Desperate Times. Desperate Measures.

I have no relation to Bert, the comedian whose clip is above. I don’t know who he is. I don’t know anything about him. But I’m pretty sure he is The Son’s spirit animal.

The Son, as I’ve mentioned, is home for the summer. People. My electric bill last month was double what it normally is. My water bill has doubled. Local grocery stores are about to issue ration cards to me. His car (dear God, the car) is still not running. Today, I was doing laundry and had to wait to re-enter the laundry room because he, in his underwear and nothing else, had to get his clothes. From a basket. In the laundry room. Where they have been for six days. Where he just gets what he needs at that moment. And then he leaves the basket in the laundry room: my laundry room is a small one person operation. But still, all the more reason to take both the basket containing the clean laundry and the basket which contains his linens from his dorm room (which likely includes the body fluids of a number of lovely young women of questionable judgement) and have yet to be washed. Friends, it’s been seven weeks. SEVEN WEEKS and he hasn’t washed the linens which are in the basket in my one person laundry room. I can’t.

Now, I get it, he’s a guy and guys like to walk around in their underwear and little else. However, his father rarely leaves our bedroom without a shirt on, let alone goes strolling freely about in someone else’s home (where he doesn’t pay rent). We never let him do it when he was a kid, but now that he’s 20 . . . little shithead.

I’m at the point now that I don’t even have the fortitude to request change from him. I could demand better behavior, but that would subject me to a dissertation on the federal government’s attempts to control women of childbearing age by spiking the water supply with racially discriminating fertility drugs in order to better fortify pharmaceutical sales and productivity as a bolster to freeing the dwindling populous of wild horses on the shores of the Salt River in Arizona. If it ain’t one conspiracy theory, it’s another, dude.

I’s tired, Boss. Powful tired.

Among the hottest of commodities in this house is ice. No lie. My ice maker is, like a Jackson Browne song, Running on Empty. Every time I push the lever with my cup, the fridge laughs hysterically at me. I’m so. Fucking. Thirsty.

I’m so thirsty, that I’ve taken to filling half a stainless steel cup with water in the early hours of the day and putting it in the freezer so I can have a cold beverage later. Because, you know, if I don’t, it’s Sahara City, sweetheart.

Ztrahstuiteh, bitches.

 

 

 

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Nope, No Fishing

Yup, not going fishing this weekend. Car still needs fixing. Crap still needs doing. And my hair still needs cutting. Sigh.

So, I’m over it. Maybe.

Today, I pulled out a new outfit I shouldn’t have purchased and put it on. I needed something happy to begin my day. So here I am, in this top that makes me look like I’ve lost thirty pounds even though I haven’t. Obviously, it is a glorious shirt, right?

I’ve been working really hard in yoga. Until I became the chauffeur for the masses, I was in class three times a week. Every week. I missed one Thursday class a month for another engagement, but still, that’s a lot of yoga! Since the changes took hold, I miss one or two classes a week. And I feel it. And it all pisses me off.

My doc recommended restorative yoga about three years ago. I wanted to start back, but was reluctant for whatever stupid excuse I came up with. I found my current teacher online and just decided to go. I’ve been there ever since. I know how much I need to be there.

My resolution for this year was to lose another twenty pounds. It took me about a year and a half to lose 48 and I wanted to continue on that curve. To date, I’ve gained about 14 and lost five of that, so I’m still over my previous low by nine pounds. In two years, my overall loss is 39 and I’m NOT cool with that. My doc retired and I know I need to just suck it up and go find a new integrative doc who is well-versed in hormone replacement to get me back in balance, and I will at some point, but, yoga makes a huge difference as well.

I just realized, more than half the year has gone and I’ve gained nine pounds instead of losing 20. My new total is to lose 29 pounds by the end of the year. Well, that sucks.

 

Womp Womp

I wanted desperately to change my energy and be more positive. Y’all. Nope.

This morning, I woke up late. No bigs, because even my late is still pretty much on time for my peoples. The Daughter wasn’t up. I pounded on her door and asked if she was going to work (remember, I am the chauffeur), to which she responded, “Oh, *%#@!”

Indeed.

I called up the stairs to The Son and asked if he was up. He replied that he was. I indicated that he could use the shower in our bedroom since we were on the late side. He replied, “Nah, don’t need one today.” Umm, yeah, you do.

I said nothing.

Washed my fun parts, got dressed, took the dogs out, picked some tomatoes, pulled my hair back in a ponytail, you know, the normal stuff.

We left later than I like. The Son arrived at work at 8am, precisely. High five, Mom!

The Daughter and I immediately left his place of employment to trek back to the neighborhood where she works, which is tennish minutes to the opposite side of our neighborhood and subsequently, thirty minutes away from his. Good. Lord.

We got to that job at 8:32. She had been loudly lamenting the superiority complex her brother has been bestowing upon her the. entire. way. She’s not wrong, but dude, I was barely awake. I practically had to put my foot on her and shove her out. She left, bitching and complaining.

Upon leaving her, I experienced the following:

Cut off by a dry cleaner company van, left the water on in my garden all day, paid bills, stopped to get gas at a broken pump (insert calamity at the gas station), spilled gas down my leg and on my flip flop, got stuck in traffic with a single lane and clueless flagmen, got stuck in it again because my location was smack-dab in the middle of the lanes they were fixing, drove through a REALLY bad part of town because my GPS said so, was late picking up The Daughter, had to pass her second job and go to our house (five miles out of the way) because she needed different clothes (it was a last minute thing), scored a Jimmy John’s sammich when she offered because she realized how much I was investing in the day, made a WalMart run (such a treat), and came home to find 1/3 of my back yard was completely flooded because (remember) I left the hose on all friggin’ day.

I’m about to leave again to pick up The Son. Here’s what I need from the rest of the day:

The Son to not be in his usual shitty and sonic boom way when he gets in the car, for him to actually be at the shop and not out at some crazy site somewhere else doing the sweaty and smelly things they have him do all day, for him to be in the car within five minutes of my timely arrival, for the drive home to be quiet, for him to be ready to put away all the dishes he hasn’t put away all week, for The Daughter to return home in a good mood, for them to not fight with one another, for Huz to come home reasonably early and rescue me from this insanity and take me to a cheap and quiet dump for dinner, to get a nice shower, to go to bed early, and to sleep all night without waking.

Yeah, right.

 

 

Puhlease…

My beautiful pier…

We had grand plans to fish last weekend. It didn’t happen. For one of us, that is.

Huz, being who he is, has a tendency to build amazing relationships with his coworkers and the people on his team. His job is complicated, but he was (not too long ago) one of the team members and now he is their boss. The relationships have remained. It is one of the qualities I admire most about him, that he can just be with people and they respond to him. He doesn’t force it, he doesn’t necessarily care what they think of him, it just is what it is.

One of his crews is a collection of mismatched older guys. Older. Way older than I feel should be doing they kind of work they do, but they’ve done it all their lives and likely know no other way. One of those gents took a shine to Huz. And, I think Huz took a bit of a shine to him. They are similar in a lot of ways. Not long ago, his wife of at least 40 years became ill. After hospital stays and surgeries and medicines and doctors, they discovered she was catastrophically ill. The docs think they can help her, which is good, but she is over 70. She is his world and he has been quite distant at work since her diagnosis. Huz, being who he is, has worked to coach him where he is. He has been able to reach him where other team members don’t really grasp the impact of this on ev.er.y.thing in his life. To quote Huz, “He’s a human and he doesn’t know what tomorrow looks like anymore.”

That kills me.

So, this man has immersed himself in a lifetime of fishing. I can’t begin to tell you how serious he is about it, but he loves to take Huz out on the lake. Unbeknownst to me, he invited Huz to fish on Saturday and Huz, being a good man and a lover of fishing, said yes.

I’m used to not having a whole lot of time with Huz on weekends, but I have learned how to plan our time out. I can make way for incidental occurrences which alter the plan or the needs of our ADULT CHILDREN (gah!), but once I get my heart set, it’s pretty much set.

When he got home much earlier than I expected, I was in a bit of a way. Yup, I was feeling bratty. I think this is one of those things people don’t tend to convey well to their partners and it manifests as a lot of angry other people just don’t interpret well. I realized our Sunday fishing trip wasn’t going to happen. And then I told him how sad I was about it. I did preface it by telling him there was no way for me to say what I was feeling without coming across as a whiny bitch, but to just give me a minute to fully explain myself. I told him, like I’ve told him before, I can do anything as long as I know how long I have to do it. The face of our household has changed with both the ADULT CHILDREN home, and their sibling rivalry in overdrive. I feel like a referee, Uber driver (remember, neither currently has a car), scheduler (The Son is working in about 20 minutes away in another town and The Daughter now has THREE AND A HALF FUCKING JOBS [thats a good thing. and a bad thing. you feel me?]), chef, personal shopper, personal assistant, porter, servant, maid, and more. I was ok with that when they were kids, but they are now my ADULT CHILDREN and I thought I did a better job with the home training aspects of raising them. I was delusional.

Wow, that was quite the bunny trail . . . Anyway, like I told him, I miss him by the time the weekend comes around, and with all the time I dedicate to all the things and the time he spends getting that damned car of our son’s running, I feel like our weekends (what I live for because I get to be with him) have been almost invisible for six weeks. I told him I needed him and that it wasn’t about spending money or going to breakfast or fishing or anything else, it was just that I needed some dedicated time from him that I didn’t have to share with anyone. He got it. Because Huz gets things. He’s amazing.

And Sunday, we did not go fishing. We did spend the day together and got breakfast and ran errands and avoided (as much as possible) our ADULT CHILDREN because, dude, I need a break.

He said he wants to go to the pier Saturday and spend the day there and do some night fishing, get a room so we don’t have to drive back tired, get up on Sunday and come back for Father’s Day with the ADULT CHILDREN. sigh.

I’m not getting my hopes up. And, I have the only hair appointment I could get this entire month on Saturday. It ain’t cool.

Goin’ Fishin’

The Huz told me last week, “I don’t care what the Hell is going on next weekend, we’re going fishing.”

Years ago, long before I ever figured out what life was all about, I would have cringed at that statement. I didn’t want to go fishing, for crap’s sake. I had shit to do. Kids to chase. Laundry to fold. Work to finish. Sleep to sleep. You know, I would have done just about anything to get out of going fishing.

I grew up going every now and again with my father, but not too often. It was fun-ish, but my attention span did not support a long day on the banks. Dad knew.

The Huz has always loved going. He took our kids when they were little. He went as often as we could afford, and that wasn’t much.

But, now that the kids are older and won’t die if we leave them for more than twenty minutes, I love going fishing!

I love sitting by the water, so that’s a positive. But really, I crave that time with him. I love going and sharing some time doing things together. The older I get, the more of him I need.

So, Sunday, we are heading to the coast to fish at our favorite pier. I can’t wait for a day in the sun with my guy!

En Fuego

When I started blogging again, I didn’t want it to all be me harping and being negative, but don’t we always have the best of intentions?

The Daughter’s car burned down. I suppose I could say the whole thing went up in flames, but that would be a lie. It was just everything from the front seats forward. And then the backseat area just had melted fabric falling off the seats and the headliner. No big deal, right?

Well, she didn’t have the insurance necessary to cover the cost. And the car is financed. In her father’s name. Of course. So, now we wait for the all the various parties to conduct their investigations and determine the cause of the fire.

I suppose it is too much to cross my fingers and toes and hope that the manufacturer finds a defect and assumes financial responsibility and offers restitution. But, that’s what I am hoping for. I honestly need this to happen.

Until then, I have once again resumed my taxi services. And, I’m not too happy about it.

But, here are the good parts~ she and her friend, a passenger at the time of the unfortunate event, were both able to get out of the car safely. She has gap coverage, so that will likely pay something on the debt. She was able to pull off at a rest stop when her car began to malfunction. Fire crews arrived to the scene within a few quick moments because she was able to identify exactly where she was as soon as the 9-1-1 operator answered her call. All travelers on the highway at the time of the fire were able to safely get where they needed to be. We haven’t killed her yet.

It’s the little things. Right?

I Get Sh*t Done

I just do. It’s almost a mantra for me.

The Daughter came home last night speaking about her world and her little friend, I’ll call her Whackadoozy, whom she’s known for about five years. Whackadoozy has been in a very off-putting relationship with someone who will be holding a license in the medical field purdy soon (be scared, be very scared).

It would seem now that we’ve finally come to Splitsville, but only by God’s grace.

Her insignificant sociopath ex-live-in boyfriend has left town and informed her that she needs to move out. The Daughter has offered her help in the extraction of Whackadoozy’s personal items from the abode. That’s because somehow, apparently mothering abilities have rubbed off on her. Let’s hope that’s as far as the motherhood goes for now. Please?

What did I do? I volunteered to help on what will otherwise be an exceptionally busy day for me. I gave them two hours. And, it’s on the verge of searingly hot out. Shit.

Perhaps there shall be an update later.