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funny

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Time to Exit, Stage Left?

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Hmmm…  The last couple days’ Incidents keep returning to haunt. In specific, those two social-workerish women who showed up at my door and sat around quizzing me and altogether too obviously assessing my (spotlessly clean!!!) surroundings…eeeeeee!

I’ll tellya: reflecting on those two really gives me the willies.

Who reported to them that I was being abused? Or…did anyone? Was that just a standard boilerplate answer to shut up the sucker and maybe get more out of her? Or at least to stay inside her house a few more minutes and to ask more nunna-your-business questions?

It was incredibly lucky that Luz the Wonder-Cleaning Lady had been there that day. No, I don’t live in squalor. But I do a lot of loafing and leaving the newspaper laying on the sofa and not making the bed first thing in the morning…. Thanks to Luz, the Funny Farm was tidy and sparkling clean.

They must’ve been impressed, eh? :-d

Seriously: in my experience, when women are depressed or overloaded, they tend to let the housework go to Hell. Consequently, yes: a woman who is at risk may be living in a pigpen. Same is true of a woman who is neglecting herself, over her head with work or with personal problems, maxed out with bratty kids. So having the house look meticulously clean helped to send a message: nothing to see here, ladies. 

Nevertheless, I do hafta say: that whole episode gives me the willies. 

Who would sic those broads on me?

Why?

How? What excuse would they pump up to let them invade my privacy like that?

Frankly, I’m thinking maybe…just maybe…it’s time to get outta here. Time to find some new sylvan place to live.

Where would I go?

Ohhhhhh….where wouldn’t I go? 😀

Seriously: one can think of a whole slew of cool alternatives to lovely 110-degree crime-ridden uptown Phoenix.

The little town in Colorado whence Dear Ex-Husband emanated, for example: Grand Junction. That is a cool li’l city. Because it was developed largely by well educated mining engineers, the ambient culture is pretty sophisticated. It gets snow in the winter — some, but not a lot — and is hot enough in the summer, but overall the climate is temperate. It’s way to Hell and Gone out in the middle of nowhere, yet within striking distance of Denver.

I certainly would consider that.

In California: my friends La Bethulia and La Maya have retired to a mobile home (!) on the coast near Monterey. TO DIE FOR. I’d go there in a minute, if my son weren’t here.

Alternatively, somehow I could force myself to live in Berkeley, where my mother’s family lived.

If I would feel safe living in Arizona (probably not, under the present circumstances), there’s Payson. Prescott. Yarnell. Suburbs of Tucson. Nogales. Fountain Hills. One could go on and on, actually: this state is a gold mine of cool places to settle.

Well. If 110 degrees in the shade is “cool.” 😀

I don’t know. It really was a creepy episode. And if I had any sense at all, I’d be looking seriously at gettin’ on the road.

But instead of sense, I have lazy. 

Nay, verily! I do not WANT to get off my duff and move. Who, me? Overcome inertia? Are you kidding???

Hotter Than the Hubs

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Now, waitaminit here. How do we know the Hubs of Hades are hot?

Some cultures picture the domain of the afterlife as colder than a by-gawd. Could be, I suppose.

Oh well. Dawg and I are back from an hour’s perambulation of the ‘Hood. And yes, it IS damn hot out there. Worse, though: it’s humid. Sticky. Icky. But we did make it to the front door without melting. Just.

Still fretting about the “social workers” (uh huh…) or whatever they were who showed up at the door yesterday. Godlmighty!!!

It was just raw luck that Wonder-Cleaning Lady was here in the morning. And that she’d finished her job and left. Those two busybodies must have thought I keep the house spotlessly clean as a routine matter…an illusion that threw them off the track. They sat around making small talk and then (finally!!) wandered off into the afternoon heat. If they were as stupid as they looked, they must have thought all my little housewifely marbles were intact and I keep my house all clean and dusted and vacuumed and mopped al the time… Jayzuz!

What incredible luck. Seriously.

Wonder-Cleaning Lady paid for her wages, year after year of them, right there in that one afternoon!

At any rate, I have an idea who sicced them on me. We won’t be socializing with that one again!!

But the question is, will this unsuccessful foray bring a stop to any more efforts to protect me from my senile little self? And what else might they do to herd me into an old-folkerie?

Honestly. I will die if I get locked up in one of those awful places. And no, that is NOT an exaggeration.

Back in college, I hated, loathed, and despised every goddamn moment of living in the dorms. And I sure as hell don’t want to end my life in that predicament!!!

Mercifully, my roommate’s mother found a way to get us out. Girls were required to live in the grody dormitories at the University of Arizona, unless they were living with their families. But her mom had a cousin who lived in Tucson.

!!!

We told the Authorities that we would be living with this woman, and our mothers signed off on that little fib.

Forthwith, we rented an apartment, moved in, and lived happily ever after. Till we both graduated, that is.

Who will tell Big Mommy and Daddy that I’m living with some relative this time? I dunno. Unless I can hire somebody, I have no idea how I can evade the old-folkerie, short of moving out of town.

Which, if forced to it, is exactly what I’ll do.

oooo

But I’d druther NOT be forced to it. I love this house and this neighborhood. I love the yard. I love the pool. I love the neighbors. (Well…most of ’em 😀 ) How exactly to escape some societal dictate about where and how you will live kinda escapes me.

Better engage that issue now and have things set up to make my escape. 

Outta Here?

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Hmmmm…. IS it time to get outta here?

I’m thinking, the more I contemplate events of the past week or so, that it surely is time: that I need to get on the road NOW, not later. Hire a Realtor to unload the palace. Pack up the chariot. Toss the dawg in and jump in after her. And take off in a cloud of dust and exhaust fumes.

This situation is NOT good. At best, we’re looking at weeks or months or — gawd forfend, more(!) — of harassment and hassle from the Authorities. Having to hire a lawyer. Putting up a fight while pretending to be on my best behavior.

At worst, we’re looking at my son being prosecuted, me being adjudicated, my home being lost to pay lawyers’ fees…holeeee shit!

Dayum.

Where would I go?

I dunno. La Maya and La Bethulia took up residence in a trailer on the Pacific Coast. I might make my way to their trailer park and try to buy a place there.

Colorado, maybe? I rather like DXH’s home town, Grand Junction. It’s a little hickish for my taste. But still…it does have its rustic appeal. With any luck, maybe it’s too far out in the sticks to attract nosy social workers.

Where else?

Mexico. Low cost of living. Balmy (often hot) weather. Awesome Mexican food! 😀

Deeper into Latin America?  Hmmm…a bit more of a Learning Experience than I care to take on at this age. But…ya gotta do what ya gotta do. I guess.

Great Britain?  Been there, done that. Not fond of being that cold. Or damp.

Moving: it really doesn’t appeal to me. Especially not moving out of the country. So that leaves, as a choice, hanging in here and taking my chances with Big Brother and his social workers.

And that DOES leave me not knowing which way to jump. Common sense tells me to get the Hell out of here while I can. But inertia tells me to lean back, prop my feet on the hassock, and relax.

 

Weird-weather Day

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Just back from marching thru the ‘Hood with Ruby the Corgi. 

ICK! What a weird morning. It’s overcast…and hot! Doubt if it will rain — that would cool it off, eh? None o’ that nonsense in these sylvan pastures!

😀

We strolled down into Lower Richistan, an affluent neighborhood to the south of the ‘Hood. The houses are older and, oddly, not very interesting. Not an area that I would choose to live in, if I had that kinda money.

While strolling: Contemplate the latest weird predicament. 

Yesterday a pair of women showed up at my front door, identifying themselves as state social workers. Somebody had reported me as a victim of abuse!

Yeah…right: admire this black eye, eh?  /s/

Holeeee shee-ut! 

Apparently some “friend” of mine — which one it is, I think I know — decided out of the blue that my son is being abusive to me.

Got that?

My son: the guy who drives me from pillar to post, who helps with the paperwork, who arranges appointments for me at the Mayo and drives me way to hell & gone out there, who runs interference with the bank when I screw up my books….on and ever-so-abusively on. /eyeroll/

So I had to fend off that pair of fruitcakes. Whether I succeeded in getting rid of them, I do not know…but very much doubt it.

I probably need to call a lawyer and get him or her lined up and armed for battle. Problem is, mine croaked over a few weeks ago…and I don’t have anyone to take his place.

WhatEVER could have possessed my “friend” to pull a damnfool stunt like that?

The sheer hassle factor…oh gawd! It makes me cringe!

Well, she’s not my “friend” any more. I won’t have another thing to say to her after this.

And…after this I won’t answer the door, not unless I’m expecting someone and I can see that the desired “someone” is out there.

Holee Ess-aitch-ai! Does this stuff NEVER stop?

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So I’m trotting around the house, having just climbed out of the bathtub in the heat of the afternoon…wads of wet hair cascading around my shoulders, when BING BONNNGGGG! 

Somebody at the front door, dammit. 

It’s a woman looking for Josie, my neighbor to the north. I explain that she needs to proceed another block onward, ever onward. She looks kinda confused.

I think, ungenerously, pleeeze go away! 

Meanwhile, a cop helicopter is circling overhead. And circling. And circling: low and loud.

Now I’m thinking maybe she ought not to walk over there by herself. 

But on the other hand, there’s always the possibility that she’s one of the perps the cops are searching for.

Hm. 

Oh well. Shortly she decides to wander off. And I decide not to try to stop her: let her go. Hope for the best.

What a place we live in!

*****

Argha. I probably ought to have a bigger dog. Twenty-five pounds the Hound of the Baskervilles does not make.

But y’know…here in my dotage, I don’t wanna have to deal with another dog big enough and powerful enough to drag Tarzan down the street. So…the potential German shepherd will have to find another roommate.

An alternative option would be to move to Sun City. Those mausoleum-like precincts are relatively free of raiding home invaders, thieves, and burglars. One probably doesn’t even need a 90-pound dog out there…hm?

But…but……  I hated living out in Sun City, and I really, really don’t want to move back there. That would be true if my son could live a couple miles down the road (as he does here), but the prospect of being out there all alone makes it spectacularly true. Ugly, dreary, boring place…just not my cuppa tea.

So here we are. Hand me that pistol, if you don’t mind, whilst I see who’s at the door…

Hee heeee! And I imagined I was drinking…WHAT?

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My goodness. Sometimes one does wonder if somehow one is absorbing a little whiskey through the air!  What on EARTH???????

Just now, I’m puttering around the Funny Farm and thinking, ohhhhh, I’d like to walk up to the grocery store and buy a cool li’l snack and also something for the Doggy-Woggy! 

Ohhhhhh, wouldn’t that be nice??

Uhm. Well. No. Just stepped out into the backyard to attend to some minuscule task and… MY GAWD!  It is ONE HUNDRED AND ELEVEN DEGREES in the shade out there!!!!!

Holeeee maquerel!!!!!!

So. Neither the Doggy Woggy nor the Wacky Human are getting any nummies this afternoon. CAN you imagine????

Seriously: I can’t remember that Arabia, that hell-hole of heat and humidity, was ever this hot.

Gosh, I hated that place. Didn’t know any better because I started out there at an age just short of three years old. But dumb as I was and inexperienced as I was, I did know when the air was so hot and thick you could barely breathe it. And I was happy — more happy than you can imagine! — when after ten years in that horrible place my father decided to quit Aramco and take a job in California.

Freedom’s just another word….

Now…California, I do miss! Arizona leaves a lot to be desired: like a livable climate and a sophisticated culture. It’s a helluva lot better than Saudi Arabia. But it still would not be my first choice of domiciles.

Why did my parents retire here, to Arizona?

Cheap, I reckon. Sun City offered decently built tract houses in a pretty safe setting, for a price that would have been half of what they’d have had to pay to own a place in California.

Well, I’ll tellya… Sun City was a helluva lot better than Saudi Arabia. But it still would never have been my choice of places to live.

Where my father was concerned, if it was cheap (yet middle-class in ambience), it was good. And yeah: the real estate was cheap there, out in the middle of the cotton fields.

It’s all built up now, and not a bad place to live — in a whitey-white suburban way. Not my taste, but he and my mother liked it. My mother loved it, actually, and that must have gratified my father.

Now…hmmmmm…. If we were in Sun City right now, would I be able to walk to the nearest grocery store and snab a bottle of white wine?

Yeah. I expect.

The walk would be much longer — that place only has a couple of small shopping centers, for acre on acre on acre of houses. It would be hotter: hardly any trees grow out there. But it could be done.

Given my ‘druthers, I’d stay here. The houses are similar, the prices aren’t much higher, and the amenities are far more abundant. Sun City: a ghetto for old folks.

A ghetto’s a ghetto’s a ghetto….