Archive for the ‘ Blather ’ Category

Other O development Os?

In worry of a lawsuit respect for my Mexican readers, (I have none that I know of), I have titled my post in… Spanish(?)

Whatever.  My political corrected-ness doesn’t go too terribly far.  Ashamed for my “slander” of my SIL’s wetback boyfriend?  Not entirely.

OK, not really at all.

The afore mentioned wetback is a very nice guy and holds a job in a mechanics garage and really wants to get me alone without my husband around learn better English and pay taxes.

Yes, he does in fact stare at me and make me feel quite uncomfortable from time to time.  Even some of the other members of my family have noticed it.  Yet, he always wanders outside and finds something useful to do while the SIL is here.  Mow the lawn, clean out the garage, weedeat.  Whatever he can find.

So hell yeah, I tolerate leering!  I have told John more than once that if he wants to, try out polygamy,  have a three way, or just a girlfriend, it’s fine with me as long as the other chick cleans house.  And I mean good!  Not like I do.

Yeah.  I can be loose and uber cool.

Until I don’t want to.  And that’s? the tricky part.

😉

Hoppy Easter!

Well, people, it’s been a while since I spat out whipped out a post and in retrospect it doesn’t seem like there’s too much to say.  But, let’s dig deeper… shall we?

The other day I decided to cook a chicken, rotisserie style, on the grill.  We have the gizmo that you plug in and it turns the bird on a spit via an electric box bolted to the side of our monstrosity of a grill.

This, in and of itself, is not that noteworthy.  However, I would pay big bucks, (if I had them), to have had someone take footage of me trying to get that damn chicken on that spit.  That sucker is 45″ long.  I looked like a dwarf trying to maneuver that stupid chicken onto that spit and not skewer anything or anyone else, (including myself).  WAY harder than you’d think!  I never never would have thought it would be so awkward.

See the two prong things.  Well you, (and of course by “you” I mean me), have to tighten one of them on there at the right spot that the chicken needs to be on the grill and then ram the bird down on top of them impaling it and not any part of yourself, most specifically your hands.  And, once again, by “you” and “yours”, I mean ME!

Then, you slide the other pokie thing down on the other end of the chicken, shoving it hard so that it impales the damn thing as you cuss and laugh manically.  Then tighten it down with a pair of pliers because your hands are too sore from multiple stab wounds to do it without them.

After shoving placing the spit into the hole of the turning deal and and resting the other end in the… other end receptacle, I flipped the switch on and left it alone on low for a solid hour.  It was about an 8 pound chicken.

It took every bit of that time to clean my kitchen with anti-bacterial spray everywhere some sort of raw chicken/chicken juice squirted and/or landed.  That was several days ago and I still don’t feel entirely clean.  I am probably a walking salmonella factory.

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I am now watching Craig Ferguson and it’s a rerun, (So much for up to the minute reporting.  Snort!), and he’s saying that Michelle Obama “TOUCHED the queen.”  I am guessing he’s talking about The Queen of England.  He’s acting like it was a mistake and a horrible faux paus, however he tends to be a tad sarcastic and facetious at the least, when it comes to anyone English. (He IS Scottish.)

I’m still wondering what the story is?  And how do you “make up” for “touching” somebody?

Henrietta had a visitor today.  Her next door neighbor from her old neighborhood that she hasn’t seen in about 5 years came to see her today.    My SIL, to her credit, brought her out to see her.   She was absolutely beside herself with joy.  It was so funny, she saw her from across the room right  when she entered the doorway and she practically yelled, “Barbara!”  They sat and talked for hours and hours.  It really did make Henrietta’s week to be able to sit and chat and get caught up on all the neighborhood gossip.  Especially what’s going on in the house she and Marcos lived in for close to 50 years.  Her eye’s grew huge as Barb related tales of how the woman that lives there with the three grown men is married to one of them, but she goes out partying till all hours of the night with the other ones and she’s had two babies since she’s been there and nobody in the neighborhood knows whose children they are!    THIS? Is exactly the kind of crapola Henrietta lives for.

She will be talking about this visit and all the accompanying gossip for a solid week.  To me.  And the really funny part will be the way the stories will grow and grow in her mind as time passes.  Eventually, her house will have become a brothel with a line of men outside and circling the block.

I will keep you appraised of the situation.  It’s only right. :-)

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The… boyfriend-in-law was outside giving my yard a makeover.  That’s about the only way to describe the before and after shots that make a jungle look tame.  It was VERY bad.  He showed up about 1:00 and finished and left at 4:00.  Three hours to mow and weed-eat a front and back yard the size of mine if ridiculous.  THAT is how bad it was.

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Tomorrow is Easter and do ya wanna know what my plans are?  Do ya, huh, do ya?  Get a load of this!

Nothing.

The SIL and her bunch of people that descend on my house for every holiday, to consume as much as possible of everything I cook and then leave as soon as they’ve eaten, are… otherwise engaged.  Where?  Who cares.  It is going to be quiet and I might put a ham in the oven.  I might not.  I might cook the Easter bunny if he pisses me off.

WOO-HOO!  Reel me in, I am COMPLETELY out of control.

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Last night I called Mither and asked her what she was doing.  She told me she was about to watch a Maverick’s basketball game.

I had better preface this little rambling with the fact that there has never been a bigger Dallas Maverick’s fan than both Mither and Auntie-Poo.

Aaaaanyway, she mentioned to me, (not for the first time), at some point in our conversation that she was not supposed to be talking to anyone on the phone when the game is on because Auntie-Poo might call and yell at her if she wasn’t paying good attention to the game and couldn’t keep up with what Antie-Poo was talking about.

We laughed about this, just because they are both fairly hopeless and then I told her I was going to wait until the game started and I was going to call Auntie-Poo and chat aimlessly to her for a while and then call her back several times.  Just cause I’m that way.  Ya know?

All of the sudden I heard evil laughter and Mither said that I should call her at exactly 8:30 then she would call her at 8:33 and when Auntie-Poo told her she was on the other line talking to me, Mither would yell at her that she WAS NOT ALLOWED TO TALK ON THE PHONE WITH ANYONE ELSE DURING THE BALL GAMES!

So I did this and all went to plan and when Aunti-Poo came back to me after Mither called her I asked who it was and she said, “Oh, it was your mother and she told me I have to get off the line cause the basketball game is on.”  We both agreed it was absurd that SHE have to get off the line and when I told her that we set her up to be caught she decided that she would have all my cousins call Mither one at a time, just to “chat”, during the game.  There are four of them.

That was the last I’ve heard of them.  I haven’t talked to either one of them today and they are out of pocket.  I left messages for both of them to call me, so I will follow up sometime.

Sometimes I wonder at the mechanics of this family.

Remember this?  Well, Cam now has his Periodic Table of Typeface for sale in various forms.  Just click here for the information.

That thing has taken off like wildfire and I am SO happy for him.  I know he’s glad to get it out there and be done with the whole worry of what to do with it.  I’ve already ordered mine.  Go and get it!

Henrietta’s bed stopped working last night.  If you remember, it’s a hospital bed.  And if you’re new, my apologies while I whip out this fascinating story that, as per normal procedure, deals with an 86 year old woman, a wheelchair, diapers, poo, and bedpans. Eh…this is my life.

*sigh*

Anyway, I was scared she’d notice that she was being put to bed with it at an odd angle and not just raised up at the head with it bending in the middle.  I figured I’d find her in a heap at the foot of it this morning, but no.  She hadn’t worked her way that far down.

The problem was that it stopped raising and lowering after trying to lower the whole bed and only the foot went down.  Then, it wouldn’t move at all.  So after getting her fed, pooed, diapered, dressed, and drug into the wheelchair, the… bed maintenance man(?) showed up and literally beat hell out of a gizmo coming out of the motor with my hammer for about 20 minutes.

Nothing.

He finally decided to go out and get another foot board out of his box truck and replaced it and the whole thing finally went together as God intended all hospital beds to go together.

Of course Henrietta elected to sit in the room with us as this all took place and said at least one rosary while it was going on.  So I’m pretty sure she gets at least some of the credit for the repair.

I get credit for getting the poo smell out of the room with a can of Febreeze before the guy showed up.  Oh, that and finding a hammer for the only maintenance guy that shows up with no tools of his own.  A hammer that didn’t even fix the problem.

Remember the caregiver provider that worked for the other company that we were using and stole $100.00 out of my purse while I was taking a bath?  Well, I took another bath yesterday while Tanya was here and it was SO nice not to have to worry about anything.  And I’m not just saying that because I never have any money in my purse anymore, either!  Broke, broke, broke…

Our coffee maker has a water filter thing that is supposed to get changed every three months.  I just found the box I kept that the filter came in the last time I changed it and the date I had written on it was June 8, 2008?  Ten months.  It’s a wonder we’re all still alive.  John kinda freaked a tiny bit when I discovered it, but I wasn’t TRYING to kill us.  Sometimes it just works out that way.  It’s best if you can just handle these life and death situations with a chuckle.  (You pick that up around here after a while.)

Now!  In honor of my new camera, I have a few, widely varied pics to throw up, just simply because I can.  Observe.

John making a goofy face at me when I tell him to, “Look!” so I can get a truly candid “Him”. Yeah.  That’s about right…

“Seriously people, I just want to lie here and sleep. Get a life already.”

“Eh, I wasn’t kidding!”

This is truly one of my favorite finds lately.  Payless has this nifty little thingamajig for a mere $2.99 and it is a Godsend.  The sponge has some sort of oil(?) in it and it says on the bottom it is good for up to 100 uses.  You just wipe it over any leather or vinyl and it is shinier than you could ever do with anything else.  It is just as good as Armour All on the car dash and John’s dress shoes look much better than they ever looked with just shoe polish.  Also good on purses and leather jackets.  Love it!

We went downtown in Houston to the Medical Center to see one of John’s co-worker’s husband, who is in hospital with a brain aneurysm.  Spring is everywhere and I just couldn’t resist.  Sorry I didn’t crop out all the street first.  Oh well.

One of the older hospitals we drove by.  Apparently, it’s bigger than it looks.  That’s the tail roter and overhead blades of a helicopter on top of it.

And lastly, it’s probably poor form to take pictures of your spouse while he/she is sleeping, but I thought it was so funny that he had just consumed a brownie before bed and when I came in and looked at him there was irrefutable proof on his lip.  It looks kinda like a cold sore, but it’s not.  Just a treat for the morning…

Well folks, I warned you that it was random shit and I am a woman of my word.  I’m not going to apologize, you were warned.

Free toes, everybody!

It rhymes with itchy.

Henrietta has nervous problems.  She is just a nervous person at heart and always has been.  Maybe it’s because, despite her nice pleasant, (most of the time), disposition, she is the worlds most negative person.  I can walk into her room with a huge smile on my face and dancing eyes, signs that anyone else in the world would take to be good tidings and say, “Guess what?!”  And she will pull a horrified face and practically tear up before replying, “Oh my God, what’s happened?”  This is just Henrietta.  And I’ve quit trying to “fix” her… as she is obviously broken.  Permanently.

Well, lately she has had a severe problem with itching.  It has been decided by everyone, nurses, caregiver provider, doctor, and most importantly ME, that it’s just her nerves.  Since there is absolutely nothing wrong with her skin at this point, I mean NOTHING, I have told her repeatedly, over and over and over that this is all it is.  It goes away as soon as I give her half an Ativan.  OK, not immediately, but in 10 to 15 minutes or so.  She knows this yet she still insists that she has to have her entire body slathered with ointment and lotion.  To “fight off the itch”.

Tonight I finished putting her to bed and was about to turn off the overhead light and she was telling me thank you and good night and she loves me and to tell her son she loves him too.  This is all standard stuff and we do this every night and I tell her all the same thing basically. Tonight she laughed and said “Tell him his itchy mother says she loves him.”  And then as I was about to shut the door she said, “Eh, Krissa, I said ‘itchy’, not bitchy.”  And then she just died laughing.

Sometimes she makes me remember that I really do love her.  And I guess as time has gone on, loving her has gotten to be less and less of a coping mechanism and easier to do just because.

Most of the time. 😉

Hallelujah, Hallelujah, Hal-le-lu-jah!  Tanya showed up, on time, with a smile on her cheery little face and went in and woke up H in sweet way and started singing A Spoon Full of Sugar like Mary Freakin Poppins took care of business.  Lisa and her grandmother showed up to pick me up after I showed her about the breakfast regime.  (First course, oatmeal with a dose of Miralax and cut up prunes. After this has been consumed and she’s been burped the egg gets scrambled and cooked while the breakfast sausage and roll or toast, whatever she has indicated she wants, gets warmed/toasted. Put on plate with salt and pepper and jelly on bread.  She likes salad forks, not dinner forks.  What’s that?  Oh, because she’s weird, that’s why.)

We went to Hobby Lobby, Garden Ridge Pottery and out to eat at Cheddars.  No, it’s not a cheesy place.  I don’t know why it has such a horrible name.  Really good food.  We had a wonderful time.

Kes came home from school in time for me to stay out as long as I wanted with Lisa and Mimi.  We had loads of fun.

I came home and now H is fed and in bed and I am waiting for my hubby to come home as it is our 20th anniversary! I got him a new cell phone for his gift as he desperately needed one and I think I got some perfume and I’m not sure what else…  I will see and report back.

On the bleak side of things, I have a rather disturbing picture I am going to shock and appall entertain you with.

The following is an image of my dear mither’s foot about a week after her foot surgery.

Yes, what you are seeing is a pin with a large white ball head on it, sticking out the end of her second toe.  Strangely, what bothers her most, (besides the pain from the surgery), is the blood around her toenails that she can’t clean off well due to the fact that she’s not supposed to get it wet.

The Pin started out pushed all the way in.  It has slowly worked it’s way out and is not supposed to do that.  She hadn’t walked on it at all and yet, it was wriggling out slowly.  She went back to the doc today and he said something like,

“Hummmmmm.”

And then he strapped some tape and gauze around the whole thing and duct taped it to the back of her ankle said he thinks it’ll be fine.

Doesn’t LOOK fine.  Looks gross.

At least child number two and her friend are going to go and see Mither and Pop for spring break.  They will be a really big help, I know.

I wish I could go.