Operation Squeal Like a Little Girl and other nonsense

My brain has been all over the place today so I thought I would share all my random brain spasms with all of you...aren't you the lucky ones.

First things first...this morning I got up and took the dogs out to the sauna to go potty. While I watered my plants and a bit of the yard I let them roam around and do their thing. We came back in the house and had breakfast and while I was sitting on the couch Owen walks up to within about 2 feet of me and poops in the middle of the living room floor. WTF??? Owen!! He has no shame and no remorse and no manners and aw damnit he's so freakin' cute with those sad eyes.

Then on the way to work I proceed to have an argument with the Bluetooth in my truck. For those of you who know me well this will not come as a big surprise but my Bluetooth and I have a difficult relationship. You see they did not think about programing her to recognize a Midwestern/Southern drawl with a little Minnesota thrown in for good measure. She does not like the way I say "Beth". She will say "Help" or "Cancel" or on a good day "Nan". Now how in the hell does Nan sound like Beth? So we were arguing this morning and I finally said "Oh...Bite Me!" and she came back with "Connie". I am not sure what this says about my friends named Connie...of which I think I have 4...but I burst out laughing.

Then I am sitting at the front desk at work earning brownie points for purgatory...I mean seriously...do I seem like the receptionist type to you...they SO need to get someone hired. Anyway...I was looking at the morning paper taking a wee break when I saw this headline that said something like "Man sentenced for statutory sex." Now...I know full well what statutory rape is but it was the sex part that threw me off for a second. All I could think of was some guy was getting freaky with a garden gnome. That's just wrong! It ranks right up there with the idiot who was arguing with his roommate about rent and then clobbers the poor guy in the head with a golf club. Now that's the way to handle conflict moron.

After I took Fiona for her laser therapy today I had to suck it up and go back out into the miserable sauna to pick up a prescription and make a trip to Lowe's. I did not want to go to Lowe's but I really had no choice. You see...tis' the time of the year when the wasps like to build their casas in inappropriate places where they can ambush you when you least expect it. This requires a special tool...a can of toxic waste that will shoot 27 feet in the air. You need that 27 feet so you can get a head start running from the wasps you just pissed off. So, after making two laps looking for something else I needed I got my killing weapon and headed home.

I took the dogs out again and got them settled and then prepared for battle. Can of toxic waste yes, shoes yes, nerves of steel...oh hell no!! I crept stealthily, well as stealthy as a large woman can be, to the front door and slowly opened the screen just a bit to see if anyone was home. Ah...Mr. and Mrs. wasp are there working on a bungalow for their 2.5 kids...oh wait...there's two more adults...polygamist wasps...oh this is just getting worse. I slowly raise my can of death and point it at the interlopers. I squeeze the trigger and squeal like a little girl and slam the screen door when they start heading for the hills. I am now afraid to go look and see if it's safe yet. It shall have to wait until morning. That's all the bravery I have for today. I then had to go do the same out back but no one was home there so I was quite cocky as I hosed the nest down and sprayed a spider for good measure. BWAHAHAHAHA...I know...it's only a matter of time before they get their revenge but for now I am death in khaki shorts.

Limitations and opportunities

Today was one of those difficult days for me. You see...it is VERY hard for me to ask for help. On little things...sure I can ask you to help me for a sec but for the big stuff it is hard. It is very hard for me to feel obligated to someone or to allow someone to help me with something whether it be emotional or financial or physical or whatever...you get my point.

You see my parents were proud, stubborn and completely dysfunctional. One did not accept charity. One did not rely on anyone else. You just did what you needed to do and if that meant you ate a lot of potato soup that's what you did. We were poor...like a lot of other folks. My parents both worked thankless factory jobs and did the best they could with what they earned. We were always one bad month away from homelessness or the trailer park but we made it. I am sure we were not alone.

The point I am trying to make here is that I learned from the best to be stubborn and proud and to not ask for help. Today I had to admit that I needed help. It's not a big thing but to me it's a BIG thing. You see...it's too hot for me to mow my yard. I know that seems silly but it bothers me. I should be able to mow my own damn yard. I am only 52. The Troll mother still mows her yard and she's almost 88. But I have to admit it's too hot for me to mow. My age and my weight and my dodgy lungs have finally caught up with me. Will this inspire me to lose weight? I would hope so...will I...who knows? I have kind of given up that battle with my hormones.

Today I had to ask my friend Justin to mow my yard for me. We had to argue about whether I would pay him or not but he finally graciously agreed to let me assuage my damaged ego by paying him. He has no idea how hard it was for me to ask. (Well I guess he will read this and know...surprise!!!) Every time I think of him offering to do it for free because that is what family does I start to cry. You see...I don't have a lot of family and we can't seem to make a lot of time for one another. It's no one's fault...that's just how it is...everyone has families and lives and work etc....I am just as guilty! 

I have been blessed to know many other people aside from my blood relations who have become my "family". There are too many to list here but I hope I have told you how much I love and appreciate each one of you. If not...shame on me. Today I had to ask one of you for help and it means the world to me that you are able to help me out. I will try to be less stubborn and proud but I will never be less grateful. Thank you!

For the honor of all souls.

I was on vacation recently when I learned that one of my first cousins had passed away suddenly. We were not close. He was a good bit older than me and we did not spend time together growing up because our fathers did not get along with one another. I simply remember a chubby faced boy with an infectious grin.

I do not know what kind of man he became. I do not know if he was a good father, or a good husband or just a good human being or not. What I do know is that, even though we had no real relationship, I feel saddened by this death. It's always a bit unnerving when the relatives that make up your generation start to pass on. I drive by his house every morning on the way to work and I would note his presence there in the world...even if it was just to say mow your damn lawn Max. I acknowledged that he was there and that he was a part of my family.

I do not judge his family because I do not know anything about their relationship or their financial situation. But it makes me melancholy to know that there was no obituary for him, no service, no burial, no acknowledgment that he had died. I do not even know if, or where, they interred his ashes.

I firmly believe that all souls are put on this earth for a reason and even if they are less than stellar human beings their presence and their death should be noted and honored. They are a part of our world for better or worse. Their lives make up a part of our collective lives. When one of us dies a tiny portion of our memories goes with them. Our lives are diminished a wee bit when each soul passes on. Therefore I honor them.

So...this is all I have for you Max. I hope you are in a better place and I honor your life and your passing. Namaste cousin.

Like a dysfunctional gazelle

I am a big woman. That is not a statement delineating some sort of moral weakness upon my part. It's just a fact. Even if I were not 300 pounds of awesome I would still be a big framed, big-boned kind of gal.

That being said I am also not the most graceful of big women. Due to my distracted brain I am always running into things or stubbing my toe on something or just generally abusing body parts. I will find a bruise or someone will notice one and ask what happened and I will say something like "oh...would you look at that...I have no clue how I did that." Sad...I know but true.

I have to draw the line however at inanimate objects that seem to have it out for me. My friend Beth has this railing that runs along her side patio/path thing. Someone worked very hard setting old cast iron plumbing pipes in concrete to make a decorative railing. It's kind of cool but it has nefarious purposes. On one of my visits I was coming over it with a dog on a leash and really barked my shin on it. Nasty...yet colorful bruise. I still believe it reached up and grabbed me when I stepped over. There is no way I am that clumsy...pbssttt...I can't even type that with straight face.

This visit saw the culmination of it's evil intent. I was out in the yard with Owen...also known as El Diablo the pee monster or poop face. Owen has issues. Granted...most of those were due to living his first 6 or so years in a puppy mill. Needless to say he feels that he cannot pee or poop outside in Colorado. He will finally pee in Oklahoma but that's about it. So...his entire visit to Colorado has him encased in a belly band at all inside times. Being a stubborn human being I will insist upon taking him outside to try to convince him to poop outside. We will walk around and around the yard with him following Fiona, me being eaten my mosquitos, him getting kicked by Fiona who is rolling in the grass, and him still not pooping no matter how long we stay out there.

One morning I gave up and picked him up to take him inside. He thinks the leash is a tool of Satan so I have to sort of reel him in like a poodle trout. I picked him up and started to go over the railing...whereupon it once again reached up and grabbed me. I am still not sure what happened. I know I hit my fat inner thigh but the worst damage was to the top of my right foot and three toes. How the other two escaped I have no clue.

I remember thinking oh shit...it got me again...going down...and dammit don't drop Owen!!! Somehow...in a truly graceful, dysfunctional, gazelle sort of way I crashed over the railing and hit the cement. Somehow in mid-air I shifted myself so as not to drop or hurt Owen. Owen escaped unscathed...me not so much. I sat there for a second taking inventory. Poor Beth comes rushing out...did you fall?? I refrained from making a sarcastic reply for which I think I should get some bonus points. She took poor Owen from me and we sat there for a second assessing damage. That is what you have to do when you get old kids. I determined that nothing appeared broken and then began the process of trying to figure out how I am going to get up off my ass.

This would...at first...seem to be an easy thing for you youngsters out there but trust me when I say it is not so for those of us over 50. Especially those of us who were foolish enough to abuse our knees when we were young and more agile. Damn you softball...anyway I digress. I decided there was nothing for it but to roll onto my knees and use the railing for leverage. I hated using the instrument of torture but there was no help for it. It assisted me up in a moment of painful irony. Damn you decorative railing...you win again. I just hope my aerial ballet was spectacular if anyone witnessed it. If you did...please contact me here and let me know how awesome it was...or at least lie to me so I will feel all warm and fuzzy while I wait for the skin to grow back.