Super Duper.

"Hi, Reader," says NoseyDot Me, not to be confused with Nosey Dot the Cat.

Nosey Dot the Cat                                                 

NoseyDot Me

It wanted to say hi before it completely disappears, which I am happy to report is finally on it's way outta town. I can't say I'm gonna miss my little friend, either. 

In other news, I'm really rather surprised at myself for putting no-make-up-faced, recently-outta-bed me on the internets for all the world to make fun of and create mean memes with, should someone so desire. I guess enough bra-less trips to Walmart helped me lose my inhibitions.  

Plus, I'm not so vain that I think anyone gives enough of a shit about my appearance to be gawking over it.  If anything, you can take pride that your complexion is more even, eyebrows are darker, cheekbones are more defined, blah blah blah, and so I'm really an inspiration. 

I may be on the docket for sainthood with enough naked-faced photos. Is that how sainthood works?

I think it also has something to do with miracles, and I should be given credit for several.

1. The fortitude to sleep twelve hours and still go back to bed at a reasonable hour the same night!
2. A natural immunity to every different type of cat furs, evidenced by the ability to bury my face in a multitude of different cat furs and not sneeze!
3. The power to eat cake for breakfast, and then eat cake after dinner the same day!

In retrospect, these probably aren't miracles as much as they are superpowers so basically I'm a Superhero. 

Marvel, I'm ready for my movie. And my costume. And you can even give my NoseyDots a role, both the cat and the pimple. This script is practically writing itself. In my head. 

Resolving.ish.

Already Sunday evening. How does the weekend just zing by so quickly? And it's now 10 days in to the new year and I have yet to officially write down my personal goals, so very little is getting accomplished towards them. 

I did succumb to the whole "Pick a Word for the Year" challenge that seems to be a thing to do. I've read blogs where folks do this and it seems interesting/inspiring and so I figured why not. 

Don't know what I'm talking about? Well, you can get even more confused here. It's basically a #oneword2016 challenge where you choose a word that represents your main focus for the year. My natural instinct was to choose the word "CAKE" but then that didn't seem like a word that would move anything forward except the needle on the scale and the size of my pants, so I abandoned that even though it made me whimper just a little. Because no one likes to abandon cake. And if you do like abandoning cake, you have greater problems then picking a focus word for 2016, because that's borderline crazy talk. 

My next word thought was "CATS," but then that's nothing new, and for cryin'-out-loud what would my goals be around that word? To cuddle more? That actually does sound like an enjoyable focus word, especially when there's a whole lotta this going on around Chez Bang Bang on a cold January Sunday:

Let's face facts, that is some rather irresistible catting.

Which is probably why I still don't have my personal goals written in my fancy-dancy notebook, there's laundry that needs to be put away, I have to finesse my work goals for a Tuesday presentation, it would be nice to chat up my daddio sometime tonight, bills need a-paying, and I've gotta get ma shit ready for a quickie trippie to Vegas that starts on Tuesday afternoon. Because all that went on around here and I helped them with it. 

I still have all those little tasks to do and it's well into the p.m. portion of Sunday, and basically I'm going to go grab a snack and sit and watch the t.v. Because you have to ease into these resolutions, Reader. Don't want to give my system a big jolt. 

First, I have to grab a snack because I had thought of making a homemade lasagna for today, but made early (well, noon, it's impolite to judge, Reader!) breakfast and then sort of lost interest in cooking after that. So now we have nothing for dinner except whatever's easily grab-able. I think that leaves a generic ho-ho, an avocado and a left over Christmas cookie as my options. 

But back to my #2016oneword Challenge. Focus, Me.  

I've settled on my word: DISCIPLINE.

Not the 50-Shades-of-Spankings form of discipline, although that does sound sort of fun and frankly maybe I'd enjoy my goals more if there were a bit of firm-yet-tender spanking at the end of the day. There's not, unless you count when I sort of swat at the cats when they are Fight-Clubbing each other. 

So yeah. I'm going to bring a whole lotta DISCIPLINE to 2016.  Starting tomorrow. Baby steps. 

This Old House

Well, Reader, 2016 started out mean to Chez Bang Bang.  Or it tried to, anyway, but it was thwarted. Maybe The Universe - or a Ghost (we'll get into that sometime later) - was just trying to challenge me, and used Chez Bang Bang as the vessel to see if I could Man Up and deserve the honor of homeownership.

I've got news for you, Universe and/or  Ghost:  I am NOT man enough to own my home.  

That's what husbands are for, of which I have none at present. So stop testing me already. All of  us know I lack homeownership skillz, beyond cleaning up cat pee and sweeping up cat hair. 

But luckily I have the pleasure of the acquaintance of HNDYDAN and he's not only man enough to run his own house, his woman's house, her son's house, misc. other houses, but Chez Bang Bang as well. 

2016 delivered this to my kitchen:

 

Now, I'm no expert, but I knew this couldn't be good. 

This little treat happened when I ran the dishwasher. My solution was to keep trying the garbage disposal (is it a disposal or a disposer?? I say and type it both ways. Hm.), but that just filled up both sides of the sink.  Evidenced above. 

We bailed. Literally. And then I made my plea to Almighty Facebook for advice/pity help, and HNDYDAN came to the rescue.  

At first we thought maybe, just maybe, I had ground up the little rubber stopper thingie that sits over the garbage disposal side of the sink, because I vaguely recalled hearing a thumping noise in there when I ran the disposer at times, and we couldn't find the rubber stopper.  

So yeah, HNDYDAN was ready to take away the house from me right then and there. 

But then? We found it, so I was redeemed! 

HNDYDAN brought the flat plunger, which I learned was needed for sink plunging vs. the ones that are made for toilet plunging. I'm like a sponge, absorbing all this knowledge. 

The boys plunged. 

On a good note, I learned the proper plumbing techniques for sink plunging, which is:

1. block off the other side of the sink with towels
2. vigorously plunge with both hands firmly on the shaft. HNDYDAN really had this routine down. i don't know where he got all that practice. i'll assume a lot of clogged drains. ahem. 
3. scream when something gross comes out of the drain, which is exactly what happened when I decided to make the most of the HNDYDAN Experience and had him also plunge my slow bathroom sink drain, and a great big black ball of muck that looked like a dead wet mouse, but wasn't, came up out of the drain and I screamed and ran out of the bathroom, followed by HNDYDAN, who told me, "Uh, you can take it from here!" and then we both took a picture of it and sent it to Joanne, because nothing says "Goodmorning, Sunshine!" like a picture of a gross dead-wet-mouse-looking pile of goop from the drain sent via text. I was going to share it with you here, Reader, and I still can, but only if you comment that you'd like to see it. Then, I will post. Because I'm here for you, Reader, and I'm a giver. Just ask Joanne. 

Back to the kitchen sink. HNDYDAN got down on the floor, all nimble-like, and disassembled the pipes, only conking his head once on the cabinets. And oh by the way, he only walked once into the closed patio sliding doors, but hey, it's not my fault - I maintain very dirty windows so that people know they are closed, to prevent walking into them. Or it should. They are dirty for safety purposes, Reader. 

I've walked into a sliding door once myself, in Florida at my Dad's, so who am I to laugh, yet I did, but not too loudly because the drain was still clogged up and well, I'm not one to openly laugh (at the time) when I can do it right here on ol' Bang Bang's blog so all the world (er, the dozen) can Read All About It.  

I'm like the town cryer of trips, falls and window-walkings-into. 

You're welcome, HNDYDAN. 

But nevertheless, he got down to business. During the drain-removing process, HNDYDAN made a most unusual request, asking if I happened to have a flashlight.  

Me: "Um, on my phone!" 

HNDYDAN: "Move into an apartment. You're not allowed to own a house." 

But guess what? That iPhone flashlight worked just fine! So ha. 

And I did happen to find a proper flashlight, that I believe my brother bought for me, but it needs big fat C batteries which I don't have, but will get as part of my 2016 Resolutions and for part of my new tv show (see below). Because I guess sometimes you shouldn't rely on an iPhone light, although I do trust in Steve Jobs. 

Anyway, after he conked his head and his face, he pulled out his giant snake drain, which should have done the trick, but didn't. Chez Bang Bang's Ghost was still intent on thwarting us. 

It was time for the Big Guns, meaning HNDYDAN went and rented an electric snake from the home store the next day. 

We got started at the crack of noon on Day 2 of HNDYDAN vs. Drains, much to his dismay delight.  And that's what you get when you come to my rescue on Facebook - unexpected weekend time with me. You're welcome again. 

The Big Gun finally cleared whatever was down there, which we never really did determine what it was, it just must have pushed it on through, and now Chez Bang Bang has clear-running drains once again. 

You'd think that would be the end of this clogged-drain story, but it's not. Because while I had HNDY here, I persuaded him to install my shower head, which has been in the closet for two years, and he took care of that lickety-split. Unfortunately, I was disappointed in it's performance as it has a gentle rainshower thing and it's not nearly as pounding as I would like. So all that two-year wait for nothing. 

I like a hard pounding in the shower ~That's What She Said!~

It has three settings, but none of them are aggressive enough for my liking.

I want to feel waterboarded when I get out of the shower. 

I want it to exfoliate me from head to toe. 

And this new one? It's just a too-gentle mist and now I have to go and buy yet another new shower head that will give me the pounding I crave. 

But! The good news is, I carefully watched the installation process, and I am fairly certain I can do it myself next time. Stay tuned for another riveting blog update next week.

But that's not all either. 

Because I was home sick on Thursday with a vicious little bug and the Ghost of Chez Bang Bang tried to play another trick on me, and jammed the front door lock so I couldn't open the front door. And another plea to HNDYDAN had him galloping to the rescue later that day.  

Me: "I'm going to try to find the WD-40 and squirt it up in there."

HNDYDAN: "I'll be over when I get off work."

Later...

HNDYDAN: "Do you have a key to the door so I can try it from the outside?"

Me: "Yep, but it's real slippery. I coated it in Crisco because I couldn't find the WD-40."

HNDYDAN: ~pained look on his face~

You know the outcome, HNDYDAN took the mechanism apart, tightened up some screws, and now it's working much more smoothly, no doubt in part to the heavy dose of Crisco I applied to the bolt and in the keyhole. So basically I probably fixed it. 

And LASTLY, in the story of How The House is Being An Asshole in 2016:  I got out of the shower a couple of days ago (still unhappy with my gentle rainshower), put my towel back in the rack and pulled the whole damn towel rack right off the wall.

My Mister: "Hulk break towel rack!" 

Yep. Hulk broke towel rack.

But guess what?? 

I must have absorbed a lot of HNDYDAN's knowledge over the past week, because after several attempts of just trying to mash the metal part back onto the wall, I decided there must be a screw somewhere on the thing and turned the part over and lo-and-behold, saw a teeny-tiny screw!! 

So I unscrewed it, and put the towel rack back over the parts still on the wall, and screwed it back in and just like magic, the towel rack was back in place. 

Basically, I am just like Rehab Addict's Nicole Curtis and deserve my own t.v. show.  HGTV,  I am ready for my close up. Despite the everlasting presence of The Nose Dot. Who also might need it's own contract, I cannot negotiate on it's behalf. Apparently. 

. 

*yet another candid, morning-face, no-make-up, taken-just-now-for-YOU-READER, nose dot photo. And you can see why I need eyebrow filler, and coverup, but do you see those lashes? Untouched by makeup, so yeah. Awesomely long and fluttery. And hopefully enough to distract my television viewers (when I get my DIY Show shortly) from the Nose Dot.  The Nose Dot may have to get it's own blog if it plans on sticking around all year. 

p.s. For you who may be wondering why My Mister isn't the Man Of the House, he did help with the plunging, but really, he's a lover, not a fixer. :( 

Connect The Dots

Well, it looks like we've got ourselves a New Year, Reader, and as always, I am very optimistic, excited, and curious about what the year will bring.  I love a new year.  It's just so full of promise.  I mean, sometimes it goes all haywire and does all sorts of cray shit, but then there's always those wonderfully unexpected parts that I love to savor. 

Last year was of course my Year I Was Unemployed, and looking back it feels like one of my favorite years in a long long while. I reveled in being unemployed for the few months before I landed my new thang. 

But this isn't a Musing-About-2015 post, that's done all over the Internets so there's no need for me to do it, too. Ya'll know what-the-what I was up to anyway. 

What ya don't know is this: I actually went to CHURCH on Christmas Eve.  Now THAT is a big deal around here, Reader.  I'm not particularly inclined to attend the organized religions. Over the years I have tried it and the best time I've really had was getting my spiritual blessings done by the Amma's from India at a Unitarian Universalist church, in which I almost always refer to as the "utilitarian" church, and I'd beg to argue that this is actually a more fitting name.  

So yep. I found myself in a church on Christmas Eve, because My Mister's mother needed the support as she's getting churchy since her mama died in May.  It was really lovely, and had a hand bells musical thing going on, and I recited all the reciting things that they asked, and sang strong in my reserved-for-church-songs falsetto voice to all the music, and sat in the front row and respected the whole shebang. If Imma gonna go to church, Imma gonna do it all up right. 

Before we went, though, I asked My Mister for a churching favor.  

See, I've had a pimple on my nose for months now. MONTHS. It's the Karma coming back to get me, Reader, no joke. Because years and years ago, my ex-husband had the marriage-ending affair with a person who had nose cancer which resulted in a divot in the side of her snorkel tube. And lashing-out Trixie wished her to get more nose cancers to the extent her whole damn nose and face would just fall off.  

People warned me to not wish cancer on others, even the cheater-types, because it's not nice.  But there was just no telling me back then. Now, I didn't make a pact with the devil or anything for her to get nose cancer again, but I said it in my head more than once.  

Fast forward 10+ years and some nose pimple just popped up on the side of my very own snorkel tube and just would. not. go. away. 

And then after more than a month it finally DID go away, and the very next morning I awoke and found someone new had moved into the nose-pimple-neighborhood and took up residence.  

Because I care about you, Reader, and plus I sort of owe you because it's a new year and I really didn't deliver my very important words to you nearly enough towards the end of last year, I'm sharing a picture to show you the nose karma - despite the not-a-stick-of-makeup, taken-just-now, nothing-pretty-to-see-here version of Trixie. 

This sort of puts me in the same category as the movie stars who take a picture of themselves without make up (but we can all see they have on eyeliner and brow stuff) and we're all supposed to just be astounded by their bravery. So I guess you can call me a hero if you want, because I'm going to post this picture of my nose dot.

One of our cats, who's proper name is Jessie, has two dots on his nose, and we found ourselves calling him Nose Dots or Nosey instead of his name, and now that's sort of become his name.  And now I've been nicknamed Nose Dots as well, just around the house though. I don't think I'm being called that out in public, but maybe.  Here it is. My very own Nosey Dot. 

. 
Reader, are you beginning to feel I'm taking you on a rambling ride, how did we get from unemployment to church to nose dots?? Well, let me connect the nose dots for you.

As My Mister and I were getting dressed for our Christmas Eve churching, I had a very serious talk with him.  

Trixie: "Since we're going to church, this is the perfect time to send up a special prayer."

MM: "Okaaaaaay......"

Trixie: "I want you to pray with all your might and ask newborn baby Jesus tonight to heal my nose pimple and let him know that I take back all my cancer requests for the unfaithful. Because that's not nice, and who cares, this nose dot has got to go."

MM: "So. All the turmoil and strife in the world, and you want me to use up my prayer on behalf of your pimple?"

Trixie: "Yep. Glad we're on the same page."

And that's what we both prayed for on Christmas Eve, and while it's not completely gone away, it is getting smaller and flatter and maybe just maybe I won't carry my nose dot with me all the way through 2016 and Karma will know I'm sorry for the nose cancer wish thing. I was a kid! It can't be held against me forever, can it?!

But now I've got Jesus on it, so Karma really doesn't stand a chance. 

The Bang Bang Blues

I've got a steep case of the post-holiday blues, Reader.  I don't know if they're really holiday blues or just blue-blues, but they've settled in and seem to want to stay and visit for a while. So I'm allowing them in, and just figure I"ll settle in on the couch next to 'em and we can chat and figure out why they're here and how long they plan on staying. 

I think I was too much on "go" for the past few days, and I'm a little worn down.  That seems to be when they like to come and visit. Now don't go getting all concerned, Reader, this isn't going to become a place where we chat about our various depressions or anything like that. I rarely get down, but today it was a full-out bawl. The kind of bawl where I have to repeat words because my therapist couldn't understand a word I was sobbing into her ear on the phone. 

She's not really my therapist. She's my friendie, but she's had the horror privilege of undressing my drunk self on vacation, so she's qualified. And needed her own therapist after that debacle, but this isn't about her, it's about ME, and right now Bang Bang has the blues so let's stay focused. Sheesh. 

Christmas hasn't been very magical since my mom died, which was 20 years ago yesterday. She basically died in my arms, of heart failure, in the early morning hours, and so yeah, tough times. The holidays sort of fell apart without her there to ground us all in the tidings of good cheer. She was the glue. 

Maybe if I had had kids it would have been different. But I didn't need to carry on holiday traditions for anyone, and so while I'd often do some things like baking and some decorating, etc, it was never quite the same. And then some years I'd get busy and tired from work, and would do even less. 

This year started our holiday strong. I'm in a great place with work, which leaves me energy to have a life after the day there is done.   I addressed cards.  I did a lot of baking. I made chocolates, for crying out loud.   I toyed with the idea of putting up a live Christmas tree! But that had a lot of complications to that plan, including how the hell I was going to strap one onto the roof of my convertible, and the possibility of spider's nests living in the branches, so that holiday joy was skipped.  

However, I wasn't treeless by a long shot, because my therapist beau made me a pallet tree! Reader. It was like he handed me the Christmas Star with this gift.  It's the first Pinterest project at Chez Bang Bang that  turned out worth a fuck. See? Nifty!!

So Christmas was happening. And the actual holiday days were really nice. And then somewhere along the line, maybe around 4 a.m. last night, when I was dragged-out-tired because I was preparing to host a baby shower for today, I just got tired and looked at other people's lives on social media too much and I sunk right into woe-is-me. 

Because everyone, absolutely everyone, is more accomplished, successful, beautiful, kind, wealthy, organized, smart, lucky, loved, normal, sane, skinny, longer-haired, tan, less man-handed, whiter-teethed blah blah blah, than I am. 

Obviously, because I'm an unlovable stupid loozer who's accomplished zilch in my life, 

That's the track in my brain. I'm trying hard to jump the track. Because I don't normally get on that track, and I don't like that train at all. I know all the "tricks" to josh yourself out of it, Reader. "Practice Gratitude." "Do a nice thing." "Count your blessings." 

I've tried all that and none of it wanted to matter.  

So I just let it in and sit awhile with it and had a hard cry and my lip pouted and my eyes keep puddling up and now I'm telling you this side of Trixie that isn't the funnyish side, and that's okay, too, because I'd hate for you to think I have a Norman Rockwell life over here and it's all tequila and burritos every day. 

Because it couldn't be further from the truth, unless Norman Rockwell had 8 cats who on occasion peed in inappropriate places. Then it would be a lot like Norman Rockwell. 

So yeah. I'm working on it. It'll pass. Probably by tomorrow, because I already feel it starting to lift a little. But some days just beg for a good hard bawl. So let it rain.  

Like Picasso, Only Less Appreciated

Let's just call December a blogging-wash, okay? Can we still be friends, Reader?  Paww-weeze?? I know I made promises of sharing my nonsensical self more, and I didn't deliver, and your days were dry, like Triskets-without-a-dip dry.  I mean, like they still had some flavor, but could have used just a little sumpin'-sumpin'.  That sumpin' being ME. Ammiright??

Okay, good.  Now we've cleared the air on that, we can get down to some real bidniz.

For some reason this month I lost my mind and decided to handmake chocolate candy treats. Because I think I must have been looking for a reason to buy a gazillion-pound-bag of chocolate.

And that was a swell idea, because how hard could this be? Ya melt some chocolate, ya dip some stuff, ya put it in your mouf, voila. 

But then I said to myself, "Well, hey, let's also add some caramel, because yum!" 

My kitchen has been a disaster for a good week now, with trays of chocolates and pretzels and almonds and caramel and other things just strewn about, in various phases of complete. 

Because the major problem with the "I'm just gonna whip up some chocolate treats" line of thinking is that I never have time to complete the task in one fell swoop.

As I've been told by my lovah, I have no concept of how time works. 

And therein lies the problemo.

I had a tray of pretzel rods dunked for their first bath in caramel, and then I had to pack it up and wait for another day with more time for the chocolate dipping.  So I wrapped them in my handy dandy Press & Seal, to keep 'em fresh until I had time to get back to my craft. 

Today was the day I had to make the time to finish it all up. Because I can't stand the disheveled-ness of the entire house any longer and it was time to put everything away. And it's Christmas Eve. 

Did I mention I'm also a dolt and volunteered to host a baby shower in my house on Sunday? The Sunday after Christmas? Yep, this coming Sunday. So I've been making blue & white candy treats for that shebang, too, and have to have a spic & span house in time to greet guests. And create a candy bar area because I saw it on Pinterest and thought "I can do that!" but I really can't, but it's too late to stop that train, so I'm on for the ride and just need to get it done. Fucking Pinterest. Sticks it to me again. 

Anyway, back to my caramel pretzel rods.  Did you know, Reader, that caramel is sticky?? 

Well, it is.  

And my pretzel rods, drenched in caramel and rolled up in press & seal became a giant blob of sticky deliciousness. 

I still have 8 lbs. of chocolate to do something with, so I started breaking up this caramel heap and decided to just go with the abstract shapes and call it pretzel candy art. Because like Picasso, my art is interpretative. 

I threw in some crushed up Reese's Cups to add a little extra taste surprise for whomever gets the treat of putting this in their mouf. It may be you, Reader. I'm giving away treat bags to the first 3 responders.  

Why do I have a feeling this is the surest way to hear crickets from you?   

So yeah.  Aren't you glad you decided we could still be friends? I'm going to shower you with abstract candy art. 

And also, stay tuned, I'll be sharing how I almost burned down the neighborhood by lighting my outdoor Christmas decorations. Because I thought "Indoor Use" was a suggestion. 

Basically I do Christmas like a boss. 

BlogTease

Hey, Reader! I have failed on my mission to find a method to writing more often.  Obvi.  

The winter is hard on Trixie Bang Bang! It's pajama-time at 6 p.m., because it's dark outside.  And the cats agree, and don't have to be convinced it's bedtime at 6:45 p.m. 

It's not that I lack things to say. Oh, nosirree, that is not the case at all. You have missed so much! But trust me, nothing that would change your life. Like for instance, we are trying out a new cat litter pan here.  It was just installed tonight, so I don't have a read on it's success or lack thereof yet, but I did come home and one of my little assholes had pooped on the kitchen floor, so really? Anywhere has to be up from here, ammiright?! 

So that's one of the most recent things you're missing out on by my not oversharing with you, Dear Reader.  

Something else? I went to Walmart tonight, to purchase said litter box and a few various other things and did not wear a bra.  Again. With a  white clingy long-sleeved t-shirt. So yeah, that happened.  I'm just not into bras on the weekend. I hate-hate-hate slipping them on and don't do it whenever I can get away with not, which is pretty much any trip to Walmart. But to not end up on a people-of-walmart post, I did wear a zip-up vest/coat thing.  

What else....hm...I had so MUCH I wanted to say, but really can't think of any of it at the moment. So since it's after midnight, it's time for more bed for me, and maybe tomorrow I'll think of the really important stuff.  

Consider this your teaser.  I'm not always one to put out all the way. Usually. But it's not a guarantee. I'm a lady of mystery, remember? 

*which part of that made you laugh harder, the "lady" reference, or the "mystery" part?? Because whew, we both know that's not really true.