Monday, May 22, 2017

And on it goes...

Monday, Week 6 of the Bathroom Quagmire.

No end in sight. Contractor has been absent for two weeks due to a misordered tub, then a week-long conference in San Francisco. Over a week ago, it was "We'll be there Monday bright and early." Today it was a text at noon, "Just touched down in Dallas."

This was supposed to be from the "Total Bathroom Renovation in 3 days" guy. Six fucking weeks, three of which I never saw a single worker. I will never ever hire another contractor to save myself from a little work.

No thanks, I think I'll walk


Don't correct me, I know what I mean


Sunday, May 21, 2017

Actually, I would never recommend #2, I don't have a clue what's going on with #4 (poor puppy), and #1 is clearly one of those Liberal guys who can't fight. So yeah, Burger guy is your only real choice.

It really is my favorite


Monday, May 15, 2017

Growing old sucks


We've stopped dressing for special occassions


Happy Monday!

So, expecting to have contractors here finishing up my 4-week long "3-day bathroom renovation", I jumped out of bed cleaning/organizing/straightening the bathrooms for easier access. And then I got the email that the bathtub that should have been ordered and installed 4 weeks ago that had to be reordered because the contractor ordered the wrong drain hole location still isn't in and he's in San Francisco for a conference, so things won't be done until next week.

Fuck me running with a pitchfork. I'm tired of having everything in boxes in the living room. So how's your Monday going?


Sunday, May 14, 2017

Happy Mother's Day weepy glees

I know I post a lot of twisted shit on here, but that's just to cover the soft, gooey center. The person I really am cries at Disney movies, and sweet Hallmark cards, and stories like this one. I didn't steal the video this time or parts of the story. I want you to go HERE and read the story and watch the video. Seriously, watch it. You'll thank me later.

Then say some prayers for Kenasyn and her awesome mommy. And also her daddy, he sounds pretty sharp, too.

A dark sense of humor is a sign of dementia


Where girls with little boobies shop


A girl has her limits

Four years ago, almost five, holy shitsnacks almost five????, anyway when I started this blog, I was all about the exercising and strength training and toning and hot, sexy bodies. But I was younger then. And dumber. It seems 50 was the border; once I crossed it, everything changed. I wasn't fat, I was "grandmotherly"; AARP started sending me shit and none of it was exercise related; I got lunch at Dairy Queen last week on Taco Tuesday and the little teenybopper behind the register gave me a Senior discount. Without asking me.

Fuck it, I'm going with the flow and the flow isn't going anywhere near a gym.


Son, you're in too deep

It would be easier to fake kill your fake family
in a fake car wreck and take bereavement leave.



Happy Mother's Day!


Thursday, May 11, 2017

I almost died

I've been walking since I was one year old. Mom said I never really crawled, just stood and took off. Maybe I shouldn't have skipped the crawling stage; I didn't develop good equilibrium and balance. I took ballet lessons from age 4 to 17, danced en pointe for four years, I can still trip over the pattern in a rug. Poppy's nickname for me growing up was Grace.

So today I fell off the deck. The deck we've had since 2007. Ten years. I've gone up and down at least 10 times a day, 365 days, 10 years, 36500 times. And today I missed a step. You know that feeling of impending doom when you miss a step? Your life flashes before your eyes and you do all sorts of crazy acrobatics to keep from hitting the ground. You look like the Wacky Waving Arms Inflatable Guy.


Dancing frantically, I managed to keep my feet on each step going down. The top of my feet, the sides, and at one point, I think the tops of my toes. My only thought was, "Don't go down. Max will pee on you." I got both feet on terra firma, but kept going off balance, staggering and flailing. Now I looked like Kermit trying to line dance. But I didn't go down. At my advanced age, I could have gotten seriously hurt, right? Broken a hip or something, and that just wouldn't do.

I finally got myself under control, stopped and assessed my condition. Upright, check. Nothing broken, check. I'm good, right? Wrong. I feel like I've been in a serious wreck. My neck and shoulders are Whiplash Central. I'm strained and twisted all the way down my left side. And my left ankle is roughly the size of a cantaloupe. But not broken. I think. I went on to pick up the Cute Chicks, grateful for God sparing me from a nasty fall and thinking I wouldn't feel the full brunt of my valiant effort to stay upright. I was wrong. By the time I got to the school and tried to get out of the momvan, my body was telling me to fuck off. My ankle wouldn't hold me up, my back was screaming, and I couldn't turn my head to the right. I somehow got the chicks home and unloaded, but couldn't get up the steps to the deck, and I seriously contemplated sleeping in the van. It took me about 20 minutes, two Tylenol and a muscle relaxer to get up and in the house.

So here I sit, in a relaxed haze with moist heat on my back and ice on my ankle and a storm front building around my ass. And I still don't know what started my downfall.



I bet it was an Adele concert


Redneck Ingenuity


No President has ever fired an FBI director!

Oh, wait....


Another Jedburgh graduate?

Seriously, I mean, what the actual fuck?
I want to know what's printed on her shirt.
ICE? POLICE? NOVICE?
I'm not a violent person, but she should be pistol-whipped.


Tuesday, May 9, 2017

And then there was Prom...

I am so sorry I've left y'all hanging for so long; it seems like this month has continued the constant Angel Attack that April started. Bathrooms are still in flux waiting on the hall bathtub that had to be reordered because they ordered the wrong drain hole. Classes are still going strong. Actually CLASS. One, singular. But damn. The assignment Saturday took 4.5 hours to complete, and the last section of it was a fly-by-the-seat-of-my-pants effort. I seriously didn't have a clue about where to get a clue. But the bullshit is strong with me and I got 20 out of 20 points and a lot of nice compliments.

And then there was Prom.

I'm always prepared for any outcome.
  • TQ wants to go, but doesn't want to get dressed.
  • TQ wants to get dressed, but doesn't want to go.
  • TQ gets dressed, we go, she has a meltdown and we don't get out of the van.
  • The world ends in a fiery cataclysm.
Fortunately none of that happened. We got dressed, went and met with the busses, and headed to the venue. Most of the Prom goers travel together on the big Greyhound team busses, but that's just too much for TQ; we go in the momvan before they head out.

Two years ago, it was held in a "hacienda" in Borger. Last year, it was held in a barn northwest of Amarillo. WAAAAAAYYYYY northwest of Amarillo. Took 45 minutes and many turns down caliche country roads to get there. This year was not much different, but easier to get to. A party barn northeast of Borger. I ran over two snakes and had to wait for a herd of antelope to cross the road to get there.

Here is our Prom Princess arriving:
Begonia Pink chiffon halter with a bedazzled sash of her choosing.

Let's talk about that sash for a minute or two. The dress is pretty but plain, no bling, so I let her pick out a sash at David's Bridal (these ladies need two huge hugs and a lot of bravos, so sweet to TQ). She immediately went to the sales table, very much her mother's daughter, and picked out something that looked like if Elvis and Liberace had a love child and that love child got a BeDazzler for Christmas....

The price tag said $498, the discount was 75%, which still made it ridiculously expensive. We got it to the checkout and the floor manager knocked another 50% off because "it was two seasons ago." I don't care, I'll take it.

When the kids arrived, they walked down this long wooden walkway, I'm guessing what the bridal party walks down when they have weddings out there. We let all of the others go down before we started; suddenly, a young man comes running back, offers TQ his arm, and asks if he can escort her in. He not only walks her down, he walks her into the barn and over to the table where he and his friends have saved her a seat. Cry #2.


Let's talk footwear. There were ropers, sneakers and flipflops.
The only pair of red CFMs were on one of the young men.
He lost a bet.
This was one of the coolest venues I've seen for one of these things. The interior was country chic, eclectic hanging chandeliers from the wooden rafters, BBQ for the menu, and a DJ who played country and rock for the dancing. Now let's talk music. There wasn't any rap, hiphop, jungle boogie. There also wasn't any new Nashville what the hell is this "country". There was Lynyrd Skynyrd, Hank Williams Jr, Hank III, Willie, Waylon, etc. Music you can two-step and waltz to. And yes, these kids can dance.

TQ isn't the most coordinated, but she loves to dance and she had plenty of opportunities. The young man above spun her around the dance floor a couple of times, and the Woo! girls made sure they included her in their group dances. The Woo! girls, if you need explanation, are those fun-loving, high-spirited girls without dates who aren't wall-flowers. They dance together or alone in a group, and you can always find them by following the "Wooo!'s"



We got there around 7ish and lasted until 10ish. She ate, she danced, she laughed. She had a blast. I can't believe this is her last Prom. She's 22 this year and legally out of the school system. We've got a post-school program lined up starting in August, and between now and then we have Graduation. Next week, we go to the Art Room and get her cap and gown. The graduates-to-be will put them on and do the traditional Senior Walk through the High School, Junior High, and Elementary schools. We'll see how she does with that, but yes, there will be more pics. More happy TQ face.






Tuesday, May 2, 2017

CatholiQuick: Home of the Speedy Confession

I'll bet the sins and penances are on a numbered chart outside the confessional.
"Forgive me Father, for I have sinned. 2-2-2-three fives- have a dozen nines."
"Four twos, a four, a half a dozen ones. Go in Peace. NEXT!"