house was built. To plug in my vacuum I have to use the outlet attached to the overhead fixture in the bathroom. Of course that outlet only works when the light is on. And when that light is on, the vent fan is on. Between the vacuum and the vent fan noise you could lose your mind. To plug in my cell phone charger I have to unplug either the microwave or the radio. If I unplug the radio I lose all my pre-selected stations, if I unplug the microwave the clock is never right. So even though my cell phone now works I spend countless hours re-programming and/or resetting an appliance that has no business being friggin' unplugged in the first place. So more times than I care to recall, I have charged my cell phone while I am shit….um, peeing. When Christmas rolls around it becomes a nightmare of extension cords and twinkie lights. Fa la friggin’ la!

Throw out some papers. My husband has piles of papers everywhere. He thinks they are orderly because he hides them behind things. The windowsill in the kitchen has a foot deep worth of papers he thinks is hidden by a tiny 5 x 7 frame of my grandson. The decorative keyholder (cleverly disguised as a…key) is where he displays his collection of….rubbish. Theatre ticket stubs, motor oil coupons, faded receipts and anything that he can stuff between it and the wall. We have two file cabinets and one closet shelf that he also has stuffed with statements, directions, manuels and anything that can‘t fit behind the keyholder or my grandson. I have a paper shredder and an fervent need for confetti.

As I proceeded with my list, I looked up to see that my husband’s eyes were welling up. I felt bad for him, realizing that it was time to retire.  As he walked towards the door and I asked him where he was going, he smiled broader than I have seen in a while and said…”work, I don’t have the strength to retire”.  I stuck the list behind the keyholder!

rainy days and Mondays....

Ever since I was a kid I hated Mondays. It meant returning to the doldrums of school or as I got older, work. It meant that my weekend had ended. It was over. Done. Such finality always bothered me but then 24’s Jack Bauer came along and Monday suddenly became the best day of the week. And this Monday it ended. It was over. Done.

Jack Bauer and his C.T.U.  counterparts came along at a time when we needed a hero. Just months earlier our country had been attacked in the worst possible way, with civilian casualties. We needed someone who could run four blocks, scale a fence, climb a fire escape, blow off a door, run down three flights of stairs, bust through a steel gate and secure a warehouse without breathing heavy as he proclaims it to be “all clear.“ We needed someone who could snap the neck of a terrorist, torture an answer out of his brother or suture his own stab wounds all without even needing to use the bathroom. In eight seasons Jack didn’t eat or sleep for that matter. He said ’copy that’ more times than a Xerox salesman and rarely got laid. Sad part is, when he did the woman is usually dead before the ticking of the countdown clock begins. His female and less violent counterpart is Chloe Obrien. She can pull up a surveillance feed, move a spy satellite into position and track a cab in New York City (no easy feat) in less time than it takes her to put on lip gloss. She got married somewhere around season 6 but alas, him and the son she had all but disappear without even a mention in subsequent seasons. Keep in mind each season is actually only 24 hours otherwise her babysitting costs would have been astronomical.

If you have never watched the show (ahhhhhhhhhh!) I will get you up to date from the first season to it's finale so that when the movie comes out you will be ready. (or can at least hold your own around the water cooler) I will start you off slowly……….

Season One - Bad guys kidnap his wife and daughter, a senator and presidential candidate is threatened, the first of many Counter Terrorist Unit (CTU) moles is exposed, and Teri Bauer, Jack‘s wife is killed………….Jack gets angry!

Season Two - Bad guys plan nuclear attack on L.A., the first of many attacks on CTU headquarters, Middle Eastern countries blamed for nuclear threat, David Palmer become President (African American and pre-Obama)………….Jack gets even!

Season Three - Bad guys plan another attack on L.A. this time viral, Jack‘s heroin addiction is uncovered, Jack’s daughter dating CTU agent ……..Jack gets clean!

Season Four - Bad guys derail a train, a Turkish family has something to do with the missing US nuclear launch codes, Jack dismissed from CTU and dating the Secretary of Defense‘s daughter (uh oh, she‘s a goner), slimy President Logan makes his first appearance……………Jack evades capture!

Season Five - Bad guys kill ex-President Palmer (and Allstate spokesman), Jack still on the run under assumed name, Russian terrorists threatening US with nerve gas, President Logan admits involvement in assassination of President Palmer…Jack captured by the Chinese. (don't ask)

Season Six - Bad guys blow up bus in suicide bombing, CTU gets Jack released from Chinese prison after 20 months of torture but somehow stronger than ever, President Palmer’s dumb brother is now president and CTU has another mole….Jack questions his government. (do you blame him?)

Season Seven - Bad guys in the Senate question Jack about his torture tactics, meets Renee Walker who becomes his love interest in final season (bad move, Renee), President Alison Taylor (Hillary-ish) pulling help promised to Senagal, FBI moles uncovered, White House under seige (and they thought the Salahi’s getting into a party uninvited was a problem)…...Jack dying from biological exposure.

Season Eight - Bad guys threaten NYC with a dirty bomb, miracle cure saves Jack, Middle Eastern President Hassan killed by Russians, Agent Renee Walker called back into service but sleeps with Jack and dies before even getting out of bed, CTU has yet another mole, President Taylor asks crazy disgraced ex-President Logan for help with peace treaty gone terribly wrong, Jack makes Chloe shoot him so as not to implicate herself in his escape….. Jack must go on the run, again! Forever. (or at least until the movie comes out)

let them eat cake..........

This week our civic association hosted a luncheon for 150 of the senior citizens in our community. It was a long day as I was yelled at, insulted and I am pretty sure one even growled at me. But I was also hugged, had my face stroked, and told by one lovely woman that I reminded her of her daughter who lived too far away to visit.

For the most part these lovely seniors enjoyed their lunch, the plants we gave as favors, the raffles we held. For the most part. We also had to deal with those that used their ‘senior’ status to vent about everything that ever annoyed them about getting older. As they filtered in, some in wheelchairs and walkers but most with just sure and steady steps, you could tell immediately which ones were gonna be trouble. It’s like going to the park and knowing that the snarky kid with the attitude is gonna push your kid off the slide. Ok so there was no slide and no pushing, but it came pretty damn close. All fifteen tables were identical. Colorful tableclothes, balloons, plants, place settings. Yet there was a mad dash for a particular table, and if they didn’t get the one they wanted….there was hell to pay. “I sat at this table last year” one man proclaimed.  “The plants at this table are bigger” claimed a woman who should have used a little more poli-grip. With some well timed mediation skills, everyone found a seat and spent the next ten minutes getting comfortable. On to the fruit cup.

The fruit was too cold. Too warm. Not enough pineapple. Too much pineapple. And the best….and this is a direct quote…”I’ll eat it, but fruit makes me shit myself.” Okaaaaaay…so take the fruit cup away from her pronto! On to the salad.

He hates onions. She has more tomatoes. I need more dressing. Less dressing. Gives me gas. Wrong lettuce. And my personal favorite….my gardener could have made a better salad. On to the main course.

Are we getting rolls?

-Yes, with the main course.

Are we getting butter?

-Yes, with the rolls.

Will they be cut?

-No, they are small rolls that are easy to cut.

Oh, then I don’t want one.

-Ok so you can give it to your wife.

She’s not my wife, my wife is dead.

-Ooops

The main course was a lovely chicken francese with potatoes and two vegetables. Carrots and a mushroom pea medley.

 

No mushrooms for me, please.

-Sorry they are already mixed in with the peas.

What?….I have to pick them out?

-So don’t eat the medley, we also have carrots.

I don’t like carrots.

-*%##!

The plates were delightfully full with truly delicious food which, for the most part, they all loved and desperately wanted to take home, I am assuming to eat for dinner. It reminded me of my mother who could eat for two weeks from the leftovers at Thanksgiving. (Surprisingly she never got trichinosis or salmonella.) She would pick the carcass clean and make little individual packets to eat at a later time. Lunch is served.

Can I have some foil?

-sorry we don’t have any.

Can I have a plastic bag?

-sorry we don’t have any.

Can I have a paper towel?

-sure

She wrapped her chicken, potatoes and vegetable medley in a paper towel. Doubt that will travel well.

-Note to self: Where there’s a will there’s a way…next year bring foil for the seniors! On to coffee and cake.

The cake was a delicious indulgent vanilla whipped cream cake with a rum base. That might have been a mistake?!

His piece is so much bigger!

-sorry we cut them fast. Would you like another piece?

No, I can’t eat cake. I am a diabetic. Do you have sugar free cookies?

-ummm, no sorry

Are we getting coffee?

-yes that will be out in a minute

Can I get a decaf?

-yes, it is ALL decaf

Can I get tea?

-yes we have tea too

Decaf?

-no sorry, we only decaf coffee

Well that’s stupid!     On to the raffles.

An initial mix up in the color of the raffle tickets set off a frenzy that rivaled the inquisition. They were so sure that their raffles weren’t in the basket until someone at their table won. They were so sure that the winning tickets were sold by the lady with the dark hair as opposed to the lady with the red hair because she ‘told them she had the winning tickets.’ Second note to self: don’t kid with the seniors, sometimes they don’t get it!

As the exodus began after the last raffle was called they were all handed a bag with two bagels donated by a local bakery.

Whats this?

-two little bagels

They have seeds.

-no they are plain

Good, last year the poppy seeds got under my dentures and I suffered for a week.

-no seeds, promise!

They were handed a bag full of goodies….a sports bottle, jar opener, pens and pencils…pads…..

What’s this?

-goodies!

Last year you gave junk.

-so this year you’ll have new junk. (I was tired and all out of people skills)

According to the consensus there was not enough butter or salad dressing. There was too much food and not enough foil. The coffee was weak and the cake too sweet. But they all had a great time and can’t wait to come back next year!

...gotta get a life

I love my DVR. For anyone who quite possibly doesn’t know what that is, it is a magical box that allows you to watch TV shows whenever you want….to stop, pause and chat when someone calls, to stop, pause and pee when nature calls, to stop, pause and snack when Twinkies call  and all this while zipping through the commercials.

I tape everything. (although I am not sure that ‘taping’ is the correct term) Even things I am sitting there watching. I tape just in case the phone rings or someone has the audacity to ring the bell while Jack Bauer is saving the world. I tape my soap opera because God forbid I don’t find out who is killing the women of Pine Valley or who slept with who and of course got pregnant on the first indiscretion. I tape pretty much every reality show with the exception of the Biggest Loser and Dancing with the Stars. I don’t like those shows. Probably because I should be on the Biggest Loser and I can’t dance. Now if they had Dancing with the Biggest Loser I might tape that. Sweaty heffers in gold sequined spandex cha cha-ing to “It’s Raining Men“….now that’s good TV! I tape Survivor, Top Chef and Americas Top Model. I tape Fringe and FlashForward, two shows that I have to watch at least twice just to know what the hell is happening. I tape the Oprah encore shows at 1a.m. just in case they show the lady that had her face eaten by a monkey (I missed it the first six times it was on) and the View if some YouTube sensation is gonna be on. I tape Sewing with Nancy a show that teaches you sewing tricks, taught by a woman that had a stroke (I think), so it makes it difficult at times to watch her crooked face attempt to say words that have an H in them. I tape any and every craft show, just in case I get the bug to create something….however after the latest bathroom fiasco I may lay low for a while. I don’t tape cooking shows, at least not the ones that teach you to cook. Don’t care to learn. Since my children are all out of the house now, and my husband will basically eat anything as long as it’s dead and has a baked potatoe on the same plate…I don’t want to cook anymore. I will however tape the cooking shows where they have to make dinner for like forty people with stuff from a 7-eleven or the shows where the head chef chucks knives at the contestant that pisses him off. I don’t tape American Idol this year. I used to. This year sucks without Paula. I love Ellen, but Paula’s babbling gave me something to fast forward through.

I tape Celebrity Apprentice, the Housewives of New Jersey and yes, I hate to admit….the Jersey Shore. I tape them because I like comb-overs, spoiled bitches and fist pumping. Well of course not….I just like mindless TV sometimes. No thinking involved. No reason to pause to pee. I also tape what I like to think of as ‘smart’ shows. Dateline, 20/20, and Primetime. Unfortunately the only ones I really enjoy are those about sex, drugs and celebrity murder. Oh, and Noah’s Ark. And the Shroud of Turin. And Anna Nicole Smith. What can I say, I have eclectic taste in TV.

Luckily for me, my husband hasn’t quite mastered the DVR remote. He can PLAY, FAST FORWARD and REWIND but he can’t record. He has me set up his shows so that all he has to do is sit in the living room, prop a pillow behind his head (which I repeatedly have told him are decorative not functional) and press play. Oh, and immediately fall asleep. While he sleeps I delete the black and white crap that he makes me tape. He makes me tape Have Gun Will Travel…a show that I think went off in 1912. Or maybe in the 50’s…but either way it is black and white. I have 13 episodes of House taped for him and he has watched the first 15 minutes of all of them. Play….and then he naps. Rewind…..and then he naps. Rewind….Nap…. you get the picture. If I am anywhere in the vicinity while this is happening I wait for the nap portion of the scenario and then delete. I am sure at some point he is going to figure out that he isn’t accidentally deleting them, but until then it saves my sanity.

I have figured out that while I can tape two things at the same time I cannot watch a third show….I can however, watch a previously taped show….therefore I am actually accomplishing the ultimate tri-fecta. Tape,Tape…Watch.

There is a negative to having a DVR. I watch ALOT of TV. Thankfully since I am an insomniac I have ALOT of TV viewing hours.

updates

Between sewing, hemming, ironing, cutting, trimming, pasting, wrapping, dyeing, mending, altering, gluing and creating there has been little to no time to blog at all. Even rambling takes precious time that I have so little of these days so for this week only I will update you on previous blogs.  (pretend you are interested how things turned out)

Beep Beep Beep....The Verizon battery pack that beeped its way through my night is silent. No, not because I kicked the damn thing off the wall, but because the customer service man told me to unplug and re-plug and it would stop beeping for probably another two years. So far he is right and the box on the wall lives for yet another day. If only life were that simple.

what would Jack Bauer do?.... I have never returned to the Jiffy Lube and most assuredly never will. I did however scan the papers to see if there were any recent homicides involving stilt girl, Eminem or anyone named Big Mac….none. And my husband will just have to go it alone next time, so much for spending time together.

8 to 12.... The Sears repairman came….only it was a repairwoman. She installed some part, clicked away on her laptop, made two phone calls and deemed the unit un-fixable. They gave me a store credit to buy another one since it was still under a service contract. For the first time in my 35 (or is it 36 now) year marriage I was glad my husband convinced me to purchase one of those damn service contracts that cost a fortune and usually expire by the time you need it. New unit in, old unit out….and on my back deck since my husband insists it can be fixed. My daughters are currently in an emotional bidding war to see who will get the unit if it is fixable.

Beige goes with everything.... The fish are gone. The blue walls are gone and the ceiling is beige (thanks partially to my son-in-law and his big stick….don’t go there!) That’s as far as I have gotten. Bathroom - 2 Me - 1

Of Kings and Queens.... My son is gone a month. I have stopped reading the paper looking for Queens related homicides. I have stopped hearing his phantom car pull in the driveway so I can go to bed. I have stopped waiting to cook so he doesn’t have to eat leftovers. I have not stopped missing my son.

One potatoe, two potatoe….The month of March passed without me killing my mother in law, so on April 22nd she turned 84. We planned a brunch at a local diner which is no easy feat considering there are about 100 reasons she could come up with not to leave the house that particular morning. The virtually always empty diner was jammed packed that morning and seating for 13 was tricky. Fun was had by all….until my mother in law called later to say she was ill and puking and she shouldn’t have gone. Happy Birthday Mom!

Beep Beep Beep

I don’t sleep well. Never have. But there are those rare times when I will fall asleep on the couch and remain blissfully there til morning. True I wake up stiff and crooked and the couch has a permanent indent where my ass was, but I get a good nights sleep. Sometimes more hours than I have gotten in a week. Last night promised to be one of those nights. Almost. I fell asleep watching Jimmy Kimmel. (no surprise there!) I woke up at 3:15am for no apparent reason and so I thought OK just another sleepless night. But I immediately fell back asleep and woke up at 4:00am to a single high pitched beeping sound. I thought it was the alarm on my fridge…no not to keep me from raiding the fridge during the night, but in case I left the door ajar when I was raiding the fridge during the night.

I checked the door, took a sip of ice tea, contemplated having a little snack but opted to hunt for the mysterious sleep rousing beep instead. I checked my cell phone…all clear. My husbands beeper….all good. My computer….it was off. I stood with my head cocked to one side listening for the next beep in the hopes that I could isolate where it was coming from. Beep (4:15am). I followed the sound into the dining room. Nothing. I checked my sewing machine, the cordless phone, the chirping bird that tells me my plant needs water and every other thing that could possibly make a beep. Still nothing. I imagined a bomb with its digital numbers counting down, set to go off in minutes if I don‘t find it in time. I imagined the red laser of a rifle crosshair coming through the window directed at my forehead. (I watch too much Jack Bauer and hey its 4:15am remember) Beep (4:30am) The sound was definitely coming from the window wall of the dining room so I switched on the you’ll-never-get-back-to-sleep-now overhead light, ducked under the window (just in case) and eyed my granddaughters toy box. I had just put batteries in a new toy yesterday…maybe it is Big Bird beeping. If so, that big, dumb chicken is getting stuffed with kibble and fed to my dog. Not Big Bird, Dora or Furby. Not Elmo, her keyboard, fake laptop or Disney princess cell phone. Not a damn thing in there could or should beep.

Although I know that my smoke alarm chirps rather than beeps when the battery needs to be changed and I could swear it was coming from the opposite side of the room, I opted to change the battery. I got up on a chair to reach where my six foot husband thinks we should keep the spare batteries. No 9 volts! AA, AAA, C and even two D batteries but none of those little square batteries that my brother and I used to dare each other to lick. (don’t ask) I got back up on the chair and tried to reach the smoke alarm but couldn’t quite reach it. I got down, grabbed the broom and attempted to maneuver the cover off. I missed the alarm completely and the broom hit a picture knocking it off the wall and onto my dog who of course has to sit right under the chair. I never thought about what I would do once the cover was off but hoped that at the very least I could get the dying, beeping battery out…..and if there happens to be a fire tonight….please….let me burn! Cover off, battery out, chair away, light off…..I foolishly head to the stairs to go up to bed. Beep (4:45am) Followed by beep beep beep. The beep beep beep I recognized as my husbands alarm clock. He’s getting up for work and I have been Beep hunting since 3:15am.

I went back to the dining room where I distinctly heard the Beep coming from. I sat on the floor. I waited. Like a hunter I crouched waiting for the elusive Beep to come out of hiding. My knees began cramping so I laid down somewhere between the dining room table and the window with the potential sniper. If I had to stay there til morning (oh wait, it is morning) I will locate the Beep and silence it forever. Beep (5am) I not only heard it, but I saw it. The Verizon Fios box that they installed and I cleverly hid behind snack tables had a red light on that said ‘change battery.’ I waited. I held my breath…I needed to know for certain that it was the Verizon box that had me up all night before I kicked the damn thing off the wall. Beep. With a great deal of restraint, I pried open the box to see what size battery it took and hoped it wasn’t the tongue sizzling square 9 volt. It wasn’t. It was a huge square battery with wires attached to it. (Thankfully there was no digital countdown going on…) I felt totally defeated when I heard my husband coming down stairs. “What are you doing on the floor?”

I explained as briefly as possible….something like “Fix this %$#&*ing thing or I’m kicking it off the wall."

He walked over to the unit, bent down and pressed the SILENCE THE ALARM button. Kill me now!

what would Jack Bauer do?

My husband and I don’t get to spend much quality time together. Our lives are just not in sync. He works, eats, sleeps and watches House. That pretty much sums up his daily routine. So it is a rare weekend that we spend it doing something together that doesn’t involve me yelling or him wearing the same green work clothes he wears all week. This past Sunday we did the next best thing…we combined my love for shopping and his love for…well, greasy stuff. We went to get my oil changed en route to a Family Dollar. The Jiffy Lube we went to was closed. Against my better judgement we drove a little further and found Jiffy Lube In The Hood. It was a combination Oil Change/Mini-Mart/CarWash and place to chill and hang with the homies. I pulled my Dodge in behind the Lexus and BMX that were already on line. My husband got out and wanted to see how long it would take for an oil change. I just wanted to see how long it would take to back out of here. Forget Family Dollar….I can do without another laundry basket or whimsical mug I don't need.

The brothers were chillin’ on the Mini Mart steps and were conversing about how long it takes to get your bail money back. One hoodie announced the ‘next’ time I gets busted I is gonna use Big Mac’s bail guy. And that I’m afraid to say, is a direct quote. I am assuming the Big Mac he speaks of does not come on a sesame seed roll. The door of the Lexus opened and the longest set of female legs I have ever seen in my life emerged….and was followed by a body that made me feel like I wasn’t even the same gender. She had a face that could make a blind man cringe, however I doubt anyone, including my husband saw her face or even looked up that far.  She strutted over to the guy in the BMW, snapped her 3 inch manicured nails, swiveled her neck and proclaimed….”I’m gonna $%#* you up if you keep following me.” The driver of the BMW stayed within the confines of his limo-tinted windows either out of arrogance or fear. I was betting on the latter at this point. She walked over to the Mini Mart, passed the bail boys and into the store. It felt like I was in an MTV music video and Beyonce was gonna come strolling out from the mini mart with Jay-Z holding her $3000 purse. (I’d like to see the homies screw with Jay-Z.) The BMW passenger door opened and an Eminem look alike got out. OK truthfully he looked nothing like Eminem, but he was white and gangster, wore his pants half way down his ass and I am sure he could rap.  He flicked a cigarette toward the homies and they all stood at once. Good God I am parked smack dab in the middle of a gang war. And I was wearing RED!! I imagined how I would lay down on the seat in the event gunfire erupted. I imagined how I would explain getting grazed by a bullet at Jiffy Lube to my co-workers. I imagined me killing my husband for putting me in this situation in the first place. Where was he anyway?

The homies and Eminem bumped shoulders, shook hands, called each other nigger as my husband finally materialized from the garage bay. The BMW driver still hadn’t emerged and ‘stilt girl’ was on her way out of the Mini Mart and heading straight for him. Eminem and the homies made some lewd comment as she passed them on her way out that she completely ignored. My husband, still deciphering the price chart on the wall had no idea what was about to happen. I locked the doors. I rolled up the windows. I shut the radio. I was in full alert mode. If something was gonna happen, it wasn’t gonna happen to me. Mr. Wonderful out there would have to fend for himself.

Just as the ‘stilt girl’ arrived at the BMW she turned and looked right at me. Not just a glance, a head turning, you-didn’t-see-a-damn-thing…look at me. Me. Minding my business in my Dodge. A potential witness perhaps. Did I pay my life insurance? Did I pay his…because if we get out of here in one piece I am gonna be one wealthy widow after I kill him.

Stilt girl, carrying a can of soda that I hadn’t seen until now, was walking towards my car. Oh God. I put the car in reverse with my foot on the brake just in case I had to make a quick exit. She stopped about two feet from the front of my car, popped the top of the soda and launched it at the BMX. The can hissing and spitting soda landed on the trunk of the car. The homies burst into jeers. Stilt girl stood silent and still. And I pretty much peed myself.

The BMW door started to open and of course now my husband was on his way back to the car. He had no idea that within moments the BMW car door would fly open and Stilt Girl guts would be all over my Dodge hood. I practiced my laying on the seat move and realized that I would never get low enough to avoid a stray shot so I motioned to my husband to hurry up. He strolled toward the car and I saw the BMW door open wider and Stilt Girl moving toward it. This is gonna be get bad. My car door opened and without actually getting in my husband starts telling me about filters and proofing oil and I screamed in my best whisper so Stilt Girl couldn’t hear…get in the car there is going to be a fight. What??? A fight, there is gonna be a fight, get in the car. What fight? GET IN THE CAR BEFORE WE GET SHOT, OK????? He got in the car and before his door was even closed I backed out of the Jiffy Lube and into traffic. I have no idea what happened to the girl. I don’t know who was in the BMW and if he was following Stilt Girl to begin with. I have no clue if the homies ended up needing Big Mac’s guy and I never went to Family Dollar.

8 to 12

Today is my day off. No work, no babysitting…just off. Kinda. I am waiting for the dishwasher repairman who has tried twice to fix the damn thing and after several parts ordered and installed I am still washing my dishes at night and cursing Sears. I made the earliest appointment possible so I don’t waste the whole day. 8 am to 12 noon It is almost 11 and still no repairman and so in my impatience I have called the automated recording twice to hear that my repairman will arrive between 8 and 12 today. God, did they say TODAY?? I better call back. Ok today, phew! I got up early to vacuum before the guy gets here. Wouldn’t want him to see that on any other given day the kitchen is a mess and anywhere my husband has eaten in the last 8 hours has to be re-vacuumed. I threw in a load of wash, checked my email, paid three bills on line, updated my Facebook status, organized a junk draw, cleaned out my pocketbook and refilled the salt shaker. I watered my plants including the two I got for Easter, ate a Sugar-free Peeps (with breakfast), called my mother in law (got no answer, hung up….there is a God), and checked just once more to be sure the recording still says that the repairman is coming today. I fluffed the couch pillows, sprayed Febreeze on them and the dog (who, as my son loves to point out…really stinks). I attempted to organize the coat closet but abandoned that when I realized that I would soon need to find a place to put all the winter wear. (Ok where is this guy, I am exhausted! ).

I switched the laundry from washer to dryer, gazed wistfully at my son’s empty closet, and as I neared the stairs heard my phone ringing. I jetted up the stairs (lol lol, yeah that didn’t happen) to what I was sure was the repairman’s call. Nope, just Mr. Wonderful asking me to do him a favor since I was ‘off’ today. I tied up some newspapers and magazines for tomorrows recycling, cleaned the soap dish in the bathroom, lost then found my bra which I had hidden under one of the Febreezed pillows. I made another pot of coffee, ate another sugar-free Peeps which made me nauseous, and sat down hoping to watch some mindless TV I recorded earlier. The phone rang. It was Sears. The repairman has been delayed she said. And with that I took some comfort and some pain. Stuck in the house longer, but at least I was certain he was coming.

 

I can see the sun peeking out from behind the clouds just to annoy me a little more. The bird feeders that my husband almost compulsively refills daily are covered with red cardinals, beautiful jet black…..blackbirds (duh), and green quakers which are like little mean parrots that snip at any birds that come near them and scream for god knows what reason. Done with bird watching I sat down at the computer to play Poppit. That is a game where you pop ballons of various colors until the least amount of balloons are left unpopped. Mindless like some of my TV shows. The game wouldn’t load. Loading…loading….loading and the little hourglass just stood there where my cursor should be. I shut the computer, no patience this morning…oh wait, technically it is almost this afternoon now.

I started a pot of split pea soup using the ham bone from my daughter’s Easter dinner (gonna be 80 tomorrow and I am making soup…jeez what timing), cut WWE wrestler figures out of cardboard for party centerpieces, and coaxed the dog outside with a piece of cheese in preparation for the arrival of the repairman. I sent an irate email to the Daily News about the 12 year old graffiti-ist who is now suing the city, and I called my mother in law again…with still no answer. Since her Life-Alert did not call me I am assuming she is ok and either out enjoying the sun (that I am missing) or avoiding my call because she is mad at me again for a reason that completely eludes me.

The bell rang. He’s here! The dog is going wild trapped outside. He is trying to tear through the screen to get in. I am yelling, he is barking, the bell still ringing. Not Sears, just my grandson who wants to see the wrestler cut outs. The dog contained, my grandson satisfied, the birds fed, the laundry done, Poppit still loading and my mother in law MIA….I sit, still waiting!

.....beige goes with everything

I have decided to re-do my bathroom. However not the “I’ll need to take a loan.....which bills can I forgo paying this month?.....take my first born” type of renovation. This is me, on a stool with a brush, a roller and a whole lotta mess.

My current décor is early aquarium. Blue walls, framed pictures of fish that look like Nemo, big fish, little fish, blue fish, red fish….kinda like Dr. Seuss. Oh and let’s not forget the fish enhanced shower curtain and the matching fish shaped rug. Classy huh? Hence the renovation.

I gave this serious consideration I might add. I wanted something grown up, yet not stuffy….something coordinated but not matchy matchy….and something that wouldn’t make me look seasick when I looked in the mirror. I heard green has that effect and so I went with…..beige. Ok boring you might think, but there is a method to my madness. I cannot paint a straight line. I therefore cannot paint the ceiling white and expect the beige walls to look straight and even where they meet. I also cannot reach said ceiling/wall junction without perching myself on something precarious and therefore I need to paint the ceiling the same color as the wall. Beige works!

I then needed to replace the blue striped wallpaper on the bottom half of the wall with something that went with….beige. I know, everything goes with beige, but brown seemed the most obvious and the most sophisticated especially for someone like me that admittedly has little to no taste. I went to Home Depot. They don’t sell wallpaper any more. I went to Benjamin Moore…ditto. I found a little wallpaper store locally that was closed all three times I went. I finally took my husband’s advice and went to a store on Coney Island Avenue that sold paint, paint supplies and wallpaper. (which I just found out they now call wallcovering so that they can charge twice as much) After a near knock-down dragged-out brawl over a parking spot with Svetlana the Russian bitch from hell, I went into the wallpaper covering store. (I won by the way…my car’s bigger than your car…nah nah nah nah nah!)

There were shelves and shelves with books of wallpaper. I got the impression I would have to order the paper instead of walking out with my double-roll pre-pasted brown wallcovering. A woman approached me asking if I needed assistance as she proceeded to walk passed me and into a back room. (I kid you not!) She came out, briefly apologized and asked me again if I needed assistance. I told her what I wanted and she asked me how many square feet  I needed to cover. Ok she already started with the trick questions! I had no idea so I pointed to a wall and gestured about how high and how wide the area I needed to cover. She immediately said I would need just one double roll. Man she was good! (Of course she ended up selling me two just in case her instant math was off a tad….and no returns allowed by the way.) She asked what room it was for and if I had a color preference. I told her. She asked me if any part of the room was being painted. I told her. She asked what color. I told her. She looked at me and said, 'beige in a bathroom…that’s novel! Everything goes with beige.' Not the response I was looking for exactly but with that she pulled out six rolls of brown-ish paper. One was floral. Ugh One was metallic. Double Ugh One was paisley and would have been nice if it was 1962. One was, well….not brown at all. That left me with two to chose from. Both were similar, but in my desire to get this over with I chose the one I thought looked most like it would complement the beige paint I had bought. I know, I know everything goes with beige.

I also bought a paint brush and a roller tray liner. I already have the rollers from some other project I thought I might attempt and never did. I came home with my supplies, lugged them up to the fishy bathroom and began the daunting task of removing the wallpaper. I picked at, scratched at and pretty much gnawed at the paper and no matter how hard I tried a thin layer of the paper backing remained firmly in place. Piece by postage stamp sized piece I was barely able to remove a section of paper before I gave up, went on line and googled ‘how to remove old wallpaper’. To think it was there all the time, an elucidation, a solution….warm tap water. In a spray bottle. Yup, that was all it took. Spray, wait, peel. Paper off. My nails and fingertips gnawed to the nub and all I needed to do was spray water. Sometimes life isn’t fair.

I still have a lot to do in the bathroom to get it ready to be painted and papered but at least I have all my supplies. Almost. I don’t have a ladder, and I am not sure at 5’ 1” my step stool is gonna cut it. I don’t have a pole to screw into the roller to paint the ceiling unless I use the one attached to the toilet plunger which is kinda short but better than nothing. I will also need to spackle the holes when I remove the nails that hold the fish pictures unless I find some other pictures to hang in exactly the same places which is highly unlikely. I will need rags, a small bucket, rags, blue tape, some rags, a tape measure and razor and a whole lot of rags.

The excitement about my new bathroom has all but left now. The beige paint isn’t covering the blue. It will need two coats. The water atomized wallpaper turns into immovable stone if not swept up immediately, which of course I didn’t. The ‘it goes with everything’ beige paint doesn’t really match my tiles, toilet or tub. I can’t get the nails out of the wall since the one time in my life I hung something…..I hit a beam. The plunger stick, though suitable gets me three feet shy of the ceiling.   I miss my fish.

Of Kings and Queens....

My son moved out. He moved to Queens. I am adjusting. I would adjust much better if I didn’t read the paper every morning. The letter Q…as in Queens is an obvious letter no matter what font it is in. So when I skim through the paper every day my eye is drawn to the Q….for Queens….. Queens man killed in drunken brawl, Queens Blvd named worst intersection for pedestrians, 2 shot 1 dead in Queens, Queens man goes missing. Of course none of these caught my eye while he lived at home safely tucked away in his Brooklyn basement apartment. And none of these are anywhere near the Queens area my son moved to. But still.

Half his clothes are still here. The teeny closet he had now looks like a walk in compared to the shared closets of his new apartment. Space wise it helps that his girlfriend is a size zero at best. I pass the closet with half his clothes and no door everyday when I do the laundry. (ok so I don’t do laundry everyday, but you get the picture) I am tempted to smell his shirts the way they do in sad, soap opera-y movies when someone dies. I have to remind myself he is only in Queens. A borough away but when the Belt Parkway is between you and a loved one it can be as far as a cross country trek.

I spoke to him twice since he moved. Once on the phone and once when he stopped by for a nano-second to get some stuff he left behind. He rang the bell and was double parked. This ain’t gonna work. He did come by this past Sunday to get some more of his stuff and to do laundry. God Bless the laundry room, I knew it would come in handy one day.

We cleaned out his fridge so that we could unplug it and save like eight cents a year. (My husband has been going green since before going green was fashionable) There were six outdated yogurts that he forgot to tell me he didn’t like, so I bought more thinking he did. There were frozen beer mugs, shot glasses and airplane size liquor bottles in the tiny freezer. There was also a frozen mouse, dead I presume (it was in aluminum foil), back from the days when he had a snake. I won’t be drinking anything out of those mugs anytime soon. The snake was adopted out when his girlfriend made him choose her or it when they moved. He took the A-1 steak sauce, hot sauce, the Snapples and the chocolate chips for his chocolate fountain. (yes, it was a gift) I got the inch worth of pancake syrup, the quarter stick of butter that was frozen near the mouse and a few dirty dishes that never quite made it back upstairs.

My son told me my dog smells. I mean he always told me that when he lived here, and the dog does stink….but now as a resident of Queens I feel he has forfeited his right to critique my dog’s…..aroma. He told me the wall near my back door was dirty….twice. I found myself explaining how his father always has filthy hands from working on the car and blah blah blah…what the hell….I am not explaining myself to someone (not even my son, my son) who just recently painted his entire apartment. Wanna paint it, be my guest.

I am feeling useless. I don’t get to wait up for him or even know whether or not he made it home in one piece. I don’t get to assume the worst when he is minutes later than expected, and I miss the elation when he walks in the door safe and sound. I can’t make sure he has his breakfast yogurt…even if they are the wrong flavors. I certainly can’t ask his girlfriend to cook when he gets in late so that he doesn’t have to eat reheated food. I can’t look at his face and know exactly how his day has gone. I miss my son. It’s just me and Mr.Wonderful now and he doesn’t eat yogurt, I don’t worry about him coming in late and he will eat anything reheated or not. Yup, just the two of us yelling across the dinner table over the blaring TV about the dirty wall and how much the dog smells.

I Like To Be In America

Last night my husband and I went to see West Side Story on Broadway. We navigated Flatbush Avenue, me driving and cursing the dollar vans and him answering questions that I never asked. We ate at Katz’s, our favorite deli with diabetic me only able to eat half a sandwich, no fries and a diet root beer. (Hardly seems worth the money if you don’t walk out vowing to never eat that much again.) We made our way uptown taking 6th Avenue which was probably a mistake but it was an adventure navigating the fifty blocks along-side kamikazee cabbies and bike lane cretins with, I am sure….a death wish. Arriving without killing an environmentalist or being killed by a radical cabbie we found a parking spot with a muni-meter only a block from the theatre. At twenty-five cents for twelve minutes it cost us $9 to park until the show was over and then some….a big difference from the ridiculous parking lot prices. So far our night was a success.

Since we were early we decided to sit in the designated seating Times Square now offers amidst the lights, the tourists, and the lunatics. As we sat killing time, Spiderman came by, so did a half naked guy dressed in camouflage gear and a woman (I think?) singing an accapella version of “We Are The Champions.” I bought a $150 knockoff bag from a street vendor for $35 for which he gladly accepted only $31 which was all the cash my husband and I had on us since we spent $34 at the deli and $9 to park.

The time passed quickly and we headed to the theatre. At my subtle insistance suggestion, my husband got those amplifying headphones for the hearing impaired. They basically were upside down headphones. Instead of going on top of your head, they hang from your ears with the amplification box somewhere around your neck. He looked like he had had a tracheotomy and I half expected his voice to come out of the box distorted and disjointed. I stifled a giggle but never let on that he looked like one of the lunatics we had left outside in Times Square. Our seating thankfully included an aisle as I now had two pocketbooks, a coat and a playbill to stuff into that anorexic seat.

 

I don’t think there is a person alive that doesn’t know the premise of West Side Story.  The Jets, the Sharks, Tony, Maria. But something was amiss. Even with his wife beater t-shirt and tousseled hair, the adorable Tony looked like he would rather have been kissing Marco than Maria and it was hard to conceive that he was ever a gang member. Ever! His Jets looked like a ballet troupe in sneakers (which they probably were) and none except Deisel were believable as anyone who could remotely win a ‘rumble’. The Jets girls looked too skinny and too slutty in their micro mini skirts and tarted up make up. I started rooting for the Sharks. Bernardo had a great purple suit and looked sexy and oddly manly while his Sharks wore roach killer shoes with heels and bright shirts with vests. The women in their colorful ruffled skirts that they twirled as they danced put the Jets girls to shame. And there are just some things that shouldn’t be changed, or updated or re-written. Womb to Tomb, Birth to Earth…is one of them! But they decided that Sperm to Worm was a better choice. Ugh! Too much of a visual there thank you!

The scene with the Shark girls dancing on the roof to ‘I Like To Be In America’ was a show stopper as was the hysterically funny tribute to ‘Officer Krumpke,‘ the only part of then play where the Jets were believable as street kids. Just before intermission the entire cast sang a mosaic of the song ‘Tonight’ with each character singing independently but joining together for the climax….I looked over to find my husband with his tracheotomy headphones….tearing up.  I didn't know whether to laugh or cry.  So I laughed.

During intermission I waited on a line that went down three flights of stairs to go to the ladies room. As I get there the lights start blinking and the attendant informs us that we will not be allowed to go to our seats if the play starts before we are seated. I got off the line, trekked back upstairs and to my seat. My husband was already there reading his Playbill which he always keeps and I throw out when he isn’t looking. The second half of the play was far better than the first half and the urge to pee had all but passed.   The curtain down, our hands still stinging  from applause, we returned the trach-phones and manuevered our way out of the theatre and to the car. 

As expected, the car was still there and we even had ten minutes left on the muni-meter. I had considered sitting in the car til the meter ran out, just to spite the city and Bloomberg and the D.O.T. but I really did still have to pee and so the faster I got home the better. 

one potatoe, two potatoe

My mother in law is 83.  She will be 84 in April if I don’t kill her in March. She is a sweet, wonderful, generous, totally exasperating, and infuriatingly frustrating woman. And that is on her good days. She is from Illinois. Not quite middle America, not quite East coast. Not quite Bible belt, not quite border region. Not quite normal, not quite certifiable. (yet) Just good old hillbilly hick. (without the twang) She married my father-in-law when she was 16 years old and came to New York a child bride. She raised three sons, each to their own degree of normalcy, one of which obviously, I am married to. Over the years I have come to understand her idiosyncrasies and more often than not ignore her….I mean, them.

My father in law passed away almost two years ago and although she fought with him on a daily basis, she misses him and says she still hears him peeing in the morning. (More info than I needed….) Recently my brother in law who lives with her (god bless his patient soul) had to go into the hospital. He has been sick for many years, but like Ben Gazzara on Run For Your Life….he will probably outlive us all. On one occasion when his health was at a low, she called me up in hysterics.

“Oh God, I think he is dead! I can’t wake him. I don’t think he is breathing!” I calmed her enough to tell her to hang up with me and call 911. “That is what Joy said to do.” she makes known. Joy is her sister who lives in….Illinois. My brother in law doesn’t stand a chance if her first call was to Illinois, the second to me….and all before calling 911! He wasn’t dead and he was breathing and 911 could wait for another day.

Since it is basically like the blind leading the blind there, we got her a medic alert…you know the ‘I’ve fallen and I can’t get up” systems. All she has to do is press the button if she has fallen or is ill and a voice will come on the unit and ask what is wrong. If they do not get a response they call…..you got it…ME! So for the first 48 hours she pressed the button twice by mistake. Second 48 hours she was just testing it a few times. By day 5 I had gotten six emergency calls until finally they offered to send someone to explain to her how and how NOT to use the unit. She refused saying she wasn’t an idiot and knew how to use it. I threatened her to not press the button unless it is an emergency or they will come and take the unit away, which of course wasn’t true, but hick, hillbilly….remember?? One Friday I was shopping for about and hour and had accumulated quite a cart-full. My cell phone rang and it was the emergency response unit. I was tempted momentarily not to answer recalling the boy who cried wolf story. But I did and was told she had pressed the button and although they got no response when they asked her if she was ok they did hear her breathing. I thought to myself, good God this is it, she really is in trouble. I sprung into action….ok maybe not sprung per se, but I did abandon my cart full of carefully hand picked items and was en route to her house within minutes. I kept calling her house phone in the hopes that she was ok and contemplated calling 911 in the interim. After several attempts, she answered.

“Are you OK?”

“Yeah, why wouldn’t I be?” she answered sounding annoyed that I had interrupted her soap opera.

“The medic alert called me…you pressed the button?”

“Boy are they snitches….I pressed it by mistake.”

“Why didn’t you answer them when they asked you if you were ok?

“I thought they would get mad and take it away.”

So much for threats!

With one son living the life of a recluse in Queens, my husband the workaholic and my brother in law in the hospital the job of making sure she has milk…and bread…and red potatoes falls on me. She loves red potatoes. Can’t be the ones in the bag, can’t be the ones in the bucket, has to be the loose ones that need to be carefully inspected for potato eyes. (don’t ask) I bought the ones in the bucket dumped them in a produce bag and she was happy. Since she eats breakfast at 4:30 am, lunch at 11 and her dinner somewhere around 3, it makes sense that at 6 she is ready for a snack. Her snack of choice is Celeste frozen pizza. Has to be Original Cheese though, not Pepperoni (heartburn), not Vegetable (gassy) and not even X-tra Cheese (bothers her stomach). So of course they are out of Original Cheese. I buy X-tra Cheese and cross out X-tra neatly with a permanent freezer safe Sharpie. She was happy. I bought the wrong oatmeal. She likes the kind you cook. I bought instant. I returned it. I bought 3 minute Oatmeal. Still wrong. I returned it. I bought the right oatmeal. She decides to tell me she already has three in the cupboard. (yes, she calls it a cupboard) Although there is smoke coming out of my ears, she is happy with her oatmeal, her eye-less red potatoes and her frozen X-tra Original Cheese pizza.

Get well soon dear brother in law…PLEASE!