HalfAsstic.com

I have me some awesome aunts.  I have the aunts everybody else wishes they had.  But the kicker is that my aunt’s domiciles represent their awesomeness perfectly.  I will now take you, my lucky readers, on a tour of one aunt’s place and later I will have a part 2 installment of the other one’s.

My mither’s sister, Merrinette, (I call her Minnette and have since I was a wee, small child), lives in Burleson, Texas and is a Maine Coon cat breeder.  She has Maine Coon’s running all over the place at her house.  Litters of kittens behind every door.  Well, not really, but she does have lots of the beautiful cats and does a booming business.  Take a look at her beauties at Amerrykoon Cattery!

Her husband and my uncle, Ray, has been building pools for hundreds of years.  HUNDREDS, I TELL YOU.  Here are some shots of their domicile and, mostly, the area outside where everybody stays.  You will see why everyone wants to stay outside around the pool soon enough.  His crew and designers are the best in the biz.  Take a look at SunRay Pools!

Memorable quote alert!

My Minnette and Mither and I were sitting around eating lunch on her birthday the last time I was up there and somebody said something like, “…doesn’t that just make you want to cry?”, something to that effect.  Minnette immediately said, “I don’t believe in crying-it makes your nose snotty and your head hurt.  I’ve given it up.”  There was a pause and she said, “Unless it’s something that Ray can fix…”.

She also said that, “There’s a very fine line between stupid and stupendous.”.  Not too sure what that means in day to day life, but I am certain it is true often enough.  I wish I could remember what we were talking about when she said it.

Now, on with the tour!

We had so much fun the last time we were there, stories are still being told…

They have a newish salt water pool that is a wonder to behold.  It is the most fun you can have in a Texas summer, that’s for sure!

The problem is in trying to get the entire thing in one shot.  Impossible.  Unless someone flies over, I guess.  Soooo, I had Minnette send me some shots they had a professional do for advertising purposes with the pool business.

Here are her pics:

There’s a little grotto under the diving platform waterfall.  It has a seat and you can just sit in there and watch everything going on through a wall of water.

There are also some beautiful shots of the Koi pond that I would love to show you, however, while they were taken at the same time and downloaded the same way and transferred using the same magic dust, they, for some unknown reason, are too big to put in the post.  Actually they’re not.  I looked at them.  But their file size if different for some reason that alludes me.  You’re just going to have to trust me that the fish are beautiful and there are floating lilies and flowers and serenity and you just have to watch out not to get splashed by the kids leaping into the pool.

This is some of the landscaping over behind the edge of the pool on the far end.

Here we have the inside of Minnette’s and Ray’s house.  Looking from back kinda close to the back door towards the front, through the dining area and living room.  It’s a really beautiful log house that is decorated Texan/Americana top to bottom.

And finally…  You know how everything is bigger in Texas?  Weeeeell, this little gal is named Itsy Bitsy.  She is grown and is now pushing three pounds dripping wet.  She stands about 5″ tall at the shoulder and is just as sweet as can be.   She barks, but the last time I was there, anyway, you couldn’t really hear anything much when she did it.  Just had to pay very close attention to her to see if she was saying anything at all. She is a toy Yorkie.  You know, one of those dust mop dogs, only there’s not nearly enough dog to complete an entire dust mop.  Maybe a dust cloth…

I am told she loves Vienna Sausages and she is most definitely Minnette and Ray’s pride and joy.   She has a very big heart.  One the size of… Texas.♥

It will probably come as some surprise to you, maybe even shock, to know that someone as laid back as myself is quite capable of having and, yes, properly maintaining a neurosis or two.  OK, maybe even more than two.  Perhaps I am riddled with them.  Perhaps not.  BUT, I CAN CLAIM TO HAVE ONE!

Becky, over at Mommy Wants Vodka, was talking about a few of hers and even asked her readers at the end of her post, what some of ours are.  I felt obliged to answer.  Prepare yourself.  I will begin to come across as more and more human and less and less like the giddy goddess you all know me to be.  Yes, you do.  STOP LAUGHING.

I guess my most obvious one would have to be my laundry.  I do get behind on it from time to time, but not too often, however if it’s not done “just so” and folded perfectly, and the knit shirts are almost always hung on hangers to dry and the towels are folded in thirds lengthwise and then doubled in half,  and so are washcloths and, I can’t live without a bleach pen and a stain stick, and the drawers are always neat and the clothes in the closet are hung in order of color, and I want so much to have a “discussion” with the dry cleaners about the order they return John’s shirts in, and all towels, washcloths, dishtowels and sheets and pillowcases MUST be washed in hot water,and everything else in cold, (separated by colors, of course).  Warm water is for people who can’t commit.   AND, apparently run-on sentences are not part of the whole neurosis thing for me.  Let me check… Nope.  I can live with it.

See, I’m just one of the gang and not the HalfAsstic Royalty you thought I was!

STOP LAUGHING!

Free toes, everybody!

This morning Keelan came downstairs and told me that The Snake died last night.  I think she really thought I’d be more devastated than I am.  Don’t get me wrong, I liked the snake.  She was fun to take out and hold and let hang out around my neck, etc.  I think I spent more time with her than anybody else simply because I’m here more.  But, love?  It’s kinda hard to get to love a snake, like you would a dog or cat or something that shows personality more.

I do, however, feel very sorry for her.  I am sure the reason she didn’t eat the other day is because she was sick.  She didn’t act any differently, but hey, she’s a snake.

Last night I was conversing with Witchypoo via emails and was just catching her up to what all was going on.  You know, up to the minute reporting, here at KMEX.   Heh.  OH! or maybe, KLOO, that sounds apt.   KPOT?  No, that sounds like I gots weed here.  I am sure my posts would be more interesting if that was the case.

KPOO!  That may have to be the call letters for my station!  KPOO!  I love it.  …..er, what was I talking about?  Oh yeah!  Witchypoo threw up an email chat conversation between she and I over at Kelley’s place when she was guest blogging and while we were chatting last night she said I definitely need to blog about what was going on then.

Here is my stab at copying and pasting the convo along with the color coded thingy so you know that it’s me talking when it’s blue and Witchypoo the plain text.  (Notice, that I will do a better job at getting the colors right than she did.)

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Did I tell you last night that the snake had mites?  She did.  I bathed her in olive oil and then wiped her clean and they all appeared to fall off.  There weren’t too many.  I blame that damn pet shop Kee was buying the “sanitary” mice from.

Yeah, but will snakeypoo eat frozen mice?

Kee says she doesn’t want to feed her frozen cause it’s “not as nutritional”.  I am gonna have to google it and find me some reliable info on the whole thing.

Well, then, she had best be prepared to perform the olive oil snakey hand job.

Heh.  That has me giggling.  And thinking, “EEEWWWWWWW!” at the same time.

I know. It’s a gift.

Nurse was here and just left.  New catheter for H.  Doesn’t seem to be working at this point.  We will see.  I have a special picture for you of what I saw when I came in here to sit down at the pooter and try to work on my post some more.  Oh, and talk to you via email of course.  I will send it.

Uh oh!

Keelan feeds snake in a big plastic tote, to “not confuse it about what is food and what is not…” or some such shit.  She does this in her room.  Upstairs.  Not downstairs.  Not downstairs in my chair where I sit and do pooter things.  Yet, this is what I found.  A snake that’s not hungry and a mouse that’s more than a little stupid.  Maybe the snake just doesn’t like to eat things that are that stupid…?

OMG! You are totally blogging this aren’t you?

Maybe…  Somehow it doesn’t seem that bizarre if you live here with it.  heh

God.  That’s sad, isn’t it?

not sad, but blogworthy. lots of folk are skeered of snakes. or fascinated by them. or would like to hear aobut the olive oil snakey hand job.

You are a shit for saying that!  My sweet, innocent leetle bay-bee!

Why, thank you ma’am!

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Amended to add that Witchypoo really does know what she’s doing when it comes to posting or working anywhere else on a computer for that matter.  For some reason putting it up on Kelly’s site was being very complicated and it just wouldn’t take it as written.  I told her it’s because she doesn’t speak Australian. heh

Friday, John and I went to JC Penny and I took a gander at the clearance rack.  I walked into the place with a $10.00 off coupon.  I walked out with two really cute new pairs of jeans that cost me a total of $11.21.  AND they’re a size smaller than the ones I’ve been wearing!  “What size, Krissa?”  I’ll tell you.  One more size down and I’ve hit my goal!  Woo-hoo!  How’s that for specific?

I put on one pair of them and wore them yesterday and Keelan remarked that they don’t make me look like I have an, ahem, “old lady butt”.  I considered this statement carefully and decided to let her live after all put it in the compliment category.

Both pairs of jeans are low rise, and while I don’t wear the “Mom Jeans” that  Stacy and Clinton on What Not To Wear are constantly lecturing people about, they are a good deal lower than I’m accustomed to.  I finally went in and put on a belt because every time I stood up I felt like I was losing them by an inch or so.

Then, Sunday,  Kes and I were running into Kohl’s.  Upon getting out of the child’s car, (actually climbing up out of her car, which is what you do with a Mustang…), grabbing the “waist” of the jeans and hauling them up, while pulling my shirt down and noticing Kes staring at me, I turned around so she could see my back and said, “So can you see any butt crack?”

She pinked up a bit, glanced nervously around and said, “NO MOM!”.  While deftly giving the ubiquitous eye roll.  She then had the grace to grin at me and comment that I need to “…get some tight strapless tops today.”.

I told her that I am wearing practically butt crack pants so she can just score one for her team and leave well enough alone.

Free toes, everybody!

Did you know that a smallish Phillips screwdriver makes an excellent back scratcher?  Yup.  It’s… working… out… great.  Aaaah!  I feel better now.  It would have been better if John had been here for that but, I am handy with tools. heh

Stayed on the phone with Dell for roughly 45 minutes today.  Fixed the pooter.  Well, with the help of Armand.   Ask for him if you need tech support. The only bad thing about all that is that the new hard drive we bought, ($69.99 and “spins” millions of times faster and is prettier and cleans the mud off of it’s feet before entering the house), is reported by Armand to be “wrong” for my trusty little pink Dell.  No, it won’t “take” it.  I am still willing to shove that little bastard in there and see.  I am smart enough to wait and do it when John is home and I can blame it on him if it doesn’t work and my pooter blows up.

This ain’t my first rodeo.

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I am doodling with a post that’s a bit… heavy, at this point.

Consider yourself warned.

Have I mentioned that Pop has Alzheimer’s?  How’s that for a bombshell?  Maybe not so much for you as this family, OK that’s just silly, of course not so much for you as this family.  Geeze.  We have “known” for some time now, but it seems to be moving so FAST.  It’s not just the “forgetful disease”.  It’s not just “oldtimers disease”.  It is so much more.  It is so physically debilitating and emotionally gut wrenching.  The mood swings are unbelievable.  Manic highs and then a rage that no one ever saw coming.  It is totally scary.  And then there is my mom.  Mither is unbelievably strong through all of this.   Mainly, because there is no other choice.  She, cries from time to time, she’d have to, being human and all, but she tries so hard not to take anything ugly he’s saying personally.  The most bizarre things pop into his head and to him they are just as real as if they actually went down that way.  Strange things, some of which make no difference to anybody, and other things that it is very important that he realize are not true.  Only it IS true… to him.   The yelling and cussing and slamming of doors.  That’s the worst it’s gotten.  Well, that and the extreme public embarrassment.

His frailty is amazing, he can barely get up by himself from a sitting position.  He must have a cane at all times and he stumbles so easily.

But what happens when he gets physically abusive?  Mither says, with no equivocation, “Nursing home.”.  There’s one not too far away from them in Bridgeport, for Alzheimer’s patients.  A lock down unit.

Well, how was that for a heavy topic?  And really it wasn’t pointless.  I guess it’s just been weighing on my mind and so out it came.

Today started out well enough.  I pretty much slept in as long as I wanted.  Was awoken by a loving husband.  (In a loving way.)  Got up and did what had to be done for H., (just some breakfast and running a bit.  Laundry, dishes, etc.).  Relaxed with John while I waited on the inevitable ring of the bell indicating time for the bedpan and ubiquitous poop.  Did that, dressed her, hauled her into the wheelchair and brushed her hair.  John was running errands all over the place.

I sat down at the laptop.  Innocently.  Not knowing what was to come.  I checked emails, and did some reading on some blogs.  Was just sitting there enjoying myself and the little deal popped up asking me if I wanted to UPDATE my:

Safari

iTunes and Quicktime

I unchecked the Safari one and hit OK, or update, or go ahead, or knock yourself out, or whatever it said to continue.

It did.

It promptly told me that my hard drive had crashed and burned.   I wanted to cry.

Fair warning:

If anyone comments or emails me saying I should back everything up I will seek you out and assassinate you!  I KNOW!

The good news?  OK, the hard drive we get to replace the one it came with will be better and faster than the one it came with.

Sorry, that’s about all I could come up with at the last minute.

I am sitting at the desk on the, ahem, other computer.  It is a Vista piece o’ crap and while I really, REALLY want a Mac next, I am thinking it’s not in the budget.

So, shit.  Here I sit.  Wanting to spit?  No, no. NO.  Do not get me started!

I will be running to Fry’s later this evening and doing some pooter repairs when I get back home.  I just wanted everyone to know this was typed on a different keyboard and that’s why it looks different.   heh

I believe, with all my heart, that there is a “hair imbalance” in this house.   Both girls have WAY more than is required to be a girl, (or even a horse), and it is so long and ultra thick that they get the stares when they go out and people want to touch it.  I mean beau-ti-ful hairs.  Shiny, glossy, slippery, abundance of hair.

John?  Gettin’ a wee bit gray, and a wee bit more sparse on top.  The eyebrows are getting wilder every time I attempt to tame them, and I am guessing it won’t be long before there are a few singular hairs sticking out of his ears.

Time will tell.

Then we come to me.  I am currently dying all the gray, non-conformist, rat-bastard hairs into submission.  That is on my head, anyway.  There are other hairs that are starting to give me grief.

The last time I was putting on make up I payed close attention and I swear, God as my witness, I am getting as fuzzy as a peach on my face.  I don’t have any dark hairs.  Yet.  But my once smooth cheeks and, ahem, sideburns, are covered in soft fuzzy clearish looking hairs.  Yes, my face is very soft.  SO IS A PEACH.

I stood there looking at this.  One more step towards the grave.  AND, IT IS!   I would actually take a picture and show you IF I HAD A CAMERA THAT WOULD TAKE CLOSE UPS.

Gee.  You guys don’t know what you’re missing… heh.

Now I gotta go research facial hair removal products.  Fun, fun, fun.

Well, it’s official.  Henrietta has been, at the very least, (to hear her tell it), leered at by a pervert.  She has been waiting for the majority of her life to be able to have verifiable proof that men are after her.  Oh yes.  At 87 years old… it’s here.

Her proof of this came several weeks ago, in the way of a breaking news story that was about, Dr. Bernard Albina, her old orthopedist from years ago when she and Marcos were living in their house.  We took her to all of the appointments she ever had with him, as Marcos didn’t drive anymore at that point.

The news story?  Sadly, he was, apparently, a really busy pedophile.  While that is in itself, not the least bit funny, her take on it was, predictably,  aaaaall about her.  She was absolutely agog and went on and on about how she never trusted him and how Marcos used to ask if he had to go with her to her appointments and she, “always told him yes, he had to go”, because she didn’t trust that man!  “Oooooh, no Krissa!  I knew there was something wrong with him!  Just the way he looked at me!”

I never did point out that it was ME who had gone in with her to every single appointment and, clearly, an octogenarian is not going to do it for a pedophile.  Whatever.  She could not get enough of the local news and the articles about it in the paper.  She has told every single person who will listen to her about the peril she was in and how that man just wanted so badly to get her alone.

Sigh.  If it wasn’t so sad it’d be funny.  OK, maybe it’s funny, anyway.

Check out the news clip.

IF I had a camera that could take good close ups, I would show you people a thing or two that… that, well… you wouldn’t know about other wise!  Things that you are blissfully unaware of right now.  Things that somewhere deep down inside, you will be uncomfortable and squirming just a bit and thinking, OH MY GAWD! WHY IS SHE SHOWING ME THIS? I WON’T BE ABLE TO SLEEP TONIGHT! this is bizarre.  Krissa, clearly has too much time on her hands….  Again.

But I don’t have a camera that takes good close ups so I will have to use my extensive vocabulary to tell you all about it and paint the proverbial picture with words and crap. Er, crapola?

OK, today we have, for your viewing pleasure description, the smushed roach I found on the bathroom floor when I returned home from my trip to Mither’s and Pop’s house.  John admitted to stepping on it in an attempt to keep it from finding it’s way upstairs where we would, ultimately have to run, up the stairs, to slap a daughter and then gag her to stifle her screaming save one or both of the girls when they stumble upon the roach while it is planning it’s attack on her/them.   At this point I should indicate to you that roaches in deep south Texas are different than roaches in any other part of the country and state.  They are huge and they fly.  That’s right, people.  They FLY.  And they are not very good at it.  Which means that even though they are trying like mad to get away from you they usually end up dive bombing you as they fly across the room.  This causes much screaming and yelling from the girls that are, of course, standing outside in the hall watching with saucer-sized eyes.  Me?  I am charging around the room in hot pursuit of the little bastard and it’s gettin’ personal now!  I have my shoe off and am slamming it against the wall or ceiling or floor or occasional piece of laundry that’s left in the floor, saying, “I hope these clothes LEFT ALL OVER THE FLOOR are at least dirty!

Oh, and if you’re saying, “I live in the south and I have roaches like that!”  You don’t.  This is Texas.  They are bigger and carry Texas flags.

Naw.  They don’t intimidate me much.  Until they land on me.  Eww.

Anyway, you can see why it is so important that we hunt down and murder any roach we happen to see.  It does not happen often, but John and I instantly go to the aforementioned scenerio in our minds when we see one on the outside of the fireplace and it runs inside and we can’t get it.  We look at each other and it’s like telepathy.

John: I have to go to work early tomorrow.  You have to get up with them in the middle of the night if they start screaming “ROACH!”.

me: Fine, but exactly when do you plan to take your turn?  What if it goes up there in the evening and you’ve just gotten home from work?  You’re going to be really tired and beat then, and not feel like charging up the stairs to save them.  Me?  I just think they’re stupid and would be all for letting them battle it out for themselves, but your Mom will have all kinds of wild stories to go with all the screaming going on.  She will find a way to use the phone and call the cops, ya know.

OK, background story completed now.  So we have this smushed roach on the floor in my bathroom.  It has obviously been there for at least a couple of days, I’m guessing cause it is covered with these bizarre tiny black bugs that are feasting on it’s… carcass.  They’re not any kind of ant either.  They are about half the size of a sugar ant, though.  And they move remarkably fast considering they are so tiny I can’t even see their legs.

Weird.  I smushed them all and picked up the roach with a piece of tissue and flushed them.  Haven’t seen another one since.  But I sure wish I had something to get a close up of them with so you could tell me what the hell they are I could see them better and instantly know the fancy Latin words to catagorize and label them.  Cause, I totally would.  You know me and my vocabulary.