More in The Life Of Me

Oh brother. :( Now, you probably are all thinking, well, about time! You are coming to visit my blog for a smile. Ok, I got smiles for you. At my expense. :(

This whole thing started a couple weeks ago when I, in my infinite stupidity, told B, SURE! I'll go to Waikiki for 2 nights with you! Idiot that I am. Lest you think it's B who is the problem? No. It's small fury creatures. Ipo, to be exact. You've all heard about Ipo. Anyway, our kitties have never been away from me for the entire of their 5 years on the planet. Allie gives me the Evil Eye but Ipo gets serious separation anxiety. She has issues. So, because we know that we decide we'll go to Waikiki then come home a few times to see the kitties so they don't get weird. Sigh............ The best intentions and all that......

Ok, off we go and have a fun time. We make several trips home and the kitties seem okay. This is good. By Monday, Ipo is peeing all over the house. Jeez. She has a bladder infection. Swell, Last time she had one was when we had 2 big earthquakes in the span of about 1 minute. She got a bladder infection. She can't handle stress.

Ok, I clean up cat pee and we take her to the vet. Allie isn't having any of this and the second Ipo gets home, Allie does her snake impression and won't let Ipo near her. The vet also give us TEN days worth of pills the size of human aspirins. Ipo is NOT Pleased. Matter of fact, she hates it.

We spend the next few days shoving pills down Ipo and I suffer at least one puncture wound a day. Then I wise up and dissolve her pill in water then put it into the little syringe the vet gave me. Great idea.

We make Ipo into a kitty burrito and I get to squirt the brown crap into her mouth. Can any more fun be found? Ipo hates this, too. Can't say I blame her but.... Poor B winds up with brown smelly kitty spit all over him. Ipo gets most of the pill and that's all I can stand. I can hear my wine calling at 8AM. :(

In the meantime, while I am not tormenting our cat, I spend time on Farm Town. You all know what Farm Town is, right? It is Face Book's evil way of enslaving us so absolutely nothing gets done all day.

So, today I am finally at the top level and I decide to redecorate my farm. I am happily messing about when I see a couple people appear at my farm. They want me to work so I say ok. I go to one guy's farm. I'm having fun until FB screws up and boots me off. Ok, I go to the other farm and finish there then I go back to my farm. So far, so good, right?

After much deleting and moving trees and stuff, I look at my message button and I have several. I make the serious mistake of going to read them. One is the guy from whose farm I was booted. He wants me to come back. Ok, I can do that. While I am saying I can do this, he shows up at my farm (we all have these cute little avatars, yanno). At the same time my sister Michele shows up as does another girl who wants to work my farm. Simultaneously, the lens on the right side of my glasses takes this moment to leap out of its frame. It lands on the desk intact. I stop every thing and get down on my hands and knees to look for the microscopic screw so I can see again.

This was not one of my better ideas. Not only can I not see to find the screw, the carpet is revolting. Also, Ms Ipo is snoozing under the computer desk and decides she needs to help. So, there I am crawling around looking for this tiny screw. Ipo is nose to nose but has NO idea what we're doing, only that mommy is playing a new game. Cat fur is everywhere, dirt is everywhere, the screw is nowhere. I am not pleased and new messages are appearing one after the other on my computer screen.

Now, in my defense, the carpet is revolting because we are about to renovate and this carpet is being throw out. I'm not spending a lot of time keeping it real clean. I am an idiot!

I have to let everyone at my farm know that I must go and get another pair of glasses before anything else happens. All are amenable except the poor girl working my farm. She's having a terrible time because the program sucks and FB won't fix it. Sigh.....

Now, because several people have pony express computers, the messages I sent them telling them what's going on haven't gotten to them and I now have several more messages telling me I should come work and what am I doing? What am I doing? I shout! I'm crawling around the freaking floor looking for a screw the size of gnat shit! THAT'S what I'm doing! I am starting to think about my wine bottle. I run to the living room and get another pair of glasses.

Then I get messages saying the raspberries are about to die and I better get moving. Ok, I now have 4 places I have to be all at the same time. I go finish my aborted job then head to another. My poor raspberry woman has to give her job to someone else because I can't get there from here. Then, just as I think I might be able to handle, i get another message saying come help!

I'm almost caught up so I go to this farm where I have to watch out for the rampaging bull. I pet the bull, finish the job and all is well. I get back on my hands and knees to look for the screw. The phone starts ringing. Jeez.

I rush to answer the phone and it is the miserable rotten worthless FMS who has harassed us daily for weeks with phone calls 3 times a day 7 days a week. Computer calls. I registered wth donotcall.gov to stop this crap. I wait to speak to a human and when I tell him to stop calling he hangs up in my face. So, I do the *69 thing and get the number. I call. And get the recording that says the phone number is not working. I file a complain with donotcall.gov. We shall see if it helps.

I go back to looking for the screw then decide it isn't worth it. I pour a glass of wine and decide to blog. Life if good. :D

Dragons and Face Book Friends

Some of my Farm Town Face Book pals wanted to see dragons so here are some of my creations. The silver one is a special commission for a 16 year old football crazed kid. :)

Hell's Angels and Fern Bars

Ok, you have all been hearing me say I will tell you the story of Killer. Here is is. Jeez. Why me?

Now, it's circa 1973 and I am living in Omaha. I am young and beautiful. ;D And a bartender. I worked at the Holiday Inn on 72nd Street for those who are familiar with Omaha. Least, I THINK it was on 72nd street. I forget. I'm old now.

Anyway, I am a bartender there. The guy who owned the franchise's name was Butch. He'll appear in The Sniper Story another day. :) So, Butch decided that we should all have these cute little floozy outfits to wear. They were very short black skirts (think tennis) with low cut black frilly tops. Little black panties to match. This outfit will appear in yet another story. The Israeli Ring.

Ok, I am on my way to work on evening when I realized I need to buy cigarettes. In those days we all smoked. Cigarettes were about $.90 cents as opposed to $1.25 in the vending machine in the hotel. ;D So, I am in my little floozie outfit but think, ok, I'll just run into the drug store and grab some cigarettes and run out again.

So, I pull into the lot and see that the Universe is smiling upon me despite the fact that I am smoking. Just as I pull up to the front area of the store, a woman is backing out. I turn on my clicker to indicate I am waiting for that space. She pulls out and I am just getting ready to turn into her space when ZOOM! coming directly at me is this behemoth on a huge Harley. He screams into MY parking space. Oh boy. You can take the girl out of New York but you can't take the New York out of the girl. I am pissed.

I throw the car into neutral and leap out of the car screaming," You asshole! You saw me waiting for that space!" And various other nasty things. Do I even THINK that maybe this hairy gorilla in a black leather vest who is 6'5 might hurt me? Nope. I am Woman Dissed! Then the worst thing happens. He laughs at me!

Oh boy. I stomp over to his bike. Now, you gotta picture this. I am 5'9. In those days I weighed in at about 125. I am young and have the requisite long 60's hair. :D And, I have on this ridiculous outfit. I also am all legs. So, Killer is staring at this vision of loveliness screaming awful things at him. I am coming at him like a locomotive because I am going to be late for work because of this jerk. Killer finds this highly amusing. He laughs at me some more which makes me even madder. So, I stomp up to his bike, put a foot on the gas tank and kick his bike over! It goes crashing to the pavement. Most satisfying.

Killer, whose IQ is smaller than his neck size, doesn't have any idea of how to process what just happened. A mere female has just kicked over his precious hog. He is torn between tearing me limb from limb or rescuing his baby which is laying on the pavement making creaking sounds and leaking gas.

Naturally, this all takes place quickly. I am furious and scream a little more at Killer then I hop in the car and roar off. By the time I get to work I know I am now toast. Killer and his band of horrendous creeps will find me and do unspeakable things to me before they kill me. Thinking about this pisses me off again. I am ready to take on Killer.

But, weeks go by and I relax and actually forget that Killer is looking for me. Nothing has happened and Killer obviously didn't realize I had on a uniform. In his dim mind he probably thought that's how women ought to dress. Sigh......

Ok, now more weeks have gone by and I am in a fern bar called Farquar's with some bar pals of mine. For unknown and completely unexplained reasons, half of that bar was occupied by bar people like myself and the other half was occupied by.... yep.... Hell's Angels. Why? No idea. I mean, really. Farquar's was a true 70's fern bar. You know? Blond wood and real ferns? What Hell's Angels were doing there is mystery. Buy they seemed to like it. They didn't bother us and we didn't bother them. Lines in the sand, yanno?

A small aside here. Because I had been in the bar business for many years, I knew just about everybody, including the leader of the Omaha Hell's Angels who was an old (probably 50!) mean little runt called Buzzard. He'd had his legs broken so many times he walked with those arm crutches. Buzzard was about 5'5. And, for unknown reasons, he decided I was his adopted daughter. He watched over me and kept his animals away. Good. I was most happy about this.

So, we walk into Farquar's where I see Buzzard. I wave then go give him a kiss on his cheek. Thank goodness Buzzard knows I am there. :) The rest of the bikers grunt and I go to the bar with my friends. It's always amazing the number of weird and strange people I know.

Now, a while goes by and I have to pee. There is a long hallway running away from the bar towards the back of the building. You had to walk by a door into the bar proper to get to the bathrooms. I am about halfway there when the men's room door opens and who comes out? Yep. Killer.

He takes one look at me and starts bellowing. I am immediately transported back to the parking lot and, once again, my New York comes out. Killer is charging down the hall at me. I start yelling, "Get away from me, you asshole!" Killer is making incoherent noises some of which sound like..."I'm gonna kill you, B****"

Lots of commotion from the bar and all of a sudden there is Buzzard. Calm ensues. Killer is about 6 inches from chewing on my neck. Buzzard wants to hear the story. He asks me, 'Honey, why is Killer mad at you?" I tell him. The entire time, Killer is standing there hanging his head like a 5 year old! I finish my story and Buzzard askes, 'Killer, is this right?" Killer grudgingly agrees that is exactly what happened.

Buzzard's face is twitching and I know I am saved. He says, 'Honey, you really kick over this man's hog?" I said, " yes, he took my parking space." Buzzard is having a hard time not laughing but he gets a grip and tells me that it is practically death to touch a man's bike. I am fuming now so Buzzard tells me to apologize for kicking over the bike. Before I can leap at him, he tells Killer to apologize for stealing my space. Buzzard does and so do I. Buzzard is happy until he sees the look on Killer's face. He then turns to Killer and tells him I am 'Off Limits". If anything happens to me, Killer is toast. Killer slinks away, i give Buzzard another kiss on his leathery old cheek and all is well.

And the moral of this story? Don't smoke. Lots of danger in smoking. Some of it on 2 wheels. :D

Beads and General Contractors

Ok, you guys all think it's a scream that I have to have my daily infusion of wine. This is why.

I'm sitting here thinking I haven't blogged for a while but blogging is no fun unless you have fun stories to relate. So, while I am pondering what to chat about, there's a knock on my door. It's the guy who I think is going to cut out a slab of drywall in our about-to-be-renovated master bath. Now, anyone who knows drywall knows that it is cut with a box cutter. Zip, zip, zip. All done. One guy. Easy. Did this happen? Of course not.

To explain just why this guy is going to whack out a slab of drywallwill take a small aside here. Our building needs its air conditioning pipes clad with that foam rubberish like stuff to keep the pipes from sweating. Well, it doesn't really keep them from sweating but it does absorb the moisture so you don't wake up to 3 inches of water in your bathroom every day. So, the building hired gawd-only-knows-who to come and do the work. Ok, so the guy appears at my door.

I open the door to find that there are THREE men who all want to tear out a chunk of our drywall. I thinks, hmmmm, drywall simply does not need THREE men. To say they are an odd bunch is putting it mildly. One is a local boy with the requisite 30 pounds of gold hanging off him. And earrings. Think Mr T. Just WHO goes to a construction job wearing gold? Ok, the other two are haole guys. One looks like he's lost his best friend and his dog and doesn't know how to sing country western to lament this deplorable situation. The other guy looks like a homicidal maniac just escaped from Pelican Bay. I edge away while furtively checking his hands and arms for prison tats. I also edge closer to my knife drawer.

Ok, they all troop into the bathroom while talking in VERY LOUD VOICES about how hot it is. This is odd because the local guy is the loudest. Usually, local people are quiet. Soft spoken. Normal. These 3 sounded like they were trying to talk to their pals at Pelican Bay. For those of you who might not know what Pelican Bay is, I will enlighten you.

Pelican Bay is in California. It is one of America's nastiest prisons. For the worst of the worst.

Needless to say, I am leery of these guys. But, they seem fine and immediately get to work wrecking our wall. Really. What should have taken one guy about 10 minutes took three guys 45 minutes. For some reason they had an awful time getting the drywall out. Yelling the entire time about it must be the paint. How reassuring. Three doofs come to my house to remove drywall and they can't cut through paint??? I resist the urge to get up and go show them how it's done.

After an enormous amount of sweat, swearing and general griping they get the piece of drywall out. They clean the place then the local guy decides to drink out of our bathroom faucet. Oiks. All of a sudden I hear him yell. SHIT! Hot water is coming out of the faucet! Country Western bellows, TRY THE OTHER FAUCET, MAN! Hot water is coming out of both faucets. Local Boy is not amused. I go and get them all bottled water which seems to calm them right down.

I now think, shit. Last week they turned off all the water in the entire building for 4 days so they could solve this problem. Quite obviously, they have failed magnificently. I can now hear my wine rattling around in the fridge.

So, I think they are done but no. I find Local Boy sitting in the hallway outside my door. I ask, what are you doing? Do you need more water? I think maybe he's hyperventilating or dehydrated from all that bellowing. Turns out that someone has absconded with his screwdriver. Yes. His screwdriver. I offer ours. He says no thanks he has one in his truck. Ok, how to respond? If I say, well, moron, go get it, he'll probably not be happy. So I ask, your boss only gave you one screwdriver? No, they ALL have screwdrivers but left them in their trucks.

Why? I am afraid to ask. Now, they KNEW that they were going to have to screw a chunk of ply over the gaping hole in our wall. So, why did they leave their screwdrivers in their trucks? It remains one of life's little mysteries.

Finally, Local Boy decides that maybe it won't tax him too much to walk the 20 feet out to his truck. He does, gets his screwdriver and comes back. Sure enough, the other two show up with one screwdriver between them. Can we say Keystone Kops yet??

They screw in the ply with more grunting, groaning and poor language. But, they leave the bottom of the drywall a disaster. I will have to go tape it up or every roach in Hawaii will decide to visit us. :( Anyway, they leave with much thanking and bye bye-ing. Whrew. I have escaped unscathed.

A few minutes later there is a knock at my door. There is the cutest little gnome outside. Turns out he is the boss and owner of the company and wants to look at what his men did. Ok, I let him in and lead him to the bathroom. I can see from his face that he is not best pleased. So, I tell him that we are going to be renovating and that drywall is coming out anyway so don't worry. He is relieved. I could hear him thinking whatever the Greek word for "Law suit" is. Then he wants to look at the other bath. Ok, he loves it. Me, too. He is from Greece so we discuss marble for a while. Then he gives me his card and wants me to call him if I need a contractor. I thank him but say we have it covered. I am thinking, this is a nice man until we walk into our kitchen where he looks at the counter top and says, this is beautiful! Is it Corian? CORIAN, I squeak! No, it is not Corian! It's Zodiac, a quartz based counter top. It doesn't look anything like Corian. WHAT is the matter with this gnome? He's a contractor and can't tell what is Corian and what isn't? Yikes.

I feel faint and think strongly about my wine. The gnome leaves after giving me 4 business cards. I lock the door and think about having a small bonfire with those business cards. Jeez. Corian. :(

Then I decide I will be strong and take some pictures before drinking some wine. So, I do. And this picture is a bracelet I made for my friend for Christmas. It's my first try at right angle weave. Now that I have shown you my bracelet, I am off to drink some wine. I deserve it.

Corian, my butt. :(