The American Dream

Easter weekend is upon us and the weather is Spring-y.   

Yesterday was the first Good Friday I've had to work in 22 years. Yes, I'm still complaining about the Rules of Tiny Town. They fit me like a cheap wool suit, all hangy in the wrong spots and scratchy. We did get out early, 5:15. Early. Ha. 

My friend Meems told me, "You're getting work raped!" 

That made me laugh and agree just a little. You know, this economy is such a shitty place to find a job that we're conditioned to feel gratitude for anything at all. "Well, at least I have a job!" has become the new normal. 

I'm feeling a little pressured because of Situations. You see,  we are being forced out of our very uncomfortable nest here in The Village (we live in the Ukraine Village, according to the signs posted around).  For you, Reader, who doesn't know, we live in an up & down double - we live in the up. The dude in the down is moving out. He bought a condo and is g-o-n, the only part left is the "e" - he's not fully moved out but mostly.   

So now the downstairs is going to be rented to someone new, most likely riff-raff. 

I'm too old/grouchy/resistant to living above people who are more riff-raffy than myself. I want to the be the most riff-raffy whereever I live. Plus, My Mister has his business in the basement - with all his inventory - and we have our shit precious belongings also hogging up usable garage space. 

We have a lot of stuff that just doesn't fit in this 2 bedroom abode.  So we have been told by the landlord (who is also My Mister's Mommy) that we have to rent a storage unit and move out all of our stuff. And My Mister will have to rent a building for his business, because he can't leave his thousands of dollars worth of inventory just out in the open in the basement where stranger riff-raff can just walk off with it.  And we have the whole parking situation to deal with, whereas in the present we all hang a set of car keys on a hook in the hallway and whomever is in last pulls the cars in the driveway because you can't park on the street in the Ukraine Village past 1 a.m., so we pile 'em in based on who's leaving first for work in the morn.  

We have nice cars. I'm not handing my car keys for our Lexus & my convertible over to riff-raff. No sirree, no can do. 

Not to mention that by the time we pay our cheap rent, plus a storage unit, plus an office building, I might as well be paying a mortgage on a house that could potentially, oh let's dream a little, have a dishwasher.   

So the Magic 8 Ball is telling us quite clearly All Signs Point to Yes. Yes, it's time to go.  And yes, I am quite ready to move on to a residence that fits us a little more loosely. But of course I just bought a new stove for this place (luckily the old one is still in the garage, it will be moving right back up here!) and we have a bill on an 80" tv we're paying. But all that can be managed. 

Which brings me back to my Tiny Town lament.  Once I buy a house in the big city by the lake, I'll feel like I'm a permanent person here and this is my life, the one I got, so go and have a ball (please know that reference, or Bonnie Franklin will be turning in her grave) and be grateful, with no chance of a holiday off again. 

Renting gives me a sense of Footloose & Fancy Free, free to just pick up the cats and relocate at whim to any other job where maybe we'd get, oh let's dream some more, Christmas Eve off again.  I had that, I know I did, but it was time to move on from the Card Mines. But I find it hard to believe that I can't find something where holidays are really holidays once again. Now, not that I'm really looking, but by renting, I feel like I could if I were so inclined. 

Buying a house changes everything.  I'm here. I'm permanent. "This is as good as it gets" is what buying a house says to me. 

That unsettles me. To think that after my divorce I just ended up permanently fixtured here, when I had dreams of distant shores and new beginnings. I don't know if I can just acquiesce to the situation. I don't know. 

Asshole-ie-o's.

Hey-Ho, Reader! Sunday night is upon me once again. I'm sort of ahead of the game from where I normally am on a Sunday night, which means that I've gotten a few chores done and my Sunday night work done before 11 p.m. which is a huge score in my books. I do need to do a little laundry, but it's not dire yet. 

Saturday was a restorative day. Hour and a half hot stone massage, a delicious cup of Starbucks (a treat nowadays, not all all-the-time thing), and then giant filets and good wine with good friends.  At the end of all that fun we made an impromptu decision to see a movie so we ended up seeing Olympus Has Fallen because it was starting when we got there. It was a good movie. However. 

10:35 on a Saturday night may not be the optimum time to see a movie without facing serious shenanigan disruptions by rude rude rude human beings. 

I mean, I guess it's not as bad as say, getting shot up in a theater, but other than that, people just have no manners anymore in a societal environment. 

Two groups of rudes were talking behind me, and just carrying on and falling all out and laughing (when it didn't call for laughter!), and I finally turned around and gave them a fierce and harsh shushing.

Yes, I shushed them. I'm a shusher. 

I debated not shushing them for fear of getting a shiv in the back of my head but I decided I'd risk it because what the fuck is wrong with people, someone needs to take control of the situation. 

Surprisingly, they shut the fuck up. For the entire rest of the movie. 

You could say me & My Mister were both shocked it was so effective. 

A little later on some man at the top of the rows yelled out something like, "Mind your bidniz, Bitch!" (not at me, another movie-going bitch) and then a few minutes later theater workers and the policeman rushed up the steps and I guess they did something because everyone simmered down after that and we watched the remainder of the movie without incident.

We don't normally have that much movie theater drama. But apparently it's going to riff-raff there, or it was just the 10:30-on-a-Saturday-night timeframe. 

All I could hear was my father's voice in my head stating why he doesn't want to go to a movie theater, because, "All those gol'darn people tawkin' and care'in' on" and you know what? He's right. 

There was a lot of care'in' on.

Tomato, Tomatoh

I've had indigestion on and off for the past week or so and my Zyrtec D just wasn't working. 

Last night I discovered why it wasn't working. 

Zyrtec D is a cold & allergy medicine.

I was confusing it with Zantac.

I'm not sure which part of that makes me feel older: The part where I need antacids just for existing (and not for excessive amounts of Mexican food), or the part where I can't keep the medicines straight. 

Survey Says

The answer is #3, Reader: Socks. 

Yes, with the day and eve sprawled before me, I chose socks.  I actually did phone a friend, and watched some nonsense telly, too, so technically it's #6 & #8, too, but mostly it was #3. 

It took me an entire movie to get the socks matched up. It was the perfect show for such a mundane activity, I only had to pay 90% attention to it, and got a few guffaws. It was the one about the guys who pee in a fountain and then the whole switcharoo happens, where they get in each other's bodies - the Change Up or something. Perfect movie for sorting socks - they can put that in the review if they'd like. 

We did have a step up in our telly-choices. No Hoarders or Strange Addictions. Instead, we watched something on Animal Planet about cute kittens and cute puppies. So Cute or something. And by "we", I am referring to the cats and myself. Because yes, they were watching t.v. right along with me.

It's not the best picture, but you can clearly see Purry sitting on the coffee table mesmerized.  And this was for a commercial for the alligator-wrestlers - for the real show of cute cute kittens, The Baby (sitting too close to the tv) was pawing them on the screen and Purry's head followed their every movement.  It was really quite cute. 

Rob, if you look closely, you can see your Twin Peaks DVDs on the t.v. stand - we haven't watched 'em yet, but I also haven't LOST them, which is a step up for my usual "what happens when people lend me stuff" self. Usually we lose them or spill water on them or something. Twin Peaks still sits under the t.v., waiting and hoping for the right opportunity to be watched. 

They are in line along with Downton Abby Seasons 1 & 2, Game of Thrones Season 1 and a long-ago purchased Dexter Season 1. So eventually we'll get around to 'em all. Perhaps when March Lion's for us again. Because even though we had a 70-degree Sunday, I have no doubt we haven't had our last snowstorm. Because I have a new job with a shitty long drive made even more fun with snow, that's how I know. 

Speaking of said job, I'm off to get ready for bed for Busy Monday, which awaits an hour closer than it did last week, complements of the time change. Spring Forward, I really don't enjoy you. 

Possibilities

The sun is shining and I've been up EARLY (for me, Reader, early for me - not crazy-early like people who get up at 6 a.m. even on the weekends, but normal-people early, 9 a.m.!), I've enjoyed toast and coffee and some kittens and looking around the Internets at a bunch of nonsense. 

The day is sprawled in front of me! Here are the possible things I may do:

1/ Take an afternoon nap (because I was up early, Reader). 

2/ Organize my new office area, which has been in a shambles for a couple of months with it just half-assedly put together.

3/ Match some socks. 

4/ Finally put away my suitcase from my trip (last month, hangs head in shame).

5/ Bake something.

6/ Call people I miss.

7/ Meet an actual people I miss for a drink or shenanigans later today as I'm footloose and fancy-free this evening. 

8/ Squander the entire day watching episodes of Hoarders, My Strange Addiction, HGTV's Living Abroad show, or Say Yes to the Dress. Because I've been known to squander hour upon hour with each of the shows listed above. They're educational.  I've learned the following from watching them:

a/ My house is actually quite clean and organized. 

b/ Eating rubber tires won't kill you right away.

c/ Eating Comet cleanser WILL rot your teeth out of your head and give you abscesses in your mouth.

d/ Most people who eat non-food have really poor complexions. 

e/ I don't think I could move to Switzerland after all, they really have very little regard for women/women's opinions, and that sort of offends me. The offense even outweighs my love of chocolate and melty fondues and the thought of taking on a Swiss lover in a fancy chalet. 

f/ I feel like I have a little secret for brides who put all that emphasis on a dress. 

So there you have it. We'll see how the day shakes out. 

I'm Not Sure Why

Apparently I'm being paid homage: 

Me Me Me Me Me

I'm not sure why. 

Is it because I have been known to...er... "fuck" - sorry if that's not delicate for you, Reader (but I do have quite a history of fucking). Because then that's a suitable use and makes some sense and isn't all sweary if you're out in public. 

Or is it because whatever it is is so Awesome? Like me? So we proclaim 'What the Me!!'?

And I know it's me, Reader, because of that telling "e". There's only one me. Well, four of us actually, with the same spelling first and last names. Almighty Google tells me so. So I'm not that unique, but really, only 4 of us running around makes me pretty darn close, right? Awesomely unique. 

I don't know why it's "What the Me", Reader, but I do know this. Reading my name and saying it over and over in my head made me realize how fantastical my name sounds. 

I sound pretty, oh so pretty.  So go ahead, Reader. "What the Me," as you see fit - perhaps this will be the latest catchphrase.  I think I'd better trademark it so I can get rich every time I'm used. 

Hear We Go.

We're back in business, Reader. And that business I'm referring to is the business of hearing.

It was hard being disabled, Reader. Yes, I did just compare my plugged-up waxy ear to a disability. Because I was deaf, and even though it was only temporary, it still counts. I applied for a handicapped sticker during my time of infirmary. They told me to incorporate better hygiene practices. I call discrimination and plan on marching on Washington on behalf of all of the waxy-earred's who go unheard. 

So anyway, I'm back to hearing all the noises of the world. Let me tell you what I learned while I was disabled. 

I slept like a motherfucker when I couldn't hear. 

It was bliss. 

I heard nothing, with my "good" ear smashed in the pillow. I think that's the first time I really got into some serious REM sleep. I did wake up every couple of hours, after my REM cycle ended, and felt refreshed and ready to take on the day, even at 2 a.m. And then because I wasn't assaulted by the noises of life, I dropped right back off to sleep, for another few hours of delicious REM. 

It's made me realize how poorly I sleep on a regular basis. 

But once that wax plug plopped out due to extensive flushing, the world came to life. I could hear the future - crickets in the yard rubbing their little violin-string legs together. And it's winter, Reader. I could hear 'em all the way from August. 

So now I'm on an olive-oil in my ears regimen. That's what you're supposed to do, put a couple drops in the ears each week to keep 'em clean. 

I promise not to share any details if any of my other orifices get gummed up with anything. Pinky swears.