Say you stand by your man ........

Tell me something, I don't understand -- Train In Vain -- The Clash -- 1979


The Princess is continuing her tour of homes for the festivities. She has left to spend her New Year's Eve with Lumpkin and his family. She arrived at his house yesterday and will leave to go back home on Tuesday. Hopefully, as an ignorant clan, they can all gather together and say or do something offensive enough to her that she finally decides to dump his ass. That probably sounds horribly mean coming from her own Mother, but I don't see any other way for her to catch a clue. Her skull is hard that way.

This is the second year that she has spent this holiday with "the fam". Apparently, they do some big dressy-uppy affair at a shi-shi club on New Year's Eve each year. I don't really mind her not being home with me. We have never done anything much to celebrate the ringing in of the new year. In my many years working in the ER, I almost always worked New Year's Eve because I had a very close Jamaican friend who always wanted to have it off. She wanted to switch so she could work Christmas Eve. As a single Mother, I jumped at that idea and we both got what we wanted every holiday season.

However, as a result of working the Eve for almost 10 years ( the night shift - 11 pm to 7 am), I have a distinct and bitter taste for drunken, loudmouthed assholes who either fall down, get the shit kicked out of them, crash their cars or toxify their bodies with alcohol. They all end up in an ER and they are no better behaved in a medical facility than they were when they were partying and getting themselves tanked up. Therefore, I now prefer to stay home in my jammies, with the pups and watch Dick Clark mumble unintelligibly. Then I worry about whether one of those drunken assholes will crash into my not-drunk kid and "the fam" on their way home from their shi-shi party. Then I go to bed.

So tell me friends----what are your plans for New Year's Eve? Are any as exciting as mine?

It is time for you to stop all of your sobbing

Stop Your Sobbing -- The Pretenders -- 1979


My apologies to my legions of fans. I re-read my previous post and realized that I sounded like a whiny little bitch who desperately needs to be slapped.

I am over myself now.

( Still wish I had a new camera though).

What I wanted, is what I wanted

Kitchenware and Candybars -- Stone Temple Pilots -- 1994

So campers, how was your Christmas? Anyone die from over-imbibing? Were all the kiddies happy with their loot? How about the pups? Barking with joy?

Here at camp Avalon, Christmas seemed, by all outward appearances, to have gone swimmingly. The Poodles LOVED their squeaky/stuffy/insanity- inducing toys. The Princess was extremely impressed with her items, the Heat Miser cried with happiness over one gift in particular ( we'll get to that later) . All seemed well with the world. Almost.

WARNING:
From this point on, my blog will become a petty, childlike, mini-rant page. But, please read the previous sentence again. It clearly says "MY BLOG", so rant I will.

I had hoped for one gift for Christmas. A new digital camera. I have a digital that is about 7 or 8 years old. It was also a gift, but unfortunately, I had no say in the choice before it was given, and it has never worked well. I have used it extensively over these past years, but it has become more and more difficult, old and outdated, and it typically takes 3 or 4 pictures before dying....even with an assortment of 4 kinds of batteries! I also have large hands, and the digital I was given back then was the first in the progressive line of teensy-weensy little cameras. The camera has been all wrong for me since the beginning, but because it was a gift lovingly given, I have used it gratefully without much complaint.

I LOVE photography. I have since I was a teenager. I adore taking pictures, and now with the pack of Poodles, I have actually taken a few that have been chosen for various commendations or awards. However, the situation with my ever-fading digital has put my hobby on hold. I have been using a simple point and shoot film camera for the past year. Even that camera is crappy as my neighbor dropped my original point and shoot by accident and graciously replaced it with the current one. The replacement one truly sucks, but I could never say that to her. She was heartbroken enough to think that she had broken my camera.

So, good photos are few and far between in my house. And I miss my hobby. With all of the extra and unexpected bills in the past few years, I have not had enough discretionary income to justify the purchase of a new camera. All of my money has either gone to the Princess and her college/living expenses, or to the Poodles and their various medical problems.

In the past few months, my Mother has been hinting about, fishing for opinions on digital cameras. Commenting on camera commercials. Saving me an issue of Consumer Reports that featured digital recommendations. Asking me to photograph her office Christmas party and then repeatedly commenting that it would have been so much nicer if I had a working digital camera to use. She's about as subtle as a brick.

So naturally ( or maybe not), I began to suspect that my Christmas gift would be a new camera. I was excited, even though my Mom and I had agreed that there would be no "big" items given for or by either of us. We agree on that every single year and every year, each of us takes great pains to find something, anything that would mean a great deal to the other. Sometimes it's a costly item (1 or 2 hundred), sometimes not....but always, always it is chosen with great consideration.

This year, there was no camera. Honestly, I was disappointed. But I was more disappointed to think that I never got anything "personal". Nothing that said " I really thought about you when I chose this". Nothing that said " what you hoped for mattered to me". That was hard.

A robe is nice, even though I already have 2 perfectly fine robes. A sweater was nice, although I have several near-identical ones. Underwear.......well how much can be said for underwear?

I guess, after being raised in a family that focused so heavily on giving.....on caring..........on always choosing with the recipient in mind.................I felt like no one put any thought into my gifts. It all smacked of " last minute bargains".

I suppose you will all say I should be grateful to have a family to share with, to even have any gifts to open. You would be right. Maybe I'm being petty, maybe it is selfishness, but it's the way I feel. Overlooked.


Anyway. As I mentioned above, the Heat Miser cried at one of her gifts. I gave her a Home Depot gift certificate. Yep, that's what I said. Home Depot makes her cry. Not the store, but the idea that she can get a new kitchen floor. The floor we have is probably about 15 years old. It is peel and stick tile, and it has seen better days. It needs to be washed and waxed regularly, and it is beige. In a house full of muddy-footed Poodles, the floor is a disaster. The Heat Miser has wanted to replace it for a very long time but, like me, was hesitant to spend a chunk of money on something like that. So I saved and wrapped up the DVD on how the new flooring is installed ( A DIY project that I will do ---with her help) and the gift certificate. The certificate will probably not cover all of the cost, but it is a very good start, and it was tangible evidence for the Heat Miser to know that the floor is going to be done. I will probably take a weeks vacation next month to pull up the old floor and get started on the new. It will probably look something like this :

http://www.flooring.dupont.com/en/design/FG8310.shtml

It is Dupont Laminate flooring. 30 year warranty. NO WAXING!! Hopefully, it will look and wear great. And even more hopefully, they have a pattern that resembles dirty Poodle footprints. In our house, it's all about the camoflauge.

If only I could take a picture of it when I finished.

So remember, every picture tells a story don't it

Rod Stewart -- Every Picture Tells A Story -- 1971



Here is my Christmas gift to all of you, my Internet friends. Brave souls and lurkers alike. It is our family Christmas card this year, but you will be forced to use your crafty little imaginations to visualize the Christmasy-like-border around the picture. And the wording. Something along the lines of " A wagonful of howlidays wishes from our family to yours" Cute, no?



Before I show you the photo, please let me warn you, my dear Internet bestest-buddies that this picture has caused some dissension in the Avalon abode. After you feast your hungry eyes on it, I will explain why.



Ya' ready?!?

Now, your first reaction was probably "awwwwww-cute Poodles, great picture" ( it was, right----RIGHT?)

Your next reaction might be " how the hell did Avalon get all those dogs to stay still for that picture?".

Maybe you thought to yourself " that Avalon is surely a masterful groomer and one hell of a green-grass keeper for December in New England".

Maybe you also had a fleeting thought of " damn, this chick is really obsessed with those dogs".

Maybe that's where you stumbled upon the clue to the dissension in the Avalon household. Headfirst.

Because, the Princess was slightly offended by the Christmas card. Miffed, actually. Why, you might wonder? Well, because the Princess has this distinct ( albeit delusional) memory of asking, begging in her words, for us to send out Christmas cards of this sort....minus the dogs and starring the Princess.........every single frickin' year of her young life! She is insistent that she begged to be a part of the send-a-buttload-of-cheer-in-the-mail-via-cheesy-photograph campaign. And, she insists, I REFUSED!! I ignored my baby's humble request. Yup. that's what she's sayin'. And it's a lie, I tell ya', A LIE!!

Now, it's not hard for me to imagine that I refused something. I'm a refuser by nature. My gut reaction to any request is a resounding "NO". But, I distinctly recall trying to pose the Princess for Christmas pictures for several years in a row, only to be met with stubborn resistance. I hate resistance. It pisses me off. Especially from my own red-clad- take- the- goddamned- picture- already- toddler. So, I gave up on that stupid idea when the Princess was about, oh, 3. And I never revisited it. Nor do I recall a SINGLE request from the Princess to reinvigorate the long-abandoned tradition.

Suddenly, I am being portrayed as the Mommy Dearest of the Christmas Card Clan. So ya' know what I did? I told the Princess to put on a goddamned red sweater, sit her ass outside in the yard like the dogs and I would take her stupid picture already! Do you think she was happy with that generous and thoughtful solution. Nooooooo. Of course not. She said it was too late, she needed to lose 10 pounds, she didn't have a red sweater, she would get too dirty in the muddy yard.......and the best one.......the Poodles' hair looked better than hers.

I offered to groom her with a # 40 blade, but she politely declined and sped away in her car. WTF!

So, the Christmas card remains as is. Beautiful in every way. Those Poodles may track in mud, they may sometimes bark, they poop altogether too much, and the grooming.....ooooooooh the grooming. BUT------- they never complain about their weight, their hair ( no matter how often I make them look like I clipped them with a rusty garden shear), their lack of color-appropriate clothing, or about my distinct refusal to let them participate in anything fun.

They LUV, LUV, LUV me, even if I am always saying no.

Next year, I am considering buying ALL the Poodles diamond collars, beautiful red doggie sweaters and posing them somewhere in Paris or London.

The Princess will be staying home, trimming her own hair with the garden shears.

Living is easy with eyes closed, misunderstanding all you see

Strawberry Fields Forever -- The Beatles -- 1967

OK kids. So I think I might be getting old. As much as I hate to admit it, I think it's happening.

Suddenly, I can't see very well. Not like white cane and guide dog blind. More like let-me-hold-this-right-up-to-my-nose-so-I-can-smell-it-while-I-gaze-at-it-lovingly sight impaired.

I hadn't noticed this marked change in my vision until a few nights ago. My Mother has several friends at her job that she exchanges small gifts with during the holiday season. She loves to give them handmade things, so she usually, in her Martha/Rachel/Ina/Paula method of channeling, whips up some tasty goodies, wraps them all up pretty and ties the packages with a lovely and tasteful bow. Attached to the package is also a handmade Christmas ornament......lovingly ( or begrudgingly, you decide) made by me. I know, I know, I probably don't come across as the crafty type with the tattoos and motorcycles and the obsession with wanting to punch people, but I am. Really.

If you snicker, I will punch you. Really

I love to cross-stitch, crochet, make decorative cakes, etc. My favorite is counted cross-stitch in which you actually have to count the pattern out. It is not printed on the cloth. So every year, I try to make a few ornaments for my Mom's friends. It's the best I can do to pay her back for 41 years of plain torture.

This year I chose a simple candle pattern. The finished ornament measures out at about 4 by 4. INCHES! For those of you familiar with the hobby, I am using an 18 count Aida cloth. The 18 signifies the number of stitches per inch of cloth. So yeah, those stitches are fairly small.

I have been cross stitching for over 25 years. I have worn glasses for over 25 years. I have never had a problem with wearing glasses while cross stitching until this week. This week, my eyes decided that they were, apparently, a little damn sickandtired of trying to focus on those chintzy little stitches. They staged a mutiny and went completely wonky on me.

To be able to cross stitch now I must do the following hoky-poky:

Grab hoop with Aida cloth. Grab needle. Look down underneath glasses, blink furiously and curse, all in a vain attempt to thread floss on needle.

Take glasses off, attempt again and again to thread needle. Succeed! Spend next 2-3 minutes hunting for glasses because I am near-sighted and can't find my glasses without seeing through my glasses.

Find glasses, put them back on to read pattern. Finish reading pattern and attempt to count out center of cloth to begin stitching. Battle with wonky/blurry/stubborn-ass eyes until I realize that I am now old and MUST REMOVE GLASSES TO SEE ANYTHING in the vicinity of my person.

Start first stitch in center of pattern. Spend next 2-3 minutes searching again for glasses, only to remember that I put them on top of my head in a lame attempt to keep from losing them again.

Put glasses back on to continue stitching but quickly lament that I cannot see a good goddamned thing with them on, nor can I see a bad goddamned thing with them off.

Spend next 4 hours blinking, cocking my head, and cursing my failing body while I pray that the crossstitch does not look like it was created by a student from the Helen Keller school.

Finish the pattern and consider making an appointment with the Opthamologist because, as my Mother keeps reminding me in her most charming of manners " ha, ha' you need BIFOCALS!"

Disregard all thoughts of calling for an appointment because after all, aside from being inflicted with near-blindness, I am also afflicted with ADD and I can't remember to call anyone unless I write it down, and what, with all that stitching and blinking and worrying, I can't even consider finding a piece of paper and remembering the Opthamologist's number and oh, jebus h. christ can't anything in my life just be simple!

Lather, rinse, repeat until 4 ornaments are done and I learn the true meaning of Holiday Induced Migraines.

So, Merry Fuckin' Christmas lady friends of my Mother! Hope you love those damn ornaments.

Now somebody go find me my German Shepherd and white cane. We have an eye doctor's appointment to go to.

If I gave you diamonds and pearls.....

would you be a happy boy or a girl -- Diamonds And Pearls -- Prince -- 1991



Firstly------- today is Trevor's big day. 2 years old!!! He is the MAN!! A recent picture for your viewing enjoyment:




















Handsome, no? We will celebrate later today when I get home from work. Although I've managed to keep the details hush-hush from Trev and the other Poodles, let's just say that the party MAY include dancing girls ( Trevor prefers Apricot Mini's in pink Tutu's), a sugariffic canine cake and a present or two. As long as things don't get too racy, I will try to take some pictures of the festivites.

Just for reference, see below for photographic evidence of the slammin' shebangs we throw at our house to celebrate Poodle birthdays!

Be warned.......the excitement might be too much for those with Cardiac conditions. Have that Nitro at the ready.

READY?!?

















Ha!!! Fooled ya!!!







In other news, I am of the "party-pooped" variety today, before the Trevor festivites have even begun. I helped to host a party yesterday. A kiddie party. A kiddie Christmas party. A kiddie Christmas party with, at last count which involved much ducking, weaving and mental mathematics


29 KIDDIES!!!!

In one room. With parents. And Santa. And presents. And LOTS of sugary treats.

My Mom works for a local Police Department and every year the Police Benevolent Association holds a Christmas party for the children of the Officers, Dispatchers and Clerical staff. My Mom was one of 3 who has again offered to do the prep for the party and keep things rolling along smoothly.

There was cookie decorating, fishing for presents, a visit from Santa in which every kid got a gift that they had asked for, snacks, games, music and fun. One might imagine that 29 kids in a room with sugar and presents and hype would be bedlam, especially since 21 of the 29 were ages 6 and under, but it was actually GREAT fun. There were no tears, no fighting, no temper tantrums, no bad behavior.

And the kids were great too!! Badum-bum!

Truly, it was a fun few hours. I took lots of pictures and we had lots of laughs. There were actually a few tears, but those were on the part of the parents and grandparents while watching those earnest, sweet faces as they told Santa their biggest wishes. It was a great day.

However, today I am too pooped to pop. Good thing I'm not an Apricot Mini with a pink Tutu. Otherwise, I'd have some fancy dancin' to do when I got home.

Happy second birthday Trevor!!!

Kid, my only kid, you look so small, you've gone so quiet.......

Kid - The Pretenders - 1979

Has anyone had the unmitigated joy of watching this new show on TLC?

http://tlc.discovery.com/fansites/tiny-terrors/tiny-terrors.html

The House Of Tiny Terrors. Basically, it's a shared house created to oversee the going's-on of families who gave birth to mini-dictators. It is mind boggling to watch these spineless parents give in to every whim, every want, every order from their bratty 3 year olds. The kids are completely out of control, the parents are simpering fools, and an in-house Psychologist offers suggestions and guidance to change all of their behaviors for the better.

I missed the very first episode, which apparently filmed the toddler-tyrants at home, before their arrival to the shared home. I have watched the 4 nights since then. Maybe I'm out of touch, but I sit there in stunned amazement at what these parents allow these kids......babies, really.....to do. They hit, they bite, they intentionally throw things at other people, they spit food all over, they pull their parents hair, they scream.......the list goes on and on and on. And most of it is way beyond normal toddler rebellion. Most of these kids are truly out of control. In a bad way.

The scarier part for me is how out of control the parents are. In most episodes, the parents behavior is not much better than that of the kids. Then they sit back with the Psychologist and ruminate about what could be causing all the problems in their beloved babies! They cry and they simper and they blame each other. They think the problems just magically appeared. They think the issues are beyond their control. They think they are doing a good job and were somehow unluckily cursed with evil babies. They are, in my estimation, DELUSIONAL!

The final episode airs tonight and is apparently a reunion of the families since they returned back to their own homes. I can't wait to see how they have fared without the real-time intervention and advice of the psychologist.

I bet a few of the parents show up with shiners, and not from each other!

fine place for a day full of breakdowns...........

takes more than a meltdown to show us how -- Meatplow -- Stone Temple Pilots -- 1994

WTF!!??!! Is a little customer service too much to ask for. Am I completely out of line if I threaten to torture the next "custo-fuckin-mer associate" that does NOTHING to assist me? Really. WTF??!!??

( begins tales of grave injustices here)

1. Four months ago, we had to get a new fridge. Our old one had the audacity to crap out on us after 18 years of service. Lazy shit. We searched high and low, and then high again. When it comes to BIG purchases, my Mother gets a little crazed and she is certain that the end of the world is imminent if the choice is not perfect. We literally went to 9 places to find a fridge. No kidding. I wanted to put her into cold storage by the time we settled on a model at this place:

http://www.bernies.com/

We got the fridge, it was delivered in 2 days, and the heavens sang. Well, not really. More like whined. Because the fridge was a little too large for the space. It had to be stuffed into the area under the cabinet despite 2 clear sets of measurements. It was also off level so the door kinda' hung open unless you shut it pretty forcefully. We managed to remedy both problems on our own. But, surprise of all surprises, my Mom HATES the fridge. Just like she HATES anything new for a few months until she loves it and then she adores it and prays that it never dies because you all know------she just LOVED this very special item from the moment she set eyes on it and it is the best thing ever!!

So yeah, purchases with Momma can be a bit maddening.

Anywhooo. The fridge has been adjusting to it's new abode. Until. About 3 weeks ago, my Mom mentioned that the door was crooked. And me, in my normal, most interested manner, basically said pfffft.

Until. I went to open the door of the 3 month old fridge and noticed that the door was hanging crooked. I had noticed that hanging-crooked problem once before, but it was with a boyfriend and Bernie's had no authority to fix it. But this time, I said to myself " self------we need to have this problem remedied........PRONTO" I sometimes talk crazy to myself.

So, we went to Bernie's for a little friendly visit. First, we secretly deployed ourselves into the Fridgie area to be certain that, in fact, all of the doors on this model of fridge did not hang at an odd angle. Aha!!! We discovered that our fridge was, also in fact, DEFECTIVE in the door hanging area. So, we took our newly-armed-with-vital-information-on-appropriate-door-hanging-angles selves to the Customer Service desk and reported our concerns. We were met by a charming young man who assured us that someone would call us within the next few days to set up an appointment for a service call. All was well with the world. Until. The charming young man chose a most inopportune time to ask this question: " Um, now you're sure that, like, no one has been, um, like hanging on the door while it's open, right?"

Yeah, asshat. Me and my Mom take turns during the weeknights. One of us gets naked, turns on some Ella Fitzgerald music, dons thigh high boots and does a modified pole-dance with the Fridgie-door. But only in the odd numbered months, and never on the weekends. Boom-shaka-laka-boom.

Actually, my answer was an incredulous " WHAT?!?" That settled that issue.

Until. It is now 2.5 weeks later and guess what? No fucking call. Not one. No service, no nothing. Except , of course, we now have a new addition to our now 4 month old Fridge. It is a scrap of weatherstripping along the top edge of the wonky door to keep the cold INSIDE!

So I call Bernie's today. I am greeted by a 6 minute wait for "Customer Service". I finally get through to Kevin, another charming young man. I advise him of my problem and his companies lack of response and he says, get this: " So, this is the first time in 3 weeks that you are following up on this problem?" To which I respond, in my most charming clenched-teeth manner " Yes, I figured it would be nice if ONE of us followed up seeing as Bernie's has not bothered to do anything at all."

Kevin modified his holier-than-thou attitude a might bit after that and informed me that he was putting in this request for service IMMEDIATELY. He waited patiently for me to express my sincerest gratitude, or wash his feet, or feed him grapes. Whatever.

He then added this customer-friendly proviso: " Do us a favor. If the service person does not contact you to make an appointment in the next 72 hours, please call me back so that I can handle the problem and make another referral". He actually seemed quite surprised when I informed him that I did not feel it was MY responsibility to follow up on the failings of HIS service people. Imagine! The nerve of me! Not wanting to be made accountable when his people fail once again.

So, now we wait. Counting the minutes and the hours and the days. I'll keep you posted.


2. My Princess ( as we have hashed and re-hashed) has to come home for some Doctor's appointments before her medical insurance is cancelled in a few weeks. I worked like a fool to make the appointments in time. I was successful with all but one Doctor. I called his office, they advised me that they had nothing available before the end of the year, but also advised that they would have her MD contact me ( I know him well) by phone to see if the Princess actually needed to be seen, or if her current med protocol was a-okay for another year.

I waited. And I waited. After 13 days, I called back. I had the wonderful fortune of getting Miss Snotty-Puss as the receptionist. When I explained the problem, she curtly told me " well, the Doctor has been out of the office for the last 3 days". It was only when I calmly responded " OK, can you tell me what happened during the other 10 days that no one called or followed up" that she changed her tune. She was magically able to make an appointment for 12/26 with another Doctor. She also advised that she would send out a lab request by mail so that the Princess could get bloodwork drawn prior to seeing the new Doc. I asked if I could just come and pick up the slip, but she insisted that it had to be mailed. Policy. Ummmmm, whatever.

Everything seemed lovely and bright. Until. The lab slip never arrived. The Princess comes home this week for her other appointments and was to have the labwork done so the results would have plenty of time to reach the new Doc. So, Tuesday, I call the office again. I get a very lovely young woman who assures me that she will have a new lab slip generated and will call me when it is ready to be picked up. Hello? About that can't-pick-it-up-policy?

You know what happened? NOTHING! No call, no message. NOTHING! So, yesterday, I show up at the office. They all act as if I have never spoken to them before. They spend 12 minutes hunting for the Princess' chart. Couldn't find it! They finally realize that the chart was likely sent to the new office ( in another town) and 3 grown women are at a complete loss as to what to do.

I suggest that they call the new office and ask that the lab slip be made out and left there for my Mom to pick up later in the day. They all look around, ooohing and aaahing appropriately at my astounding level of genius. They call the new office (in front of me), deliver the message, congratulate me on my forethought and tell me that the slip will be waiting for my Mom.

Can you guess what happens next? Yep, my Mom gets to the new office and there is NO LAB SLIP. And no one seems to know what she is talking about. Until. They call the old office and confirm what had been arranged. My Mom, after 20 minutes, was able to leave the office, lab slip firmly in hand. Whew!

The best part.......in the mail last evening.....the original lab slip! The bestest-ever part.........the labs ordered on the old slip are NOT THE SAME as the ones on the new slip!

Fuckin A+ for customer service!

Switch off the mind and let the heart decide...........

who you were meant to be -- Windpower -- Thomas Dolby -- 1982

No new drama today in my household today. The Princess is slowly whittling away at her mountain of pre-holiday break Graduate work, the Poodles are surviving.....even those on 3 legs, the Heat Miser has been removed from active duty due to a prolonged warm spell and I am just working, grooming, pooper-scooping, working, groo...................et cetera, et cetera, et cetera.


Just dropped by to wish a Happy Birthday to Tyler, my cousin's son. He will turn 13 today. As some of my former Blog fans might remember ( before Blogger the thieving asshat stole my original Blog........a true work of literary genius....much like this one), there was some big family drama happening a few years ago, and my cousin's 3 kids were the ones who suffered because of it. There was a very nasty divorce, an even nastier custody battle, and the kids were at the receiving end of all the ugliness. Their Father now has custody of all 3 kids and we are forbidden from ever contacting them. We have not been allowed to see them at all in these 3 years, even though they spent 2 and sometimes 3 days a week at our house with their Mom. She is rarely allowed to speak to them either, much less visit. The kids live 3 minutes from my house.

Sometimes, it breaks my heart and still makes me cry. But, for today, I hope Ty is able to have a wonderful birthday. I hope his angry and vindictive family allow his Mom and Grandmother to speak to him on his special day. I hope he is growing into a wonderful, compassionate, funny and terrific young man, despite all he has been through.

Most of all, I hope he remembers that once, many years ago, there were 3 other people in this world who adored him. We still do.

Happy Birthday Tyler.

Be running up that road, be running up that hill.........

with no problems -- Kate Bush -- Running Up That Hill ( A Deal With God) -- 1985


My girl Sadie.













You all know her. We've talked about her before. Several times. The latest was here:

http://nowthepartysover.blogspot.com/2006/11/there-must-be-some-misunderstanding.html

She's my tough girl who had the hip surgery last year. The girl who will scream bloody murder if she THINKS you might possibly step on her foot one day in the next Millennium, but never flinches when the specialist is grinding that sore hip around to examine her. The melodrama Queen who squeals and runs to hide under the bushes after stealing the other Poodles toys, but races around an Agility course without a hint of pain. That tough girl.

Well, she will be running the Agility course no more. What's that noise, you say? Uh, I think it was the sound of my heart breaking. Into tiny pieces. Pieces of sadness for my girl and me. Because she has been so tough. Because she worked her little 11 lb body hard to recover from losing the top of her femur. Because she defied the normal recovery period of 1 year and was released to full activity in 4 months. Because she pours her puppy heart and soul into love, love, loving Agility. Because she was just becoming my partner in the training classes and we had some great aspirations to kick ass in a trial. Even just once.

Because it's just not fair.

Sadie was suddenly lame on that same leg last week. It has happened a few times before since her surgery and recovery. She's an uncontrollable lunatic when it comes to running and jumping and acting like a Border Collie with curls. So, sometimes, she gets sore. Usually we treat her with a few days of anti-inflammatories and pain relief and she's fine, but not this time. She didn't get better. In fact, she got worse.

I had nightmares of having to schedule another surgery for her. I'm still not done paying off the nearly 4000 dollar total from the last one. We went to our Vet last night. The news was better than we expected. Nothing broken, no permanent damage to the repaired hip. Just a bad, bad muscle and ligament strain. Accompanied by much swelling. It should all get better with continued meds, ice and limited activity. Suuuuuuuure thing Doc!

However, the x-ray that so kindly showed nothing awful on that repaired side did show something not-so-good on the supposedly good side. Sadie has some radiological changes in the unaffected hip. Bone loss. Not as bad as the affected hip before surgery, but certainly new since the films from last year. She may have some form of the same disease in that hip too. We have to wait and see. Monitor. X-Ray. Watch. And fear.

In the meantime, her Agility hopes are over. My Doc is afraid of the toll it could take on already weakened hips. With one good hip and one repaired hip, she could compensate. With one worrisome hip and one repaired hip, the picture is dimmer. We don't know that Agility will cause any further damage to the un-repaired side, but we simply can't take that chance. Her little body is giving us a message, and this time, instead of worrying about getting her back into the game, I intend to hear the message loud and clear.

After I blow my nose from the crying.

I really like it when you speak like a child..........

The way you're so proud to be oh, so free and so wild -- Style Council -- Speak Like A Child -- 1983


Everything is better, for the moment, in the world of the Princess. After being in the doldrums because of stupid Lumpkin and his complete lack of Princessian- aimed birthday happiness, the Princess was treated to a rather wonderful surprise yesterday. In honor of her birthday, the 5th grade class that she has been student-teaching this year organized a party......just for her. She had no idea they were doing it, and the teacher and kids went all out to make it a wonderful day. With cupcakes and other sundry food, singing, handmade cards (with LOTS of sweet and touching sentiments), a few tears from emotional prepubescent tweens.......and MANY hugs!

It was just what the Princess needed. It was a very kind gesture on the part of the teacher and it managed to lift the Princess' spirits. It did, however, reaffirm the contention that EVERYONE ELSE was more invested in celebrating her birthday than Lumpkin was. A point that I cannot and will not argue.

The sooner she realizes he is a shit, the better.

Now you´re on your own, who cares about you........

Except me, God help me when things go wrong -- Roxy Music -- To Turn You On -- 1982


I'm back.
Not such a great birthday for the Princess. I tried my best, but couldn't overcome the sheer lack of thoughtfulness from Lumpkin, the Princess' boyfriend. We have discussed Lumpkin here:

http://nowthepartysover.blogspot.com/2006/10/dont-worry-about-thing-cause-every.html

Of course, we have discussed the Princess and all of her virtues in several past Blogs. Not that I think the child of my loins is incapable of mistakes, or is unable to cause pain or hurt feelings. She is, after all, human. But. The Princess is generally a very thoughtful human. She tries to be considerate of the feelings of others, especially if she happens to love those others. She loves to do thoughtful things for those she loves. She expects very little in return.

That is, however, where the Princess and I part ways. I don't need anyone to throw me a friggin' parade if I hold the door open for them, or send them a nice card, but a little acknowledgement would be a-okay. Right? The Princess is a more forgiving in that respect. I think she's acting like a doormat.

Where was I? See, when I start to get all ranted-up, I lose track of what I was saying. And I am ranted-up over that dumbass Lumpkin who ruined my Princess' birthday. Lemme' give you a little background.

Lumpkin is currently in college in Philly. Not a quick jaunt for he and the Princess to see each other, but definitely do-able with some advanced planning. Do-able for the Princess anyway. For Lumpkin's birthday a few months ago, the Princess planned for weeks. She saved her money, she bought a train ticket ( costly for an unpaid college student at over 60 bucks), she carefully picked out a weeks worth of birthday cards and sent one to Lumpkin everyday of the week leading to his birthday, picked a few small presents with just as much care, hopped the train to Philly, spent a few days there where she cooked him homemade meals, celebrated his birthday and generally tried to make it a memorable experience for him. All while, may I add, poor Princess was feeling miserable with a lousy cold.

She's nice that way.

For her birthday, you wanna' know what Lumpkin did? Do ya'?



He sent her a card and a stuffed animal.


Yup. That's it.

Now, I don't want anyone to think that the Princess is all about materialism, cause she isn't ( unless of course, I'm paying and we happen to be near Sephora or the Gap. Then she's suddenly baby-Rockefeller). She really didn't care what he gave her for her birthday, as long as it was something that he had put a little thought into. A little love, maybe. Not much to ask. But noooooooooooo, ole' Lumpkin had to go and break the Princess' heart for her birthday. A cheesy gift, a single card..........NO VISIT. Because he had to study, according to him. Psh. Like the fucker really studies anyway. Right. He's probably just laying around a dorm room, bemoaning his hard, hard life where he is never forced to work while he goes to school, has a mother who hangs on his every whim and request, had a comfortable middle-class upbringing, and has little, if any demands placed on him. Yep fucker.......life is reallllllly tough for you.

So, I went to see the Princess, not knowing any of this. My Mother had cooked a favorite recipe for her, I had made her a home-baked cake ( her favorite) and off I went. My Mother and I had bombarded her with cards in the mail , I had sent her a bazillion funny e-cards. I had promised to take her shopping for leather boots ( her request) and dinner ( also her request).

When I got there, she was a little quiet, but I know she works extremely hard and is mostly exhausted, so I didn't think much of it. Until I asked about Lumpkin. When her eyes filled, my core filled too. With rage. A desire to hop my own train to Philly and beat the livin' hell out of Lumpkin. For making my kid cry. On. Her. Birthday. Because he is a thoughtless ass. Because he is so wrapped up in himself and his own *issues* that he can't see what a great deal he has in the Princess. Because he didn't appreciate her enough to expend some effort for her birthday. One fuckin' day a year and the lazy ass couldn't make a big deal out of it.

Momma was not happy. And neither was the Princess. As a matter of fact, the Princess spent most of the evening trying to stem the waves of tears that threatened to flow at any mention of, uh, let's see:
birthday, surprise, cake, cards, presents, boyfriend, trains, love, footwear, school, air, sky.........

Getting the picture? The Princess was miserable. She felt abandoned by Lumpkin on HER day. She felt UNLOVED by the selfish asshole.

I tried everything to cheer her up, but in the end, I decided that she had every right to be upset, although I would have preferred anger as the emotion of choice. She should be pissed that Lumpkin put no effort into making this a special day for her. Mightily pissed. I am hoping that will come with time. After she finishes crying. I am hoping. Maybe against hope, but I can have my dreams too, right?

Because, honestly, she needs to dump his ass. And I mean that in the kindest and most loving way possible. Drop that fool by the side of the road and never look back. My Princess deserves a boyfriend who will surprise her on her birthday. Show up at her door unexpectedly with a droopy little bouquet of flowers in his hands and adoration in his eyes. That's only a fraction of what she does for Lumpkin. I think she deserves just a *little* of that in return. Sadly, I have to wait for her to wake up to the fact that he is a loser. I can't force my opinion on her and I can't expect that she will make the decisions I think are best. I am viewing it through very different eyes than she is. I just hope that she will start to see things a bit more clearly and realize that the relationship, for her, is ALL about giving. She receives very little in return. I hope she realizes that soon before she has to spend anymore of her life crying and sad.




Until then, if anyone needs me, I will be on the next train to Philly.

Does anyone know if there are metal detectors in the train stations?

I absolutely love you, but we're absolute beginners......

But if my love is your love, we're certain to succeed -- David Bowie -- Absolute Beginners -- 1986




Because I will be away tomorrow, and because that away trip has to do with a celebration for the Princess, I will write this today in the Princess' honor:

23 years ago today, my journey into adulthood began. I was a mere 4 weeks past my own birthday. I was 18. I was pregnant. And, aside from my Mom, I was alone.

My Mom and I had gone out shopping that afternoon of December 5th. I didn't feel well, but we needed to get a baby book and a diaper bag, so out we went. As I went to get out of the car in the parking lot, I was doubled over with pain. I was not *officially* due for 5 more weeks, so I assumed that it was just false labor. As my Mom and I walked around the store, the pains came intermittently. My Mom joked that we would have to call for a " cleanup on aisle 10" if it really was labor. I didn't find it very funny at the time.

Over the next few hours, the pains came and went, but they were not regular or strong enough to cause too much alarm. I, however, was scared to death. I wasn't ready to be a mother.

I had always been very good with babies. I loved babies. I had been babysitting since I was 11. But now that the reality finally hit me, I wanted to party with my friends. I wanted to go to college. I wanted to have fun. I wanted to go back in time and change what was happening. I couldn't, and the pains got stronger and closer. It was happening and I couldn't control it.

By 3 in the morning, there I was, in a hospital bed with brusque nurses and sleep deprived doctors telling me what to do. I was in terrible pain but no one seemed to notice. At 8 a.m., a nurse noticed that my baby's heartrate was dropping dangerously low with every contraction, so they decided to break my water to insert an internal monitor. While performing that procedure, the doctor discovered that the baby had turned in utero, so in the middle of several contractions, they attempted to turn the baby into the correct position manually.....possibly the most painful experience of my entire life.

Over the next 2 hours, I remember little except for being commanded to "push, push harder, keep pushing!" I remember my Mother talking to me at my shoulder, encouraging me to keep focused. The next thing I recall is my complete shock when the doctor announced " it's a girl!". Not what I was expecting. And then the dawning realization that there was no crying. No sound at all except for the doctor announcing " first Apgar 1". Only later did I realize the devastating significance of that remark. It was December 6, 1983 .

I did not get to see or hold my baby girl for many hours . Nobody would tell me anything other than, " she's small and we have to keep her warm".More than 9 hours after her birth, I was so upset.......... thinking that she had either died and I was not told, or that they had decided I was too young to keep her and had given her away....... they finally allowed me out of bed to see her in the Incubator in the nursery. She was so very tiny. So fragile looking. So breathtakingly perfect. It would be another few hours before I was allowed to hold her. To count her fingers and toes. To examine every inch of her tiny little body. To smell the very essence of her newness.....her goodness......to inhale the smell of her perfection.

That day was the beginning of a very long and sometimes hard journey for my baby girl and me. In many ways, we grew up together. She taught me how to be a parent. She taught me how to love with a ferocity I never expected and still don't understand. She made me a better person.

She is a young woman now and she is as wonderful as the very first time I held her. She has become a remarkable person. Self-assured. Strong. Dedicated. Passionate. Intelligent. Motivated. Honorable.

Perfect.

So tomorrow, I will drive up to spend her birthday with her. I will laugh with her, I will discuss life with her, I will marvel at who she has become despite my immaturity as a young parent. She has defeated all the odds. The ones that proclaim " children of teenaged mothers are destined to become teenaged mother's themselves". The odds predicting that she will be another nameless, faceless number on a government dole because her mother was poor and single when she was born. The odds that she will never succeed. She has beaten them all.


So happy birthday my Princess. You are an inspiration, you are my pride and joy. You are the reason I am the person I am today. You are.....






Perfect.

Then you'll see life will be so nice, its just a step up to paradise..........

You just roll with it, baby, you just roll with it, baby -- Steve Winwood -- Roll With It -- 1988


The new mattresses are here, the new mattresses are here, THE NEW MATTRESSES ARE HERE!!!!!

http://nowthepartysover.blogspot.com/2006/11/wake-up-you-sleepy-head.html

And I can roll. Actually roll around in the bed! Don't you dare snicker. This is big news. Very big. Big enough news that I have to yell. Loudly.

The bed is big enough that I feel like I'm sleeping outside on a football field. Minus the tickly grass and the hunky quarterbacks. Still. It's all good.

Except (and isn't there always an except) modern day mattresses are different. Different from those made about 20 years ago. Yesssssss. That is how old my mattress was. What can I say? We get attached to things in my family. Sentimental, you might say.

So the newfangled mattresses. Well, they're quite a step up from the 1985 models. Literally. Actually several steps up. Kinda' like I'm sleeping in a godddamned treehouse. High up in the air.

At first I was a little worried that I might roll outta' bed and break an important cervical neck part and then I couldn't enjoy my new mattress because I'd be living in a Hospital For Special Care with my damaged body. Nah, not likely. Then I worried that I might go to jump down from the bed , and if it was a morning after I'd done my fancy-foot treatment to have soft-as-butter heels, I would slide in my socks and break an important lower back part, and then I couldn't use my lovely new mattress because I would have to sleep in a special traction-type-getup to save me from excruciating back pain. Uhhhhh, probably not. Then I was worried that I might break a leg trying to jump up onto the mattress and then the beautiful look of my antique cast-iron bed would be ruined by the medical traction-contraption hanging over it from the ceiling to support my fractured limb. Possible, but not likely.

But then, I jumped up took a realistic look at the situation ( after rubbing my head from where I bonked it on the ceiling because my new bed/mattress combo is so damn high. Have I mentioned that before?). From atop my extremely lofty perch on my antique bed with the brandy-new supersized mattress , I came to a decision.


I LOVE THE FEELING OF SUPERIORITY MY TREEHOUSE BED GIVES ME!!!! Like I'm looking down on the peasants from my balcony in my palace. I feel so powerful. So important. Sooooo special!!



Only, I'm not looking down at the peasants. I'm looking down at the faces of 5 pissed off Poodles because THEY CAN'T JUMP UP ONTO THE BED!!!!


HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I promised you a miracle.......

Belief is a beauty thing -- Simple Minds -- New Gold Dream -- 1982


Alright folks. I have a question. If it makes you feel better, I will even raise my hand and wait to be called on before asking.

[Hand raised. Humming to self. Counting fluorescent bulbs over desk. Squirming impatiently]

ARE YOU GONNA CALL ON ME OR WHAT?!?!

OK. That's better.

Here's my question. It may be a hard one, so think carefully before answering because there are no second chances. Ready?


How exactly does one pull a rabbit out of one's ass? No, not out of a hat. Read it again. I clearly said " out of one's ass"? I said that because I am no damned magician, even though some in this universe might believe I am. "
Avalon, the Assrabbiter". Apparently that's me.

Of course, this is in relation to yet another dilemma. This one's a biggie. My Princess has exactly 30 days to be a card-carrying insured member of society. In 31 days, the Princess will officially become a persona-non-grata as far as the medical world is concerned. She is losing her medical insurance coverage and I am losing sleep worrying about it.

Luckily for both of us, the Princess is generally a rather healthy girl. She does have a Thyroid goiter:

http://www.endocrineweb.com/goiter.html

and eczema:

http://www.skincarephysicians.com/eczemanet/whatis.html


but otherwise, she doesn't need to go to the doctor for much, other than routine appointments and annual Eye exams. Still, the idea of NO INSURANCE makes me feel like I am going to hyperventilate.....or scream........or punch someone.
If you are standing anywhere near me, say a little prayer that I choose the hyperventilate option.

This whole *losing of the coverage* thing came as quite a surprise to me. I work for a hospital and we have always had decent medical coverage, even if it has become much more costly over the past few years ( but hasn't everyone's?). For years, our policy allowed for dependent coverage until the dependent was 23.........UNLESS they were a full time student or disabled. In those cases, they were able to maintain the coverage. Now, after this diatribe from last week:

http://nowthepartysover.blogspot.com/2006/11/all-you-do-to-me-is-talk-talk.html


some might jump to the conclusion that the Princess, may in fact be somewhat disabled, but I checked already and , nope, she doesn't qualify. Not even with that "legless" comment.

Well, apparently somewhere along the line, while I was not paying attention busy , they changed this policy to dis-include the whole full time student thing. The insurance company kindly informed me of this 2 weeks ago, a full 3 weeks before the Princess turns 23!! Therefore, I have spent a fair number of my generous 30 minute lunch breaks on the phone with the Princess' doctor's offices, trying to arrange appointments for her before she has NO WAY TO PAY FOR THEM.

Let me give to a brief descriptive of what this process has been like. You can pick your choice of the most appropriate option from the list:

1.Colonoscopy without Anesthesia

2. papercuts all over the tongue

3. bikini wax with tweezers

4. wound cleaning with Drano

or my personal fav:

5. fingers jammed into the paper shredder......with no kill switch.



Yep, it's been fun alright. You just try calling a doctor's office, during holiday season, asking for an appointment reallyreallyI'mbeggingyoureally soon, with a schedule limited to one afternoon or one morning a week, when you haven't been seen, in some cases, for over 2 years.

Go-head. Try it. I dare ya'. Then let me know how it went.

I bet something like this : "Wha??............hahahahahahahahahaha........yeah, right!"

Leave it to me. With some crafty cajoling, some wondrous wheedling, some magnificent manipulating, I have managed to make the 3 necessary appointments for the Princess ( her college is in another state, so I handle the appointment booking from home-----don't go there tryin' to tell me she should do it herself. I'm still hankerin' to punch someone)! All of the appointments are before her coverage runs out. Two of them are on one day, the other one is the day after Christmas, so she will still be home on break. I was sooooo excited and relieved. Pleased as punch with myself ( get it?!? Punch?!? The theme?!?)

I e-mailed the Princess yesterday to tell her. Sadly, she didn't seem nearly as excited as me. This was her exact response to my "aren't- I- an -impressive -appointment -setter- and- aren't-you-ever-so-lucky-to-have-me" e-mail to her:

Love,
and thanks, even if the timing does really suck,
~Princess

If I should break my hand when I punch HER, at least I know MY visit will be covered.

Bitch.