INTERRUPTING ALL PROGRAMS

Radio Clash -- The Clash -- 1981


In 2 hours, I will be on vacation. Going nowhere, but on vacation.

I will not post, I may not read. But please know you are all in my heart and thoughts and prayers and







SUCKERS!!!





Sing it with me in harmony-----------






Vacation, all I ever wanted
Vacation, had to get away
Vacation, meant to be spent alone....................

Insanity laughs under pressure we're cracking.

Under Pressure -- Queen and David Bowie -- 1981



EDIT: New linky love thanks to my BFF, Annie!Thanks Annie. If you weren't a girl, I might slip you some tongue!


Bad day yesterday. BAD. Fuckity-fuck-fucked-up bad.

Work sucked. A big project that was completed and submitted last month was fucked up. Had to be completely amended and resubmitted. Which means that payment for the project will be delayed by at least 4 weeks.

BAD.

Then, my car. BAD. Remember this from last fall?

Seems like just yesterday, doesn't it. Well it might have fuckin' been. I brought my Exploder to the mechanic back then ( the link people, the link!) I was complaining about my brakes WAY BACK THEN. They told me that my front brakes were fine. FINE. A technical term used solely by talented and sheisty mechanics. They fixed my back brakes, proclaimed my Exploder healed and sent me merrily and unaware-ily on my way. The brakes never felt much improved, but WTF am I...a mechanic???

Then the new problem developed:


Well, I brought the shitbox to the mechanic on Wednesday evening. Once again, I IMPLICITLY told them NOT TO MAKE ANY REPAIRS UNTIL CONSULTING WITH ME!!!!! Clear enough? I thought so. I explained that I might not have the money for the next 2 weeks if the repair cost was going to be substantial. The first-o-the-month paycheck is promised before the ink dries.

They said okey-dokey and all was right with my world.

I called there yesterday morning, and the cheery mechanic advised me that my car-devil was a little baby problem. For car pussies. A minor sway bar link. Cracked. Easy to replace. CHEAP! I was oh-so-happy. He also said that they would do the oil change that was needed and would rotate and balance and align the tires as they had to remove them to replace the links. Then it would be good to go. All easy fixes and inexpensive. I responded with a happy "great! no problem!". They were supposed to call me in the afternoon and let me know when it was ready to be picked up.

I never got the call, so I called them back late yesterday afternoon. I was again greeted by the cheery mechanic who said " they never called you? Oh, I thought they called you. That's OK. Your car is ready to go. We fixed the links, did the oil change, rotated and balanced the tires and did the brakes. The total is 470.74".

Mmmmmmm-what? WTF? What the fuck did he just say???? What brakes?

I tried to maintain my composure, keep my acidic tongue under control. So I politely asked " uhhh, Mr. Cheery mechanic, what brakes are you talking about?? I just had my brakes done a few months ago. When I talked to you a few hours ago, you didn't say ANYTHING about brakes".

To which he replied " a few months ago? No, you couldn't have had brakes done a few months ago. These brake pads were very thin. Let me check our records."

He came back with this little nugget, " oh yeah, you had brakes done, but those were the BACK brakes. These were the front. Your front ones were really bad and they needed to be replaced".

Now kids, I am no fool. My mind was racing through it's car repair storage file at a furious pace. It located what I was looking for and spewed it forth - " but, when I came to you back then, I complained that it needed brakes. That my brake pedal was almost to the floor. That the emergency brake was hitting the sidewalk. YOU checked it out and assured me that the front brakes WERE FINE!. Tell me how I went from fine brakes to thin and really bad ones in LESS THAN 4000 MILES?? Something isn't right here. And also tell me, WHO gave permission to do this brake job? I don't have almost 500 dollars right now. That is why I specified that I needed to know what work was going to be done and how much I should expect to pay. So I could decide!"

To which Mr. Now-flustered-and-apologetic-mechanic-man began to backpedal. Started to say things like " don't get upset", " you can pay on a plan", "we wanted the car to be safe", "I'll talk to the owner".

I told him I'd see him in an hour, hung up the phone and promptly started to cry. And oh Jeebus, do I ever HATE to cry. I was THAT frustrated and angry.

I got there 1 hour later and Mr. Mechanic was racing out the door. He left me with Mr. Collect-the-payment, who was stupid enough to say, " hi, how are you?". So I told him. Let him have it both barrels. Told him that what they did was unfair and unethical, and that, while I appreciated the repairs, they had NO authorization to do ANY work that had not been discussed with me or approved by me.

He clucked with sympathy, offered his regrets and a payment plan. I paid half the total and will take my own sweet time paying the other half. I do not begrudge them their money for the repairs. I don't even dispute the fact that the car probably needed front brakes....badly. I have thought that since it was there last fall. I just have a problem with them completely disregarding what I asked them to do. CALL ME!! Sounds fucking simple enough.

The car is running like a dream. It stops on a dime and has ceased making those scary thumping noises under the front shiny parts. They told me, in fact, that it was in GREAT shape for a 10 year old car and that I should expect to get another 75,000 miles out of it easily.





I bet that's what they tell all the psychotic people.

She bitches like a brat .............

Kidnapper -- Blondie -- 1978


Wooohoooo. There's a bit of a war going on in the Casa De Avalon. In general, the Princess is a pretty good kid. Hard working, not much trouble. But sometimes, she can have an ugly side. A side where she forgets about the only 2 people in this world who have her back. Who would do ANYTHING for her. And sometimes, in tiny, almost indiscernible ways, she shits on those 2 people.

The Heat Miser loves to cook for other people. She always has. Even though it was just the two of us for most of my young life, she always cooked meals as if she was cooking for 6 people. Usually she froze the extras for other meals, but if there was a hungry friend, neighbor or relative within the New England-ish area, she gladly gave that homemade food away to them.

Now that she is older, she doesn't cook in big batches so much, except for special occasions. And in my house, St. Patrick's Day definitely qualifies as a special occasion. The HM has a vedddy secret recipe for Irish Soda Bread. Whatever that secret may be, it makes people go all sorts of apoplectic over her bread. They BEG her for the bread every year. They make bargains with the devil, they promise her wonderful things, they inundate her with sob stories about how their life can------WILL only get better with Irish Soda Bread.

Every year.

So, every year the HM spends day after day making this bread to give away to friends. It isn't cheap or easy to make. The ingredients are costly, the preparation is time consuming, and.........WE DELIVER!! But, she loves to do it.

This year, the Princess asked for the recipe. It seems that Lumpkin is coming to visit her for this upcoming weekend and he wanted to try the bread. The Princess figured she would make it for him. She has never made it before, but since she LOVES to cook, she thought it would be fun to try her hand at baking the bread. So when she e-mailed me to ask for the recipe, I relayed that information to the HM.

The HM, apparently feeling that she was doing something nice for the Princess, made an extra batch of bread and sent some............OVERNIGHT.......to the Princess. She thought it was a nice gesture. She was also, in a way, keeping her secret recipe close to the vest. She is very hinky over that recipe. This, to the HM, meant that the Princess didn't have to waste the time or money to make it herself. Apparently the Princess did not agree with that little dose of kindness.

I was doing dinner dishes last evening ( yep, you heard me. Too poor for a dishwasher). The phone rang and the HM answered. I was not paying much attention, but did note that the conversation on the HM's side seemed a bit tense. Suddenly, I heard the HM say " I don't know, ask your Mother" and she shoved the phone into my hands.

I spoke and was met by the Princess' voice, questioning " why couldn't she just send me the recipe like I asked. I mean, why did she have to send me the bread. I DIDN'T WANT THE BREAD." Like a petulant, ungrateful 4 year old.

I was so stunned, I ignored the question and stayed on the line in silence, Apparently, stupidity had overtaken the Princess with a vengeance because she repeated the question again!

All I could manage to sputter was " I don't know, but if you want to be so damn ungrateful, take it somewhere else!" and hung up in her face.

I'd like to choke her, and I'd like to save a good throttle for the HM. The Princess needs an ass-kicking for being an unappreciative little bitch. The HM needs one for trying to drag me into the middle of her beef, and for being so oddly proprietary over her damn recipe that she (intentionally) disregarded the Princess' request for the recipe and sent her the bread instead.


And people wonder why I love my dogs so much.

The distant echo - Of faraway voices boarding faraway trains.......

Down In The Tube Station At Midnight -- The Jam -- 1978



The Princess called home last night to check in. We talk a few times a week. I always ask "so what's new?". I know, creative one, I am.

So last night, same question. The response was " not much". She got her creativity from my side of the family.

She continued to chat, mostly about trivialities. I was about to hang up as AI was starting, when she rather blithely mentioned that the neighborhood where she student teaches-------EAST HARLEM-----was in the news today. When I asked why, she nonchalantly mentioned that a building had collapsed. Directly over the subway she normally rides into the neighborhood. The subway that she should have been on yesterday:

http://www.nytimes.com/2007/03/28/nyregion/28collapse.html

Except that my girl's Mama didn't raise no spineless fool. Apparently the teacher and the Principal at this school have caught onto the fact that they snagged a goodie in the Princess. They keep asking her to "fill in" on extra days. To switch her schedule to have her help the teacher with special activities. To rearrange her life as an unpaid peon to satisfy them.

The Princess, as is her wont, sometimes agrees......if she can. But let my Princess catch a whiff that she is being taken advantage of and she digs in her heels. Deep. And says NO!

She got a call Monday night from the teacher asking her to please, PLEASE, OH PULEEEEZE come in on Tuesday. Something about a butterfly exhibit and a kid with violent tendencies.

The Princess said NO. She was up to her ears in schoolwork, she had already arranged to work extra this week ( have I yet mentioned THIS IS UNPAID???? I didn't think so), she was pooped.

The teacher pleaded and cajoled and probably promised my Princess a pre-school world on a platter. The Princess stuck to her guns and basically, but politely told the teacher......."se ya' Friday!".

She is a smart girl.


And awfully happy that she was not stuck in a subway car for 6 hours.

There's nothing for me to do but yell help!

Devil's in my car! -- Devil In My Car -- The B-52 's -- 1980


I am shuddering people. Shuddering. There is something wrong with my car. It's something bad. I can feel it in my bones. Really. Every time I drive, I can feel the shuddering in my bones.

From the front end of my car. And since that feeling has never reared it's ugly head before, I'm pretty certain it's not a James Brown -I-Feel-Good, -I-Knew-That-I-Would kind of feeling.

It started last week. A little tremor in the steering wheel, mostly when I was coming to a stop. I had a brake job done on the beast just a few months ago, and since I wasn't unexpectedly slamming into the bumper of the car in front of me, I brilliantly deduced that it was probably not a problem with the brakes.

Then, it quickly morphed into a rather constant shudder from the steering wheel. All the time. Since it wasn't such an unpleasant sensation......rather like a massage for the hands.....I chose to ignore it for a while. Ya know, the kind of ignoring that makes a potentially dangerous situation go away. I am fond of that kind of ignoring. I do it often. ( Hint: read the did not confess to being pregnant until 8 months gestation post).

But now, there is a noise. An ugly noise. Emanating from somewhere under the dark recesses in the front of the car. It is a distinctive thump that can not only be heard, it can be felt. Which pretty much rules out my solution of turning the radio up louder. Because it's like a poorly timed bass drum in every song I play. Unwelcome and not in sync with the music.

It thumps when I hit a bump. It thumps when I don't. This noise has a mind of it's own, and it has NO RESPECT for common civility.

I keep telling myself that it's probably something simple. A broken spring maybe. A shock absorber gone wonky. A little stone caught in a gasket-type part near the front of the shiny part. I tell myself this as I obsessively check the sideview mirrors. I want some lead time when a tire flies off.

So I have to get it checked out. I hate this stuff. The news is rarely good. I mean the car is 10 years old. It's bound to get broken. But broken cars........pretty much I have no use for them. And since I already hate this car because it is eating me alive in gas money, I have been considering my options.

All you legal types out there in Blogland.................COVER YOUR EYES AND SCROLL TO THE END OF THE POST.


I want to blow it up! Or put a brick on the gas pedal and drive it off a mountain. Or into a deep lake. Or arrange to have it stolen. Or paint it purple and claim I just can't find MY CAR.......THE BEIGE CAR. Or sell it on Craigslist......AS IS. Or crash it up badly enough that it dies.

Except that all of those things are vaguely against the law. If you get caught. And in my life, Karma will bust a gut laughing as I am dragged away, handcuffed.

So I am stuck with a stupid broken car.




Do you think I could collect my own life insurance if I fake my death in a tragic car accident??

And as for me I can sit here and bide my time , I got nothing to lose if I speak my mind.........

I don't care anymore . -- I Don't Care Anymore -- Phil Collins -- 1982


Ahhhh, the joys of a quiet week at work. Been making the Blog rounds, reading this-n-that. One of my favorites, Mrs. Chicky wrote about this funny encounter:

http://chickychickybaby.blogspot.com/2007/03/spring-has-sprung-and-guess-what-it.html

and then another fav, IAI, detailed her wishes here:

http://irreverent-antisocial-intellectual.blogspot.com/2007/03/iais-rules-about-death.html


And they got me thinking. Which, in most cases, is probably not the wisest way to spend my time. For me, deep thought = melancholy reflection = realizing what a fucked up mess my life is. Relationship wise.

Because, really, aside from my Mother, my Daughter and my dogs, I really have no long-term relationships. No joke. No one to come knocking at my door, no crowd to attend my funeral. Even the Jehovah's Witnesses avoid me. And I don't really know if I prefer it that way, or if I've just become so used to this way of living that it's too comfortable to consider changing it.

I grew up as an only child of a single, working Mother. No ride on the pity train here. Just the fact that the lifestyle we lived shaped my view of relationships, my appreciation of solitude, my desire for alone time. For most of my life, the people I loved consisted of my Mother, my Grandmother and then, my child. The rest were all extraneous. I had many aunts and uncles, a few who I could probably say that I loved, 22 cousins, some who I loved, most who I was indifferent about, and a few that I hated.

I had friendships as a child and teenager, but mainly, I was much more loyal to my friends than they were to me, and I quickly learned it was more pleasant to walk away instead of being burned.

Then my own disastrous young adult/adult relationship choices cemented those preferences for me. I have been deeply in love twice. Exactly twice. Both times, the end of those relationships brought me to a very dark place. I never want to return there. It is safer to remain enveloped in the sparse, but loyal cocoon of my immediate family.

I have some friends now. Mainly people I don't talk to regularly, but always enjoy catching up with when we connect. However, I would not consider ANY of them really close friends. Not any more. I've allowed most of my friendships and family relationships to die a slow, neglected death.

The worst part? It doesn't seem to bother me. Truly. Oddly enough, I have no real emotions surrounding the loss of friendships.....the fracturing of family relationships.......the lack of emotional closeness to anyone other than my Mother or daughter. The only exceptions would be the loss of my cousin's kids and the death of my Grandmother.

http://nowthepartysover.blogspot.com/2007/02/in-midst-i-think-of-you-and-how-it-used.html

http://nowthepartysover.blogspot.com/2006/10/oh-shark-babe-has-such-teeth-dear.html

Other than those two things, I can honestly say that I don't miss the rest of my extended family or old friends. And sometimes that makes me wonder if there is something wrong with me. Am I a sociopath? A complete narcissist? A rapidly aging, lonely woman?

Or is my life better because of my choices? Minimal drama. Minimal sadness. Minimal concerns.

Sometimes I'm not sure. Most times, I just refuse to think about it. I just head over to some other good Blogs and laugh along at their exploits. Commiserate with their issues, all the while, hearing that little voice in my head that tells me "you have nothing in common with them. They have friends, they have family, they have relationships".

Or maybe, just maybe, there are other people like me. Out there. Questioning their choices, their decisions, the path of their life.





And coming up empty.

Lovely Rita meter maid, where would I be without you

Lovely Rita -- The Beatles -- 1967





Not much to report from the homestead. We are still on the lookout for apartment-type goodies. We managed to find the Princess a veddddy cool clock. It is made by a company called Shady Lady and it's a floor clock. I have a pic of it here:

All the way on the very right of the picture, standing proudly next to the dresser. Sorry that it's a little difficult to see. And no.....the rest of the stuff is NOT the Princess'. It's a pic from the Internet........DUH.

Other than that, we haven't come across any new treasures, but I'm still looking. For a dining set, the Princess is apparently enamored of this style:

Lovely indeed, except that it requires an unlimited AMEX card, a signature in blood and forfeiture of a first-born grandchild. So, all I'm sayin'.........not friggin likely the Princess will be taking her meals on a set like that in her lifetime. Especially not if I'm paying.

And----especially not since the Princess is a little lighter in the wallet. Because she got her very first parking ticket. And, oh.......the sheer irony. Coming from a family of Fire and Police Department personnel. What did she do, you ask?? Well, she parked very, very close to a fire hydrant.

85 dollars worth of close.

She called me yesterday in a worried fit. She was supposed to have moved her car the night before, but she was tired and fell asleep. When she came down in the morning to move it, she already had a ticket on the windshield. My Princess is a very law-abiding girl and she feels all sorts of guilty over this "stain" on her impeccable driving record. Impeccable, that is, if you choose to discount the three accidents. Or four. I think it was four. 2 were not her fault, 1 definitely was and one is still in question. Only one happened was while she was actually driving. And I was right behind her in my own car when it occurred. I watched the entire scene play out and wanted to choke her to death........luckily the Police came before my fingers could tighten around her neck. Their arrival and her sobbing apologies probably saved her life.

But according to the Princess, her driving history is to be envied.....until now and the PARKING TICKET. THIS TERRIBLE BLIGHT. A POX UPON HER LICENSE!!

She had already made out the "I'm guilty and I apologize profusely" check and was heading to the mailbox by the time she called me. She's honest that way. I would've gone all sorts of mad and shown up in the courthouse to proclaim my innocence and protest the unfair system of ticketing perfectly law-abiding citizens for simply trying to protect the fire hydrant from drunken drivers who might, at any second, lose control and crash into said hydrant therefore allowing the occupants of a burning home to perish in the flames and heat.

That's what I would've done.

But not my Princess. Her words: "Ma, I was a jerk for parking there, even if it was the only space on the street, and a bigger jerk for not moving my car when I first thought about it, so I deserve the ticket".

WHERE THE HELL DID SHE COME FROM??

Sometimes I think there was a switch made at the hospital. Wasn't I supposed to get the reform-school model? The kid that thinks rules and laws are simply guidelines MEANT to be tested? Nooooooooooo, I got Polly Purity. Most parents might appreciate that, but in all honesty, her purity only makes me more tainted. Her goodness only shines a spotlight on my badness. Her honesty only makes my, uhhh, penchant for editorializing the truth seem more, well.....

maybe more interesting!! Yes, that's it!! I'm more interesting than the Princess. I am!! Really!! Don't you find me interesting?? Don't you just wanna be my friend?? C'mon, doncha?!?

I'll pay all your parking tickets.

Everything unchanging, just furniture arranging ........

Let's make a den -- Let's Make A Den -- XTC -- 1985

We have had a spell of ugly, ugly weather here in these parts. Doesn't that sound all Little House On The Prairie-ish? These parts! Silly Avalon. Somebody call Pa !

Snow, then sleet, then ice. Does the fun never end? I have body parts in pain. Parts that I probably have not used in many years. Some parts that are now several lovely shades of black/blue/purple/green/yellow. From a damn snowblower that is obviously possessed and refuses to clear a straight path------preferring instead to drag me along crookedly and then change direction without notice, with the intent to toss me on my ass into an icebank.

Snowblower 2, Avalon 0.

It was not a fun weekend in New England.

On the other hand, we used the second half of the weekend to bulk up the dowry for the Princess, should an actual Prince every ride in on a trusty steed........or in a sporty Jetta. Just kidding. My Princess will use the dowry all for herself. Screw the Prince ( unless, of course, his Jetta morphs into a shiny new BMW------I might advise her to rethink)

The Princess is graduating in May. She will have completed a 6 year undergrad/grad degree in 5 years, and she will be ( yes she WILL BE) employable. She wants to come back close to home. Since the Heat Miser and I never have either a pot to piss in nor a window to throw it out of, we try to plan for things in advance. Waaaaaaayyyyy in advance. Like apartment things. Furniture things. BIG things.

So when the Princess returns and gets a job ( SHE WILL GET A JOB.......THE DAY AFTER SHE MOVES BACK HOME......... I want her to have some down time first) she will need things. She has mastered the art of dorm living in the past several years, and even though she is in an apartment now, she is living with 2 other roommates, and all of her stuff is IKEA second-hand bargains from Freecycle or Craigslist. Which will all be sold to some needy remaining-in-college-student before she moves back. Cheap!

So, the Princess needs stuff to live on her own. We have a few possibilities for tiny apartments......like ones over a friend's garage.....in the works. Little, inexpensive places so the Princess can work and save some money for the first few years. But, even if they are tiny, she has almost nothing to furnish an apartment. So the HM and I have been on the hunt.

Way back when the HM was 20 years younger, she took up the hobby of refinishing really junky-looking antiques. Ugly crap that we bought at tag sales and consignment shops and Estate sales. Crap that no one else would give a second look to. The HM would pick up her ugly-duckling items, bring them home in her hatchback, work some refinishing magic and - POOF!

They would be beautiful!! Truly. We have a house filled with beautiful, eclectic, old and classic pieces of furniture that she restored to their original beauty.

The Princess grew up around these things. They furnished her room and her home. She LOVES old things. Several of her pieces from her bedroom at home will go with her to her new place. A little wooden Ladies writing desk that had been painted lime green, a dresser that had been stained black, a bookcase that was on it's last legs. All things that her Grandmother lovingly restored. She will take those with her. She will once again be surrounded by HER things. She will make herself a new place that feels like home.

However, she still needs some more new-old things. She needs a full-sized bed. Remember when I graduated to a big girl bed?:

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

Well, the Princess fell head-over-heels in love with my new bed. In a bad way. She coveted my bed and made no bones about chiding me every time she came home.
Sooooooo- guess what???
SuperMom of the century (that would be me for those keeping track) posted an ad on Craigslist looking for a similar type bed for the Princess.
And guess what else??
I got a response.
And guess what else again????
IT WAS THE EXACT SAME BED AS MINE!! Really. WTF are the chances of that?

We went to pick it up yesterday. It needs to be sanded and painted, but it's structurally in great shape. The Princess is nearly beside herself. Add to that......she and the Heat Miser spotted a couch that the Princess fell in love with some weeks back. At a consignment shop. The couch just went to final markdown last week. We went in and the owner gave us another 30 dollars off. So we also picked up the couch yesterday. It is an old couch....camel back, classic design with an off-white upholstery in a very delicate Damask pattern. Quite beautiful actually. Very similar to this:


So now the Princess has a bed and a couch and ..........

This morning, I check Craigslist and find this:

http://newhaven.craigslist.org/fur/296044083.html

She has no dining table. And given the fact that her space will likely be limited, this will be perfect. I go to see it and probably pick it up this afternoon. It probably needs a good coat of Polyurethane, but it's a great little table. At a great little price. We've also been picking up some pots and pans at places like Odd Job and Tuesday morning. The kid LOVES to cook.

So, my Princess is on her way to being a big girl in the big world. After the excitement of getting all the big furniture pieces and moving her into HER place wears off, I will probably be a bit melancholy over the loss of my baby.



Then I'll tell her to get off her ass and make me a nice dinner so I can eat at her new table, watch some TV on her new couch and then take a nap on her new bed.



Ahhhhh, the joys of motherhood.

I won't miss him if he goes away and stays away.......

Just a hunter for the devil -- Hollow Man -- The Cult -- 1985


I have been bested. I can admit it. Not without bitterness and hatred in my burning soul......but I CAN admit it.

I thought I was invincible. I thought I had won. I was a goddess of power, the Queen of my universe.

I would not be beaten.




Until yesterday.


Do you remember squirrel watch 2007??


http://nowthepartysover.blogspot.com/2007/03/little-creatures-all-come-out.html


Remember all of my puffed up boasting about how I had annihilated the nesting grounds of those smarmy little fuckers? Boarded up their red-carpeted entrance. Swept my garage until it was rodent free. Remember that??

Well, they have officially upped the ante. They are back. Nasty little fuckin' vermin. I have been checking the garage every day since I boarded up their escape hatch. NOTHING.

They were playing me. Watching me from the Oak tree.....laughing at my big-assed assurance that they were gone. Waiting to make a fool of me.

I missed 1 day of checking. ONE FRIGGIN DAY! And they came back. Chewed another big hole next to the one I patched. My garage looks like a piece of driftwood.

I am out for blood now. Seriously. I am just sitting here, plotting their demise. In great masses.

I have considered this:

And this:



Or how about this option?:



Does anyone have a cell phone number for this guy?:



Know of any families looking for the main ingredient in Roadkill stew?:




I am so not kidding about this. I don't want to hear any shit about how Squirrels are so cute, or how they are a wonderful part of nature, or how it's so goddamned fun to feed them and watch their tiny furry hands as they eat a hunk of stale bagel.

I DON"T WANT TO HEAR ANY OF IT.

I want them dead. That's all. A simple request, really.

It's not gonna' be so damn funny when my garage looks like this:




Fuckin' tree rats.

You’ve got a very heavy reputation........

But no one knows about your low-life -- David Bowie -- Criminal World -- 1983



I am reeling here. Just reeling. Over the past 2 days, there has been news that has shocked me. Firstly, the mother of a friend was killed in a car accident. This friend is a firefighter....one of the last " good guys" around. He is just a genuinely nice, smart, dedicated person. And his mother is gone. Another wake to attend. I am so sad for him. His mother must have been a wonderful person to raise such a good son.


But then, as if that news wasn't stunning enough, a day later, there is this:

http://www.courant.com/news/local/hc-13194812.apds.m0274.bc-ct--polimar13,0,5964885.story?coll=hc-headlines-home

and more here:

http://www.nytimes.com/2007/03/14/nyregion/14haven.html

This arrested lieutenant.......a longtime friend of the family. Also a distant family member. I grew up playing with his kids. His first wife and my Mother were good friends from childhood, and so, naturally, we kids became friends too. Because I was " the kid without a father" he was very sweet with me when I was a child. At that point, he only had sons, so he was always happy to indulge a little girl even though he was a big, tough cop.

I have only good memories of him personally, although I was VERY well aware of his reputation in the community as a "cowboy" cop. It was hard not to be aware. EVERYONE knows him or knows of him in this area.

His oldest son is now an officer on the same police force, the force where he is accused of committing these violations.



I am beyond speechless.

Tell me something good .........

Tell me that you like it -- Tell Me Something Good -- Chaka Khan -- 1974



Because I was tagged by the ever-witty and generous Betty of http://tasteslikepurple.blogspot.com/ fame, I will now complete the Meme of sevens. Also, it serves as a pretty interesting diversion from the long-winded recounting of my misspent youth. Thanks Betty!

SEVEN THINGS:

Seven Things To Do Before I Die:

1. Get my aunt and cousins together in one room, tell them what I think about their sorry asses........and then kick the crap out of their sorry asses.
2. Move to a state that DOES NOT have winter. Screw you ice and snow.
3. Meet David Bowie.
4. Get laid again ( and hopefully before the dementia sets in so I can remember it and think back upon it fondly).
5. Live alone. Completely and totally alone. With no curtains.
6. Buy a motorhome and leave my troubles behind ( see ya at the RV park Bett).
7. Retire and make a bathrobe my attire of choice. But not a pink bathrobe.

Seven Things I Cannot Do:

1. Eat seafood. Makes me gag just typing it.
2. Pink (the color, not the girl, although I can't do her either).
3. Whistle like a construction worker. Not even when I wear my hardhat.
4. Small, blonde men.
5. Tolerate whiners, fakers, losers or wimps.
6. Drive slowly.
7. Forgive

Seven Things That Attract Me to... (a man)

1. Body art.
2. Cynicism
3. Uniforms.
4. A job that keeps him away most of the time.
5. If he's an orphan. And an only child.
6. Mostly silent. Or a mime.
7. Not on work release. Or parole.

Seven Things I Say

1. Fuck this.
2. Fuck that.
3. Asshole!!! (Said with emphasis, usually to another driver)
4. I don't remember that.
5. DWAH.
6. Off, leave it, down, sit, out, no biting, slow down, here, come ( to the dogs you perverts)
7. I don't remember what I say. Stop bugging me about it.

Seven Good Books

1. Silence Of The Lambs.
2. Manhunter.
3. Don't Shoot The Dog.
4. To Kill A Mockingbird.
5. Dry
6. Monster
7. My truck manual that reminds me how to reset my clock and unlock the friggin-automatic-lock-me-out-of-my-car-majiggy.

Seven Good Movies

1. Silence Of The Lambs ( see a theme here?).
2. Little Miss Sunshine.
3. Memento.
4. Best In Show.
5. Whatever Happened To Baby Jane?
6. Pee Wee's Big Adventure.
7. Less Than Zero


Anyone who wants----give it a whirl. Just don't blame me for the results.

Resolution of happiness.......

Things have been dark for too long -- INXS -- Don't Change -- 1982

Before ending this story, I have to admit, this has been pretty tough. Dredging up some of these memories, sharing the way I felt, admitting to the mess I had made of my life......not easy. So I thank all of you for your comments, thoughts and encouragement.

Back to the story:

I was at the unwed mothers home. Lonely and sad, but filling my days with decisions and preparations and routine. T did not bother to contact me, but he had stayed in touch with my cousin D to get regular updates on how I was doing. Little did I know that his Mother was plotting out his future, and it did not include his girlfriend or child.

The very first pre-natal appointment I was able to get was in the end of November. Based on my estimation of dates, the doctor informed me that I should be due on or around mid-January. They sent me for my first Ultrasound, and with my very first glimpse of a ribcage, a leg, a tiny fist......I knew that I loved this baby. More than anything. I didn't care what anyone else thought. I would fight for this baby and be the best parent I could be.

Two weeks later, I went for my second pre-natal visit. The doctor felt that the baby was very tiny, but seemed healthy and active. I was petrified that there would be something wrong as I had received no medical care for the first 7 months.

Then, the night after that visit, I went into labor:

http://nowthepartysover.blogspot.com/2006/12/i-absolutely-love-you-but-were-absolute.html

After 5 days in the hospital, I returned home to my Mother......as a mother myself. I was nervous and excited and sad and lonely and worried. Just like any other brand new parent. My Mother laid down the law and advised me that this baby was MINE, not hers. She told me that she would help in any way possible, but made it clear that she WOULD NOT raise this baby for me. She would not be an automatic babysitter and she would not be taken advantage of. The Princess and I were released from the hospital on a Friday, and my Mother returned to her job the following Monday. She wanted me to learn to be a parent.

So I did. Even though the Princess was a colicky, miserable infant, I dove into being a Mother. I tried to do everything right. I tried to prove everyone else wrong. I was going to be the very best teenaged single mother......ever. And in the process, I nearly drove myself into the ground. I was exhausted and depressed. I had never resolved the situation with T, and I was trying to deal with how that made me feel. I couldn't discuss it with my Mother. Just the mere mention of his name made her see red. My friends had all moved on to their college lives. My cousin D slowly faded out of the picture once I was no longer her party-pal. I felt like I had no one, not even T. His Mother had secretly sent him to Egypt to work on a friend's cargo line. I had absolutely no contact with him until the Princess was 6 weeks old. I didn't know where he was or why he never called. I was crushed by his lack of caring.

Then, one day, the phone rang. It was T. He was home and he wanted to see the baby. I arranged for us to meet him at a local mall.

It was the start of another 3 years of upheaval. A tumultuous relationship that brought me to the edge of emotional health several times. A time in my life that was harder than anything I had experienced.




But not as hard as what was to come after we finally split. ( For another time)

How can people be so heartless.........

You know I'm hung up on you -- Three Dog Night -- Easy To Be Hard -- 1969



OK. So. To get you up to speed:

17 and pregnant. 16 year old boyfriend. Distraught and devastated Mother. Baby due in a few short months.


Here we go.


After spending days crying, my Mother, as is her nature, gathered herself up and tried to take a logical look at the situation. Her first act was to call T's mother and inform her of the news. And ask for the 4 of us to sit down and discuss what we were going to do.

T's mother's response - to deny the possibility that he could be responsible in any way for the pregnancy. That was that. Didn't want to hear it. Didn't care. Not her son.

She actually said to my Mother " I don't know how this could have happened!" As if she was around. As if I was the first girl her son had ever slept with. As if.........

So, we finally did sit and meet. T was stricken completely silent for the entire time. Never said a friggin' word. I remember wanting to choke a phrase, a defense, a word of solidarity out of his mouth. But he said nothing. His Mother was adamant that the baby should be placed for adoption. My Mother was insistent that I should be allowed to make my own decision as I was the one carrying the baby and T apparently had no opinion on the matter whatsoever. I had considered adoption as a possibility, but had not yet made up my mind.

Until.......he called about an hour after they left to say that he had NEVER wanted children anyway, so he, in fact, agreed with his mother about adoption. They even had a "friend" in mind who had offered to pay me 10,000 dollars in exchange for my baby.....with no red tape involved. His family wanted me to sell our baby for cash. I was literally stunned. Here was the person I loved ( I know, we were babies ourselves, but I did love him) who had spent months with me, planning and dreaming about our future......and now he was caving under the pressure of his Mother. My heart was broken. I didn't understand how he could betray me and his baby. I felt completely and utterly alone.

And then to add to that sense of isolation, my Mother decided that I could not stay at home for the remaining months of my pregnancy. She felt that I needed to make my own decisions about what I was going to do, without her opinions clouding mine. She also felt that I needed more guidance than she could offer me at the time, so she made arrangements for me to go and live at a home for unwed mother's about 45 minutes away. I was just devastated, although I came to understand her decision in the years that followed. I was a kid who was probably, clinically diagnosable as Oppositionally Defiant. My Mother felt that I needed to think out this very important decision, and have only myself to hold accountable for it.

So off I went. To live with 6-8 other pregnant girls. To be a social pariah in a small community. To be alone with my own thoughts. To receive medical care and emotional support from professionals. To learn about routine and structure and responsibility. To be completely removed from my former life. No visits from T, limited phone calls , no ability to escape my situation. It was there that I decided that I wanted to keep this baby. I wanted to straighten out my life, be a responsible mother.




I wanted, desperately, to do something right.

You might know of the original sin...........

And you might know how to play with fire -- INXS -- Original Sin -- 1984



So......where were we??? Anyone? {{knock, knock......anyone out there?}}


OK, I guess I'll have to go it alone.

We were back in the very start of Spring, 1983. T and I had become a couple. ( a couple of what I can't say). BTW, you should probably know that T was 16 months younger than me. I didn't know this when I first approached him, and for a few days after, until it dawned on me that---even though we went to the same high school----I had never really seen him around. Maybe because I was a Senior and he was a Sophomore! But, never being one to be deterred by such trivial facts, I refused to let the age ( and maturity...if either of us had any) difference bother me. We were together constantly.

His Mother was on an extended Archaeological dig---out of the country. We had his house to ourselves as T's younger sister was in boarding school. It was a few months of sheer fun. We went to school in the morning, met at "our spot", signed into our first period classes, and then left. We walked one block to his house, often stopping at a nearby store for food, and we hung out all day. Several days a week. Sometimes, there was a crowd of us. Friends, classmates. We made elaborate pancake breakfasts, we blasted Punk and New Wave music, we danced and partied and had a great time. Neither of our parents had any idea that we were each missing so much school.

Then, the proverbial "other shoe" dropped. I went to school one day and was met by my guidance counselor. She advised me that, although most of my teachers were in agreement that I could and should graduate, I might be in jeopardy of losing my graduation rights if I didn't start showing up to school on a more regular basis. I basically blew her off.

Because, by that time, I had a bigger concern to deal with. I had missed a period. So, when a few weeks later, the same guidance counselor sent a letter to my home advising that I would not be allowed to graduate, I wasn't concerned in the least. My Mother was devastated. She had worked so very hard for my entire life----alone-----to guarantee me a better future, and she was crushed that I was throwing it away. She had no idea................

And I was NOT about to tell her. Once I had taken 2 positive pregnancy tests, the only people I told were T and my cousin D. T told his best friend Willie. Outside of the 4 of us, no one knew. And we kept it that way for a long while. A very long while. Until Halloween night of 1983. The baby was due around January. I had no prenatal care whatsoever. I was too afraid to go to a doctor.

In a house with only 2 females, I ad to be a *bit* creative to hide this blooming pregnancy, and I was. I had to throw away feminine products on a monthly basis, I had to buy some new baggier clothes that looked fashionable. I had to live a double life. One as a carefree 17 year old, and one as a scared, pregnant mother-to-be. The body, in response, can do remarkable things. It truly can hide physical evidence of what the mind is not psychologically prepared to handle. Until I confessed to my pregnancy in the end of October, I had only gained a total of 9 pounds!

So when my Mother asked me, point blank, if I was pregnant as I dressed to head out for a Halloween party, I finally confessed. I think she may have had some suspicions, but she certainly WAS NOT prepared for the fact that I was 7 months pregnant!

She stayed in her room and cried for 3 entire days. She only came out to go to the bathroom. I had never felt so guilty in my entire life. She couldn't even look at me. Here she had been a single mother who struggled for everything we had, and I had repeated the same mistake------except that I was 4 years younger than she was when she married and got pregnant with me. And----I was single. AND---- the Father of my baby was only 16 years old.

It was about as bad as a situation could get.



Until it got worse..............

Give me your shoulder, I need a place to wait for morning........

Thomas Dolby -- Airwaves -- 1982

Before we continue the fascinating tale of my misspent youth, let me advise:

Squirrel Watch 2007-----day 3-------- NO SQUIRRELS!!!

Yes, I am THAT good.



Now, on to the show. When we last met in the "runaway" story, I had been returned to my Mother.....unwillingly.


My new boyfriend ( and I use that terminology very loosely...he ended up being a complete whacko) felt that I should be "free" to live however I wanted. And that just reaffirmed all the things I had been thinking. He wanted to help me attain that freedom, and oddly enough, so did his parents! Little did I know at the time....his Mother and Father were crazier than he was. Truly. The Mother ended up being locked away a few years later, the Father lost custody of the kids due to his drug use, and the kids scattered and flitted about for many years as they spiraled out of control. This was a HIGHLY educated and well-known family in academia. But they were completely nutty.

Just the kind of environment I thrived on.

So he and I planned for my departure......for many months. We worked it all out and I was careful to be on good behavior to lull my Mother into a sense of security. She had forbidden me from having any further contact with him after I came back home, so we sneaked around for months. I was going to live him and his family, but this time, I wasn't going to tell anyone else. His parents agreed to "hide" me. It seemed like a flawless plan------to a (now) 17 year old desperate for adventure and freedom. When the time was right, I took off. Left with a few meager belongings and a little bit of money.

Our plan worked for 2 days, until I realized that there was lots of stuff....important teenaged stuff....that I had left behind at home, and I wanted it. He and I took the bus to my house in the middle of the day to avoid my Mother. However, she had apparently decided that tough love was the solution to my wandering ways, and she had changed the locks on the doors so I couldn't get in. I broke a window, climbed in, packed up my belongings and left.

By day 4 at the boyfriend's house, I was getting a little stir crazy in a house full of lunatics who did drugs all night and slept most of the day.......and then camouflaged themselves as upstanding citizens in the world of higher education. There was a steady stream of "friends" who came and went at all hours, and the parents actively encouraged their kids to "experiment with life".....meaning sex, drugs and anything else one could think of. It was all getting a bit too strange for me to handle. So I called my cousin D and asked her to meet me for a girl's night out that evening. It was a request that would end up changing the entire course of my life.

As I had mentioned in the previous post, my cousin D was 2.5 years older than me. Her Mother and my Mother were sisters. My Mother always felt that D would be a good influence on me, so she encouraged our friendship. At the time, my cousin D was 19 and was having a torrid affair with her 32 year old married boss! Nobody knew but me, so she and I had a friendship based on covering each other's backs.

That evening, D and I met at a local pizza place. My boyfriend stayed home. This particular pizza place had a downstairs area that had bathrooms, and then another room which housed several video games ( remember, this was 1983). My cousin and I had gone downstairs to use the ladies room. I was still inside reapplying makeup and she was waiting outside the door for me. When I came out, she said " Hey, look at that guy over there. He's just your type". And he was. Thin, handsome, dark, with a Mohawk. He was all alone, playing a video game and was totally unaware of the two of us standing nearby. The longer I looked at him, the more I liked what I saw. He was simply beautiful. Finally, my cousin dared me to go up and talk to him. She told me that she would give me 20 dollars to tell him that he was cute and that I wanted to go out with him.

So I did. In a bit more graphic manner. And he agreed.

I left with him that night and never returned to my previous boyfriend, except to pick up my belongings from his house. I don't think he cared very much, although it was a tiny bit uncomfortable when I found out, a few days later that these two guys actually hung out in the same social circle. We also all went to school together.....when we actually went to school.

I stayed with this new guy T, for about a week until my Mother managed to have her Police friends track me down and bring me back home again. T's Mother was divorced from his Father and she was raising her 2 kids alone. They were rather wealthy and very well regarded in the community. She was an Archaeologist and was often gone from the country for weeks at a time. T and his younger sister were " supervised" by the upstairs tenant. Loosely supervised, as the tenant was a college student. It was the perfect hideout, and even after my Mother dragged me back home for the 2nd time, it was the perfect situation for two aimless kids. It also helped that he lived a mere one block from our high school, so skipping school was a breeze. We were a couple and we were having a blast. It was a very exciting time.




Within 3 months, everything would change..............

I keep moving to be stable........

free to wander, free to roam -- Peter Gabriel -- Sky Blue -- 2002



I alluded to a "running away" story yesterday. As I may have mentioned a time or six, I was a troubled teen. Actually, I was really a troubled child, but no one noticed much until I became a very rebellious teenager. My Mother was too busy trying to keep a roof over our heads and food in our bellies. Sometimes she worked 2 jobs outside of the house and then took in extra work at home to survive. My Father had left us with nothing when I was 2, and never paid his child support or alimony.

I likely had undiagnosed ADD, so I spent a lifetime being told that, although bright, I was "not living up to my potential". Around age 14, I got a little sick of constantly hearing that , so I decided that I wouldn't bother living up to anything. I would simply do whatever the hell I wanted.

So I did. I stopped doing ANYTHING that didn't interest me at school or at home. I was constantly in trouble for mouthing off, not showing up for classes, causing trouble......generally being a pain in the ass. I lived on "academic and behavioral probation". By the middle of my Sophomore year of High School, the school contacted my Mother and advised that either she could take me out ( all-girl's Catholic school) and they would refund half of her tuition, or they could kick me out and she would get nothing. Guess which option seemed better?

I returned to public school with my childhood friends ( I was only one of 3 who was sent to a private high school from public middle school), and started to make some new friends. By the time I was 16, I had a lot of friends. Fun friends. With the same theories about authority and rebellion as mine. I had a couple of boyfriends....each one successively more troubled than the previous one. We partied, we hung out in bars and punk clubs, we skipped school for days at a time. We drank, we did some drugs, sometimes we caused some trouble.

But always, it felt like I was being watched. In clubs, at parties, out around the city.....there was always someone who knew my Mother, or who was an off-duty cop/fireman, family friend, spy, assassin........

I was always getting caught doing something wrong. And I was sick of it.

So one night, I asked to borrow my Mother's car to go out to a movie. A Friday night. She gave me a curfew of 12 midnight. I was supposed to be at the movie with my cousin D, who at the time was my best friend. She was 2.5 years older than me, but was generally a "good girl", so my Mother liked me hanging around with her. She thought my cousin D would be a good influence on me. Ohhhhh, how clueless parents can be.

I never went to the movie. I had a new crush, and was in the process of to breaking up with my former boyfriend, so I went to spend some time with the new guy. Around 2 am, I realized what time it was, and that I had already missed my curfew by 2 hours. I had the sinking knowledge that I was going to be in BIG trouble at home, so I simply never went home. For 5 days. No phone calls, no contact........NOTHING. I kept my Mother's car for those 5 days, hidden at the new guys house. My Mother knew nothing about him, so she truly had no idea where I was or what had happened to me. She had to take the bus to work everyday, worried sick about what had happened to her 16 year old daughter.

By day 2, she had a team of friends and family looking for me. Cops, fireman, older family members. I was happily ensconced in the new beau's house with him, his siblings and his very bohemian parents who welcomed me like a long-lost relative. My cousin D was the only person I contacted during that time, and she met me twice to slip me some clothes and money. It was like a vacation....no worries about school or curfew or answering to anyone. The new beau's parents were often away for long periods, so their kids were very comfortable with being home alone. It was a 5 day long party. I had never felt so free.

Sadly, after 4 days of badgering by her parents and my Mother, my cousin D finally caved under the pressure and admitted that she knew where I was. The new beau and I were sound asleep and were awoken by the sound of thunderous pounding on his brownstone door, and the guttural yells of "POLICE, OPEN UP". When his parents opened the door, they were met by some not-so-happy officers demanding that I come with them. They were threatened with arrest for harboring a runaway. I was taken home to my relieved, but very angry Mother. I was furious and my new boyfriend was equally as angry with my Mother. So, we plotted.............





{{to be continued}}

So I got my handgun and I blew him away......

That critter was a bad guy,I had to make him pay -- Queen -- Put Out The Fire --1982

Squirrel watch. Day 2. NOTHING. Not a tail flick, a leaf gathered, a nut in the rafters. NOTHING. Those little bastards recognize homicidal rage when they see it. They had better stay away. Clear of me. Because, even though I don't own a gun, I DO know how to shoot, and I'm a pretty good shot. I've also never been in trouble with the law. The man. The heat.

So I could, theoretically gather up some cash, take myself to the local gun shop and buy the ultimate in squirrel repellants. But, do you think I could be arrested for firing, say a Walther P99, much like this one:


in my backyard? At wildlife.

I may resign to watchful waiting. I can't use poison cause of the damn dogs. I can't trap the little assholes cause'....well, then whadya' do with them? Let them loose and they come right back. So, if they won't stay away, I guess I'll have to resort to extreme measures. I wonder if the Walther comes in a lovely shade of pale blue?

Seriously, though. I do know how to shoot. I was taught as a teenager by a very close family friend who was a cop.

http://nowthepartysover.blogspot.com/2007/01/i-hurt-you-cause-you-hurt-me.html

I was somewhat of a troubled teen, and, the way he saw it, the best way to deal with a troubled teen was to give her a gun and let her go at it.

Mmmmm, O.K?

He actually thought that learning to shoot would be a lesson in patience, control and responsibility for me. He took me to the Police firing range in the evenings, tutored me on the care, usage and safety of a firearm, taught me exercises to improve my arm strength ( you'd be surprised how hard it is to hold a gun steady----they're heavy) and then eventually, tutored me on the art of target shooting.

I LOVED IT! Not for the patience or control or responsibility.....but for the POWER. I LOVED THE FEELING OF POWER. And, surprisingly, I was good. Really good. But, it was a dangerous mix, and my family friend eventually had to admit that maybe he had been wrong. The shooting wasn't teaching me anything more than how to kill a paper target. I just wanted to blow those quasi-men off their hangers. I had no concern for the life lessons he was trying to teach me.

Next, he tried taking me on a few arson cases. He was also an Arson Squad Investigator and I guess he thought he could put my natural curiosity to good use. These were arson crime scenes that had already been processed, so I was not disturbing any evidence, and he never divulged any clues. He wanted to see what theories I could come up with based on the scene and the documented evidence.

I was bored. I wanted to go back to blasting away at targets.

So, our foray into the criminal side of life ended after a few months. He continued to try and mentor me for several years, but I was already beyond redemption. I think he desperately wanted to make life a little easier for my Mother, so he kept trying to help by giving me some positive direction....some focus, but by then,I felt his efforts were intrusive. I was always being watched. I couldn't do anything in my town without someone, anyone, finding out about it. Cops are a small clan, as are firefighters, and my immediate friend/family circle was made up of both.

So, what did I do?

I ran away...............the first of several times.

{{check back for the details tomorrow}}

Little creatures all come out

Creatures Of Love -- Talking Heads -- 1985


First of all-----I GOT POLICE TICKETS!!!!! Yeahhhhhh. I have seen the Police, I think, a total of 7 times and LOVED them every time. This time, I am taking my daughter. She has wanted to see them for a while, so we will have a great time. Wooohoooooooo.

As for the little creatures.......well, we have squirrels in our garage. Fuckin' little rats with bushy tails. I hate them. Hate. Them. The only good squirrel is one that looks like this:

So, here's how the nasty tale plays out.

The Heat Miser comes racing into the house one day last week. She's all freaked out and proclaims " there's some kind of BIG animal in the garage". Our garage is detached and she was pulling her car in there to shelter it from the icy weather.

I basically poo-pooed her saying " oh, it's probably just a squirrel". You see, we have a monstrous 4 story Oak tree in our backyard. A virtual Disney World for squirrels. And, across the street from us is woods. The mangy bastards are all over the place.

The HM insisted that there was no way that the behemoth that had been sizing her up could be a squirrel. I thought nothing more about it until Saturday. I went to the garage to have a look-see, and to my surprise, there was a big, gaping, mocking hole in the wooden siding of the garage. In the back. Those sneaky fucks didn't want their dirty scheme to be noticed.

I got myself up on a ladder and surveyed the hole. It really was pretty big. Probably around 7 inches around. That's when I decided that I should check inside the garage. To see where the nasty vermin had tried to take up residence.

Well, to my surprise, they had created a very cozy hideout for themselves. In the one, small loft area under the eaves of the garage. It was filled with leaves and sticks and cardboard and vermin shit. Charming. It took me an hour to pull it all down, and just when I finished in that location, I found a second, smaller nest in one of the wall shelves. The dirty bastards had eaten up cardboard boxes to create their own little love shack.

So, I spent most of my Sunday cleaning my garage. I moved and cleaned EVERYTHING. I raked out their mess, I swept out the remains, I used the leaf blower to destroy any remnants left behind. I screwed a thick piece of wood over their hidey-hole and I left NOTHING for them to nest in. Nothing.

It took me 5 .5 hours. In 35 degree weather. In an unheated garage. Vermin bastards. It's a good thing I don't own a gun or they would be dropping from the trees like acorns.

Today, I have an achy back and sore arms. Any moment now, I'll probably start with a fever. The first symptoms of the Hantavirus:

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Hantavirus

But, guess what?

I GOT TICKETS TO SEE THE POLICE!!!!!

this is my message to you:

don't worry about a thing, cause every little thing is gonna be alright -- Bob Marley -- Three Little Birds -- 1977



The phone rang at 8:30 this morning.It was my Vet....she doesn't have Saturday office hours. As soon as I heard her voice, I instinctively held my breath. I knew if she was calling on a Saturday, it was probably bad.

I was wrong. I love it when I'm wrong about things like that. Sadie had a benign histicytoma. The Pathology report said that the surgery was "complete and curative". She only has to finish off her antibiotics and have her stitches removed next week....and she's done. Fine. Cured.

As for me, well, I hung up the phone and cried. Just a little.

It has been a very good day.

Now, just remind me to tell you all the next animal-related problem here at Casa de Avalon. When we meet again.

Hey, thanks to all you cool people. From me and Sadie. You really did make this past week a lot easier.

This little girl of mine,I wanna say she's so fine.........

And each and every day, I make sure she has her way. -- The Temptations -- The Girl's Alright With Me -- 1965

So, no news is good news. Right? RIGHT??

Haven't heard anything yet on the Pathology of Sadie's lump. Sadie herself.....well, she's feeling just fine. Back to kickin' ass on a daily basis. She's never one to let a few stitches and some anesthesia slow her down. Not my girl.

She is, however, getting more and more spoiled by the day. I can't help myself. She just looks so pitiful in her collar. And little. So what.....I give her a few hours of collar-less time every night. On my lap. So that she can't chew her stitches out. SO WHAT.

And my girl is playing me for all she's worth. According the my Mother, she spends her afternoons tearing around the yard, bursting in and out of the doggie door, ripping toys out of all the other Poodles mouths and then hiding the toys so they can't find them. Generally being a complete and total bitch.

But when I walk in the door, it's all about the PITIFUL. In caps. Cause' it's dramatic. Sad eyes, listless posture, sometimes some quiet crying......she pulls out the big guns for me. And as soon as I turn my back, she's off terrorizing the masses again.

So, I guess what I'm trying to say is.......



I'M A BIG OLE' SUCKA.