4 whys and a dammit.

1. Why would anyone buy this? Rainbow Poops With all due respect to both my fellow homosexual people and my so-not fellow people with fecal fetishes, I'm stumped. Where would you ever use these and why in the world would you want to?

2. Yesterday, in the parking lot of The Dollar Tree, I saw an underwire from a bra. Just one. Now, look, I've worn underwires that have rebelled, coming out of their little channel and poking me in my armpit. It sucks. I've even pulled the wayward one out and gone saggy on one side until I got home and either cut the other one out or tossed the bra. But I'll be damned, I shoved the wire into a garbage can or my purse. I did not casually toss it into a parking lot. Obviously, they removed the offending wire in the parking lot. In public. Next to their car where they could have had privacy. People astound me with just the smallest things, sometimes. Why would you toss your underwire into a parking lot?

3. I was in Walmart this morning and they hire the handicapped. Cool beans for them, that's nice. I especially love the retarded ones. My favorite Walmart hires the highly functioning handicapped, the ones who have aerodynamic wheelchairs and who can clearly say, "Welcome to Walmart! Merry Christmas!" Of course, it's September but that's okay because it's cute and you can understand what they say, so you can sort of play along and feel all self-righteous and politically correct. I've always suspected they do that on purpose and aren't as slow as they let on, just so they can see who amongst the rest of us will fall for it. I think they all meet at a United Way office later, drink beer and share stories about how stupid the rest of us are...however, my retardation conspiracy theories are a whole different topic. My point is, today at a non-favorite Walmart, I wanted a new pair of terry slippers. They had a woman working (and I use that term in the broadest of senses) in the shoe department who could not speak - seriously, she only grunted - and who had to stay within a few steps of her bigass wheelchair that she left clogging up the aisle as she straightened shoes in the boxes. It gets worse. She had to have a regular shoe department employee right there with her all the time, cheerleading. "Good girl! You found the one in backwards! Yay!" Please. It wasn't Waldo, it was a shoe and it was pure luck on her part...let's not kid ourselves here. The handicapped woman got so excited by the praise that she laughed, got choked and proceeded to gag. Lovely. In the meantime, I could not get to the slippers because there were two large people, one massive wheelchair and a big ol' shoe department cart, all where my own fat ass needed to be. I figured at least $2 of my $4.97 slippers were going to pay for all this and I made the decision to just wear the flip-flops I already have, instead. Some family in China will now go without dinner for 3 weeks because of this. The "why?" here is obvious, I think.

4. I've been considering getting DirectTV. I did what I felt was the logical thing and made a list of questions, then called. The question that stumped them all? "If a hurricane comes and my dish is destroyed, will you replace it at your expense or do I have to pay for it?" One employee and two supervisors later, they still had no answers and weren't willing to put anything in writing for me. Now, look, when a person lives in a hurricane-prone area, this ought to be fairly routine and not be a hard question. Why can't they answer this?

As for my "dammit", I've got company coming in a few days and I'm not sleeping well, I'm not feeling well and I stay dog-tired. I'm afraid I'll be poor company. Maybe we can go hunting for underwires to entertain them since hunting for manatees never seems to work out. I dunno. I'm cranky.

Odds and (very loose) ends.

I woke up in a funk this morning and it sucks. I'm having one of those "I need order in my life and I NEED IT NOW!" days so my plan is to spend today finishing up a bunch of things. I started painting my bedroom almost 2 weeks ago, which means I've been sleeping in my recliner for almost two weeks, and I'm finally in the homestretch of finishing all the trim in there. It makes me so sad because I used to be able to whip a room painting out in one day, maybe two. Having RA stops that kind of work in its tracks and yeah, it makes me sad. I love painting but this project has really made me come to terms with my own reality. Jake offers to help constantly but I'm so picking about neatness and trimming I know I'll just get aggravated with him and that's unfair to him. So, I've muddled through and am nearly done. It's not my finest work, but it'll do. I am excited about putting it all back together with new bedding, lamps, curtains when I find some...it's going to be so pretty. But right now? It's a loose end that is stressing me out. The best part? I get to do the bathroom when I'm done in the bedroom. I don't want to think about that right now.

We're having our first "cold front" of the season come through in the next couple of days. "Cold' is a relative term, mind you. We're going to drop down into the 80's and be less humid, but hey, I'll take what I can get. It's time to do a good Fall cleaning, wash up all the fall and winter throws, quilts and pillows, buy a few little gourds to sit around and start thinking about holiday baking. While I normally love all this, today it just makes me feel overwhelmed. *sigh*

Another thing adding to my funkalicious mood is that day after tomorrow, my mom turns 81. She and I have had a...precarious is best word, I think...relationship my entire life. We love one another very much but she wanted a daughter who was just like her and she got me. I'm my dad all over again in many ways and it's caused for many times of distance and hurt. As recently as a year ago, we would go 3 months without calling or seeing one another and we live 7 houses apart. Both of us would feel slighted and hurt over something stupid and refuse to call the other...in that way, we are very much alike. But last year, she turned 80 and reality began to really sink in about how little time I have left with her. In that same time frame, a dear friend lost her mother, a mother with whom she'd had the same kind of relationship and while they definitely were close at the end, I realized I don't want to wait until the end with mine. It was a wake-up call I sorely needed and in this past year, I've made a point of never letting more than a day go without calling her. It was hard, forced at first, because my mind was still being all petty thinking about how I've called her the last 4 times and being hurt she wasn't calling me back. But I'd think of Robin and her mom, pick up the phone and dial. A funny thing happened along the way...my mom and I became friends. After all these years, we now pick up the phone or run by the others house constantly, sharing bits of news or splitting b1g1 items from the grocery store. I admit to making some sacrifices for this relationship with her and they're hard ones. For example, I used to be fairly active in the local lesbian community, attending functions and fundraisers and having many friends I did things with. It upset my mom fiercely, this is something she just cannot accept about me, but in the end I accepted I was going to have to give something up and shut down a part of my life, one way or another. And really, between the two? My mom wins, hands down. I've pretty well become my mom, in fact, this past year...I live the life of an old lady but it's okay. You know why it's okay? Because, while my mom is still spry and feisty, be-bopping through Walmart in her Chucks and Tweety bird t-shirts, when I hug her now she's tiny, so delicate and frail feeling. She's like a little bird and that? Breaks my heart. I know my time with her is limited now, probably in the single digits of years, so whatever I have to be, whatever I have to give up? Is nothing. It is inconsequential compared to what I am getting in return. Hopefully I have many years ahead of me that I can pick up my life and become "me" again but this? Is her time now. Today, though? I'm feeling a little selfish and it's feeling a little unfair. It'll pass the next time I hug her but still... *sighs some more*

Add into all this that Jake is *feeling* 18 and what little grip I had on his sense of (ir)responsibility and (lack of) common sense has now become just a fleeting memory. I'll be lucky if the boy doesn't wind up living in the back of a Ford Windstar with a primered door or two, all so that he can play in his band and do hair. Yes indeedy, I've been informed he wants to study cosmetology. Now, I have no problem at all with that, in and of itself, but I keep trying to get him to understand that unless he wants to be the guy at Fantastic Sam's who does great blue hair, he needs to also study something practical in the business field, so that his goal can be owning his own salon and being able to run it properly. But, oooooooh, noooooo, apparently he plans on living life as if it is a Beatles song. Dumbass kid. I love him to death, but he is a just a dumbass kid sometimes.

Then, just to make life more fun, my recliner broke.

Marilyn, is that you??

Oh, wait, no.
It's just Jake.

Heh.

My local news just released this (incredibly funny) composite sketch of an attempted abductor.


I am, perhaps, most amused by the fact I think it's Eva Longoria.


It's a slow day around here, obviously. :-D

Thursday Night. With A (Love, Set) Match.

Technically, it is Friday but since I'm still up I think of it as Thursday. And I've swiped the title of this entry from K's, but enlarged on it. Today I had the true and pure honor of seeing and taking part in goodness, unselfishness and love in action. I was blessed to be able to take part in helping a large group of fellow bloggers who followed their hearts and guts in helping out one of our own who was in dire need. Not dire want, but *need in the most basic sense. It's been a very long time since I've felt this good, this helpful and this useful...K, I thank you for that while my heart still breaks for you that you had to accept help. I know how hard that was for you but you've helped more people than you can imagine by doing so and what goes around comes around or whatever that saying is. The world is a better place tonight, thanks to the members of OHIH. :-)

I'll be damned, a few people actually read this thing!

So, while I'm going on roughly 2 days with no sleep and still up practicing my random sleep habits - and actually, right now I'm practicing my random awake habits - I think I'll tell a little about myself. Someone might care. I'm ever the optimist like that and someday, the immense humor of that remark will become clear, so remember it. Anyway, I'll list some important things about me, since that's something else I do. I list. I make things symmetrical, I alphabetize, I like outlines. I will make a grocery list in outline form and it makes me feel good in my soul.
*moment of self-reflection*
I do that since so much of my life feels disorganized and uncomfortable, I grab at any chance I can find to structure things up some.

Here we go. Well, here I go. I don't know if you're going or not.

1. I live in Florida, central east coast. Beach. Space Center. Tourist country. Fuck me.
2. I am 46 and so far, that's still too surreal to have an opinion about.
3. I am divorced, with a 18 year old son.
4. I am also a lesbian. I am divorced from a man. Oopsie-daisy.
5. I am a proud, registered Libertarian.
6. I do not work. I probably ought to, just to get out more.
7. I should also work to fund my online shopping hobby.
8. I am multi-racial. I am also somewhat racist.
9. I am intensely religious, but follow no common religion.
10. I am not a Christian but I'm a fan of Jesus.
11. Oh, *God, this list isn't lining up straight since I moved into double-digits. I will try repeatedly to fix that. Trust me.
12. I am celibate and plan on remaining so. I don't do sex outside of a relationship. And I no longer do relationships.
13. I'm too quirky and stubborn to deal with another person.
14. I might be gay, but Anthony Bourdain is the sexiest man I've ever seen. Of course, those two could be related.
15. If Queen Latifah wanted me, I'd consider therapy for my quirks.
16. I don't run with scissors. I avoid being stupid.
17. My son is all mine. He's odd, quirky, opinionated, different, sweet. And androgynous. Don't you wish you could say that about your son?
18. He's brilliant and I'm not saying a mom-thing. Tests prove it.
19. He also proof that brilliant can still be stupid.
20. He's like his dad, there.
21. I have 4 cats, ages 16, 16, 3 and 1. The one year old is an unneutered boy and he has a stuffed stingray he humps. I find this incredibly amusing.
22. I am domestic. I sew, I paint, I cook, I garden, I clean, I decorate, I even iron things. I am a great wife as long as I'm the only person in the marriage.
23. I own a full range of power tools and can use them.
24. I gave up a Dodge truck for a Hyundai Elantra. This is proof that I am ever-practical. And cheap. And have no shame.
25. I am a pacifist, a fiscal conservative, a non-fiscal bleeding heart liberal and an isolationist, all both politically and in my personal life.
26. I have to fight the urge to hoard food and it's odd since I've never really gone hungry in my life.
27. I do hoard fabric softener and don't even try to stop it. I'm a fabric softener whore. I love all things laundry, including doing it.
28. I was born in Kentucky...my family is from up a holler in the Appalachians. I come from a long line of coal miners, drunks and inbreds on my mom's side. Dad's side solved the inbreeding problem by mixing races. Actually, Mom's side did the same but then they all started inbreeding again and defeated the whole goal.
29. I was once arrested for protesting on government property when I tried to climb a fence during the protest. Keyword being "tried" since I never was very good at climbing things and fell. It was taken off my record when I paid a fine and stayed out of trouble for a year.
30. I believe in both Evolution and Creationism (to a degree).

There you go...you're just fascinated, aren't you?
Yeah, me neither. It's okay.
*sighs and chuckles*

I have new panties!

I've been putting off buying new panties for ages, always telling myself it's just a waste of money since I knooooooowwwww I'll be losing a lot of weight soon. God, there's nothing better than being delusional, is there? But then, my panties brought me back to a harsh reality several times over the last 6 months or so. They were stretching out badly, which I promptly decided wasn't that my panties were getting bigger, but rather, I was losing weight and I was getting smaller. See how that works? Then they got a few little holes around the elastic band, but that didn't matter since I was going to have to get new ones soon. You know, since I will be getting smaller. *nods* The other day, I came home from running a bunch of errands and a neighbor commented I had a long string on the back of my pants, on my butt. I couldn't see it, but I reached back and felt it. I went to pull it off and it just kept coming. As I stood there pulling, both of us staring in fascination, I started involuntarily walking in a circle as I pulled...I guess I thought that might speed it up or something. My neighbor started to snort hysterically as it dawned on us both that the waistband of the panties I was wearing was unraveling and I had a length of fuzzy elastic string maybe 3 miles long in my hand. I was a little dizzy, too. Niiiiiiiiice. Even nicer than knowing I'd had that string hanging down my butt in the bank, in the post office and in the mall. But that did not deter me from my quest to not buy new panties until I'd lost all the weight I wanted to loose. No, not me. My final straw, my panty epiphany, came in the liquor store as I was buying a big ol' bottle of rum and a bottle of cheap red wine because all the cooking shows say you need to cook with wine. I noticed the sales clerk looking at me funny and my hand immediately went around to my butt to see if I was trailing any more elastic. Nope, it felt fine. Hmmm. But there I stood with $20 of alcohol in my hands, not thinking a damn thing about it, while checking my worn out underwear to make sure it wasn't disintegrating in public view again. And let me tell you, the irony of *that hit me. I don't hesitate to spend $20 on alcohol, but won't spring $12 on a couple of packs of Hanes Her Ways that I could toss in 6 months. You know, if I actually lost that weight. I marched myself up to the register, where the clerk said, "You look just like my sister in law! I thought you were her!" and we had the appropriate "everyone has a twin" conversation. From there, I headed for Wal-Mart and grabbed up two 9-packs (buy 6, get 3 free!!) of nice, white, highcut briefs. I'm not telling the size, I'm admitting enough already around here, I think. Anyway, I came straight home and tossed out all my old ones, but for one pair. I figured I'd save those for when I was doing nasty yard work or going fishing. Or something. Hell, I don't know why I saved them. That's beside my point, anyway...my point is, it's just amazing how much better a person feels with brand new panties on. Who knew?

Sort of like Cinderella, but with terrycloth.

So, today was a long day. See, Jake spotted a cockroach on his door day before yesterday and that always is a bad, bad thing and for several reasons. I always try to play it cool so he doesn't pee himself but, in reality, I feel like he does. Uh, not that he does pee himself; I mean I understand how he feels. Plus, where there's one cockroach, there are 5,883,947 more. So, after killing said cockroach (which was really a palmetto bug but they're all cockroaches to me) with hairspray to stun it and then beating it to death with a rolled up copy of The Advocate, we decided to bomb the house. I got up early today and he did not. Typical. Of course, he's sleeping on the couch so the cockroach militia won't trample him...I mean, we all know they stay in one room. *eyeroll* I secretly hope several thousand nestled in his hair all night. So, I'm pissy as I begin cleaning, and tired, too. He gets up at 1pm and finishes his room while I stew over cleaning the rest of the house. Ungrateful little bastard (he's not really a bastard, I was married to his dad but I like to call him that), he does his hair while I mop. I finally make him leave, telling him I don't care where he goes, just get out of my sight. I do care, but yeah, I was in a mood. He heads to my mom's, which was a wise move on his part. At this point, I'm so exhausted I can barely stand but I gather up all four cats into carriers on the carport, then take a generic Fresca, books, magazines, cell phone, wasp spray and nail polish out with me. It turns out I was glad I took the nail polish, but I'm getting ahead of myself. I spend 3 hours out there, doing my toes and chatting with some neighbors, all the while wishing I'd shaved my legs since I was wearing shorts. I pull a cat carrier in front of my legs for most of the 3 hours. Jake comes home and we clean up all the spots the cats could lick and die, then I begin the tedious washing of every dish, laundry, etc. Fun, fun, fun. Jake asks to stay with a friend since he's afraid the roaches will be mad and out for revenge before they die. Fine, whatever, I'm still mad at him and too tired to argue. So, finally, night falls and while I still have things to wash, it's under control. I, however, am not. It was so freaking hot today that I sweated through my clothes multiple times and, grossly, I can smell myself. I reek. Hey, I'm just being honest. I go scrub with my favorite Dr. Bronner's Peppermint Soap and come out feeling fairly human again but tired. Very, very tired. Have I mentioned I'm tired? And I have nothing good to eat in the house. I know, that made you gasp, didn't it? Anyway, I drag my ass into some clean jeans and a t-shirt, slick my wet hair back and head for Winn-Dixie around 10pm to get a frozen pizza and orange marmalade for a pork roast I'm making tomorrow. While there, I stroll around looking at sales and pick up a few more items, chat with some people. I'm a wild woman and if you ever need proof, just refer back to this entry. I had a passing thought that, as tired and wet-rattish as I look, I blend in with the drunks that come out at night and that's just awful...but hey, I'm clean, I smell good and I can walk a straight line because I'm sober. I'm convincing myself I'm sticking out in a good way, far better than most anyone else in there at 10pm. Obviously, though, I'm delusional because, as I look down to the bottom shelf, I see my feet and this is what I saw.

Hairy palms...the other definition.

So, a little background here...a few weekends back we had a carport sale. Amongst my many valuable treasures, I had 4 new cans of a funky sage-y olive green paint (think "camo", since *I failed to think "camo" when I bought it) and 4 big boxes of peel-and-stick vinyl tile. Both were bought during periods of depression in my life and never used. They also never sold during my carport sale and got shoved back into my utility room until I decided I needed to clean it out a few days ago. Now, I have this certain neighbor, Gary. He's 53 and just an old, burnt out beach bum with a waist length mullet and a serious drinking problem and let's be real, when *I say someone has a drinking problem, it's bad. But he's a sweet and harmless, unemployed drunk, living in a house inherited from his dead girlfriend (cirrhosis of the liver, fittingly enough) and eating off food stamps and my leftovers. He's funny as hell and not a mean bone in his body. His inherited house is...in need of...um...updating, though, so I headed over there to offer up my camo paint and sticky tiles like special prizes. He was excited. Hey, cool, someone wants this crap. So, he comes over and hauls it all back across the street on the seat of his bicycle, trip after trip, assuring me he was going to get a few more drinks in him and "tone that paint down with some white" and paint his living room and kitchen. Oh, boy.

Today, he comes over and I admit, I'm most impressed. Not just anyone can ride a bicycle drunk, drink in hand, and keep it upright. He asks to use my phone and please keep *that little fact in mind as you read the following conversation we have:

Gary: I've almost got my kitchen done with the tile you gave me. ::insert giggle:: That stuff is really sticky.

Me: It sure is...if it seeps up in the seams, a little rubbing alcohol on a paper towel covered butter knife ought to clean it right up.

Gary: I had it all over my hands and I had to pee this morning. I got pubic hair stuck to my hands.

Me: God, Gary, I don't need to know this!

Gary: Yeah, then I got marijuana stuck in it, too. It's just reeeeeeeallly sticky.

Me: Well. Um. That sucks...would you like some Goo-Gone or something for your hands? I have some. You can keep it.

Gary: Oh, great! But can I use your bathroom first? I don't think I can made it home in time.

Me: ::cringes in fear he's going to pee on my floor either way:: Sure, Gary.

:::he comes out::

Gary: It sure does smell good in there. What is it?

Me: Um. It's clean?

Gary: I need to go to Publix to get a refill of wine. I was there earlier and the cashier didn't want to take my money when she saw my hands and all the stuff stuck to them. I probably shouldn't have told her what all it was.

Gee, you think?

It was time for me to end the conversation with this because of all the things in the world I do not want to every hear about again, Gary's pubic hair is on the top of my list. It might even be the first item. I swear, next time I'll just set my shit out to the curb and hope everyone involved stays anonymous.