Coffee heat rising

Hired Help Humor

This morning I discovered that someone stole a pair of shoes that I use every day.

I wouldn’t have put them “away” someplace where I couldn’t find them, because they have a standard “away” place in the closet. I would have put them in that place. If I carelessly left them out, they’d be sitting by the bed.

So presumably one of the hired help snabbed them.

Experience suggests that these “care givers” pull little stunts like this — stealing your shoes, spiking a dish of leftovers with ultra-hot chili — because they think it’s funny. Or maybe they think they’re getting back at you for some senile offense they imagine you did on purpose.

… … …

It’s bad enough to contemplate having to move into an institution for the last phase of your life. But dear God!  If this is how those folks behave in order to keep their wards under control, it will turn the last few months — or, God forfend, years — of one’s life into a living Hell.

If you can call that living.

I’m thinking it may be time to end things before they reach that point.

Cleaning Lady from Heaven…

The Cleaning Lady from Heaven just shot out the door, having spent several hours scrubbing, dusting, and scouring the Funny Farm.

WHAT an AMAZING woman!

Seriously: you have never seen anyone work as efficiently or as hard as she does. And the result is just awesome. After she puts in an afternoon of slamming around, this place is literally — no exaggeration — spotless.

I couldn’t even begin to get the house this clean…not even if I worked as hard as she does or as long as she does.

Sooo lucky to have found this wonderful lady — by the usual means: a referral from a referral from a referral. She was working for a friend when my last house cleaner escaped. When I asked if she’d be interested in taking on another job, she said “yes.” What incredible luck!!

Life: Which Direction to Take?

Not toward the liquor store, evidently.

😀

Imagining that I craved a glass of wine, along about 4:00 p.m. this afternoon I blasted out of the house and sailed toward the little booze store in the shopping center on the northern edge of the ‘Hood.

Got about two blocks along the way to the place and found myself thinking Why the f*** am I doing this????

Seriously: What on earth did I need a bottle of wine for? Or a fifth of whiskey? Or whatever I imagined I was gonna buy…

And, to my infinite surprise and delight, I found myself headed back to the house, empty-handed.

Yes. Turned around and came straight back to the Funny Farm: sans booze purchase.

For reasons I don’t clearly understand, my brain has decided it does not want its human to consume any more booze!

How weird is that, I ask you?

Truth to tell, I don’t think I drink to excess…at least, not by the standards of the crowd I run with.

My parents always had a cocktail or two before dinner: usually Canadian Club. Yes: every afternoon. After I came of age and was home from college, I would join them.

All my boyfriends guzzled merrily.

Dear Ex-Husband and I had a daily bourbon and water before dinner and wine with dinner. And that was for years. 

After he and I parted, the subsequent gentleman friends continued that tradition with me.

Understand: we weren’t getting sh!t-faced. We were just having a tipple or two.

After I found myself living in singletude, I continued that tradition: would break out the whiskey or the wine before dinner and pour a swiggle. Sometimes more than one swiggle….

Then one day it struck me that any more than one of those swiggles was making me…well…not high as a kite, but for sure, mildly inebriated. Maybe even more than mildly. And that was not good when one was loafing around the house all by one’s self.

So I decided to knock it off with the afternoon cocktails. Which I did.

But I continued to have a glass of wine (maybe a glass and a half) with dinner.

Time passed. Eventually it struck me that ANY swiggling was probably NOT a good thing. Dinnertime or no dinnertime.

So I quit. 

Yeah: cold turkey.

Have not had an alcoholic drink in some weeks.

And y’know… I don’t miss it!

That, I consider to be weird. 

Or maybe not. Maybe it was just time to knock off the swiggling and climb aboard the wagon.

Weird or not, it strikes me as a good thing. An exceptionally good thing, come to think of it. Because enjoyment or not, I do think consumption of alcohol — in any incarnation and in any amount — is not a good thing.

The Mormons and the Christian Scientists have got it right: booze in ANY amount just ain’t healthy! And the best thing you can do for yourself, if you’re a drinker to any degree, is to knock it off.

So…that’s what I’ve done. And the weird thing is…I don’t miss it!

Earlier efforts along these lines have indeed left me feeling deprived. But now? Not so much. For reasons I do not fully understand, I really, truly do not have any craving for a swiggle before dinner. Or a glass of wine with dinner.

So…yeah. This is a bit of a new direction for me.  We shall see how far I can travel in it. 

 

 

Egad! $$$$$

Just realized that two of the five Panasonic telephones in my house are gone. 

Yeah, I had five extensions. Now I have three.

Ducky.

Got a suspicion of who the perp is: one of the cleaning crew. But which one? No clue.

Generous of her to leave me three, eh? Some kind soul came into my home and stole TWO of my phones.

Not sure how to cope with this. If I buy new extensions, can they be programmed to work with my system? Or….what???

Without a car, I can’t get to the store where I bought the phones. So replacing them will not be easy.

What the FUCK is the MATTER with people?  Stealing some old lady’s phones? SERIOUSLY????

Looks like it costs somewhere between $14 and $60 to replace one of these handsets. Here’s one online: $53!!!!

To get new ones, I’ll have to go up to a store in the nearest shopping mall, which I can’t reach without a car.

Can you believe this?????

RUN away!

Yeah. That was a guy I needed to get away from: as fast as I could run!  My parents were right, right, and righter than right: he was a certifiable jerk.

***

I was crazy in love with the man. And when I say “crazy,” I mean “no IQ.” We’d met at the University of Arizona’s swimming pool, while we were each spending the summer in school in Tucson.

Reckon I was too young to know any better: I was 17 years old at the time, just a kid, in the context. He was in his early 20s.

I thought he was just the handsomest thing that ever came along. And he was polished at seducing young girls. A perfect match, eh?

Welp…my parents sure didn’t think so.

They were dyed-in-the-wool bigots. If you weren’t white and American with a Western European ancestry, you weren’t marriage material for their dear daughter. My hero was Bohemian by heritage: as Eastern European as you can get.

They were simply horrified when I brought him home from the University of Arizona to meet them. LOL! To this day, I remember the aghast look they shot each other, there in the living room as I was introducing him!

😀
:-0
😀

So they set to work to split us up.

This had the effect of committing me even more solidly to the relationship.

Yep. I was in love, in love, and in love…with élan!

Nothing they said and nothing they did would convince me that he was the jerk they said he was. I knew about their racist tendencies, and I figured they just didn’t like him because his folks were Eastern European.

So we continued, for month on month: in time planning that we would marry when we finished our degrees. (I was an undergraduate; he was in a master’s program in Education.)

Kinda don’t think he was a jerk because of his ethnicity. He was a jerk because his jerkitude. And…

I came to understand that, one afternoon when we were laying in his bed and he remarked admiringly on his best buddy’s behavior:

F*cking a waitress the guy had met in a bar, thereby relieving his lust, which was revved up by the fact that his wife was eight or nine months pregnant and so couldn’t accommodate his dong.

No kidding. This was about THE most brilliant thing he’d ever heard of!

At first I thought he was kidding. Putting me on.

But…he wasn’t!

He was serious. He truly believed screwing some waitress was the way a guy whose wife was advanced in pregnancy should get his rocks off!

Well.

Forthwith, I realized that if he thought this was OK for his buddy, he would think it was OK for him. And for me.

My parents were right: he was a jerk par excellence.

I’m not sure he ever understood why I showed him the door to our relationship.  Within a week or ten days, I said good-bye.

And felt glad to be rid of him!

Close call, eh?

Ditch the Class Snobbery! I’M IN LOVE!!

O…M…G… I just got a wonderful whack upside the head!

Did you read yesterday’s FAM post?  OINK, we say. Lady! Come down out of your classist eagle’s nest!!!

Okay…. Eventually I quit sitting here going oink oink oink and resigned myself to having to walk up to the (muy hispanico) corner at Main Drag West and Conduit of Blight North.

Trudge through the steamy heat and arrive in a classic corner shopping center. Barge into the El Rancho supermarket. Grab a cart and stroll around. And…

And…gosh.

I like this place!

Damned if it doesn’t have all the kinds of things I like to eat and to cook — bein’ WT myself, I guess, I fit right in. The staff: quiet, nice folks. The other shoppers: damned if they’re not my kinda people!

Suddenly, I’m NOT outside my social class…as is invariably the case at the ritzy AJ’s or the upscale Albertson’s.

I’m walkin’ around in there and thinking, “This ain’t real. IS it?”

But….yeah: it IS real. 

For the first time in I don’t know HOW long, I feel…where I belong. And that is not where everyone around me is better than me…

What fun! Omigawd! I felt like I’d gone home!

Gosh. I wish I’d found that place sooner…like when I first moved into the neighborhood, 87 gerjillion years ago.

Classism lives, folks!