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ENOUGH, Ladies!!!!

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Grrrrrr!  In the latest episode of the Funny Farm Drama, turns out some dear soul has stolen ALL of my hair bands.

No kidding. Ripped off every one of them.

We wouldn’t want her to run short, would we?

Fortunately, I still had a couple residing in the nightstand’s junk drawer, next to the bed. Otherwise, I’d have no way to pull my hair out of my face. And…now I’ll either have to order some more from Amazon (surprisingly cheap!) or traipse down to the Albertson’s to buy them.

Hm. Amazon is practically giving the things away. A package of them is only about three bucks. Probably couldn’t get them any cheaper here in the ‘Hood. Supposed to arrive tomorrow.

And that, folks, is a bargain for this old bat: a bat who does NOT wanna fly around the neighborhood for a package of elastic bands.

So…the bitch who stole them needn’t feel very guilty, eh?

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Think o’ that. Here in MY OWN HOUSE, I have to hide things or lock them up to keep the hired help from stealing them. 

A Miracle! It Works!!

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Puttering around the backyard just now, I idly attempted to turn on the kaput gas barbecue. And…

A MIRACLE! The thing came on!!

It was dead as a doornail when last reported on here.

My guess is that my excellent son probably came around and quietly fixed it, without pestering me.

Whatever the explanation, it’s working now. Or at least, it was five minutes ago.

Thank the heavens! I do most of my cooking on that grill…not fond of cleaning up the kitchen after meals and projects.

So: come dinnertime we shall see. An attempt to grill a slab of fish or piece of steak will tell the rest of the story.

The question now is who busted it and why. I’ll have to ask the cleaning crew what they got into, and hope they’re at least moderately honest in replying. But really….there isn’t anyone else who would have had access to it. So one of them must have dorked it up.

Next Step Along the Way?

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Gawdlmighty, what Looney Toons around this place!  It’s beginning to look more and more like I’m going to have to move into one of those horrible holding pens for old folks. I’m not going to be able to live in this house or take care of the property without having someone HERE, with me, to deal with the unending slew of stupid little crises.

Now the barbecue is on the fritz, apparently as a result of some bird-brained cleaning lady’s ministrations. Naturally, today is Sunday, so I can’t get anyone out here to work on that.

And if that weren’t enough, something on the roof — presumably one of the whirling vents — is going BANG BANG BANG BANG…. 

Don’t want to ask my son about that, because I really don’t want him climbing around the roof.

Ohhhh Gawd!

I’m afraid it’s time.

Time to move into the old-folkerie. 

What a horror. 

Few things do I abominate more than institutional living. Just HATED living in the dorms at the university. And that is NOT how I want to spend the last few months or (God forbid!) years of my life. Frankly, before things reached this point I hoped I would die — of a natural passing; don’t panic, I’m not talking suicide here.

Jeez. I just CANNOT BELIEVE one of those nitwit women wrecked my barbecue. What the f*ck is the MATTER with people?

WHY, Indeed….

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Yesterday Funny asked a rather pointless question: Why is life plagued by stupid people?

No answer to that one, I reckon…

But here’s another variation:

WHY did my mother, an overall intelligent and rational woman, commit suicide by smoking herself to death?

Yes, that is what she did.

She knew that tobacco smoking could — probably would — kill her.

She didn’t care.

She knew the unholy horrors that would be inflicted on her loved ones as they watched her die.

She didn’t care.

She knew how much she would suffer, having watched her own mother die of a self-inflicted cancer.

She didn’t care.

She knew how sick her second-hand smoke could make her daughter.

She didn’t care.

She knew how much her daughter loathed the stench of her stinking cigarettes, which permeated their home and poisoned its air.

She didn’t care.

So…WHY, in the name of God, did she NOT care about any of those life-crushing things?

Because she did know all of those matters, I do not believe for one second that she didn’t understand what she was doing. She smoked herself to death: on purpose. And if it made me sick in the process — well, Alhamdulillah.  Apparently, she truly didn’t care: not only that she was killing herself (which may have been the whole point of the exercise) but that she was sickening me in the process. Possibly even killing me.

Well, obviously she never reached that final goal. But I was sick all the time I was growing up, with one respiratory ailment after another after another. Basically, to indulge her own craving for nicotine, she deliberately made me sick. And she did so over 16 years, until I got old enough to get into the University of Arizona and leave her home.

Why on earth would you do that to your own child?

How to Get Your Revenge on a Nasty Old Bat

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“Nasty Old Bat”: that would be me. I get orneyer and orneyer the older I get. And every now and then, some chucklehead will pull a stunt to get back at me. This one though, is too funny!

My son hired a woman to come to the house and keep an eye on me, here in my dotage. Ostensibly, she’s here as a cleaning lady. But the truth is she’s here as a babysitter. She was showing up at the crack of dawn and hanging around until 4:00 or 5:00 in the afternoon. Watching, watching, ever watching….

As a confirmed lone wolf, this is something I could do without. I do NOT want some stranger underfoot all day.

Although I never said any such thing to her, she must have intuited it. She got increasingly surly as the days passed, and now we have this…

One of her jobs was to make my bed: a double-bed sized number that resides in the master bedroom.

So…a couple evenings ago, I climb under the covers on that bed and…R-R-R-R-I-I-I-I-I-P!!!!

LO! The fitted bottom sheet has been sliced with something sharp, from top to bottom. It has a hole in it that runs from the head to the foot of the bed!

Whaaa????

Well, by now it’s 10:00 at night. And when I tellya I’m SICK, I ain’t kidding. I just do not feel well enough to rip apart a queen-sized bed and remake it. Really: TOO TIRED TO CARE.

Figured I’d have her remake the bed when she came in the next day.

This had the effect of pulling the rip apart even more dramatically.

And SURPRISE! Of course she didn’t come in the next day. Or the next, either.

So now, I’ve got to get off my duff, pull the bedding apart, and remake the bed.

Not that big a deal…unless you’re sick as a dog. And in a lot of pain.

Pisseth me off…big-time.

She hasn’t been back in a couple of days. I figure if she shows up at the door, I’ll send her away. That will pisseth off my son, who went to some trouble find this woman. But I figure what she did was just plain malicious. And I don’t want her around here.