Or am I? No, thank you so much for asking, by the way, but I am NOT fine. I am steamed up. And not the way the title would lead you to think, either.

For the pitiful few men stumbling upon this blog, Sorry. You’ve been duped into thinking it’s going to maybe be racy. You couldn’t be more wrong. Not this particular one. But you never know, so keep checking back!

Now, where was I? Oh yes! I am all steamed up about something.

Remember last Christmas when I said I wanted a nook? It’s an e-reader put out by Barnes and Nobel. Well my wishes were heard by more than you guys! Santa Clause, John, Mither and Pop, and the girls all pitched in and bought me one. And I was thrilled with it. It worked great and was easy as pie to use. It allowed me to read any book I downloaded in extra hugeass sized font as well as bookmark, highlight, and look up words as I was reading. It’s small, lightweight, slim, fits into my purse very easily and never left my side. Well, not much anyway. Downloads for almost all new releases are $9.99 and I was rapidly working towards getting it to pay for itself when all of the sudden, it got a bit damp. It probably wouldn’t have been the end of the world since it was just a tiny bit of water that apparently got splashed from a glass, but it was in the protective gel case I bought for it and the water quickly went underneath it and pooled in the bottom. I didn’t know it was there and it sat in it for a while before I discovered it was wet. Soaking in it.

Anyway, I wasn’t the least bit worried because the nice little people at Barnes and Nobel sold me a handy dandy 2 year protection plan that is bumper to bumper, covering everything 100%. So I called the wonderful people at nook and talked to some very nice little man who did a “rapid return” and I had a new nook, literally the next day being dropped off by UPS. I then boxed mine up with the postage paid shipping label they emailed me and dropped it off at the nearest UPS drop off place.

No problem. This product and service is glorious. Etc. Etc. Etc.

Now the second one I got automatically had everything I had put on my old one as soon as I went on it and registered it to my account. I picked right back up with the book I had been reading and was soon engrossed in it.

Then the pages  started being really slow to turn. The old one hadn’t done that.

The thing would shut down quite unexpectedly and have to be restarted.

Then it started freezing up and would refuse to turn the page until I turned it off and back on. Remember the font was set in extra large hugeass size for me, so I am flying through pages pretty fast and when it does that every three pages, it sucks.

Then, all of the sudden, when I turned it off, it wouldn’t turn back on. Nothing. Well, crap. I waited a few days just because you have to spend a good deal of time on the phone when you call them, not just waiting on hold, but trying all the things that I had already tried, (like taking out the battery and putting it back in, etc.), while on the phone with a tech person.

So I called the people and went through the whole mess with them and the guy finally took my credit card number and said that the new nook was on it’s way. I guess they overnight them, or maybe do second day air. I don’t know, it’s just really fast. So almost a week later I am wondering WHERE THE HELL MY NOOK IS and I NEED SOMETHING TO READ, DAMMIT! am having some mild, reading withdrawal symptoms. I begin the extraction of hair on my head, by the roots, patiently wait a few more days.

You know I should take a sec and explain that that credit card number was so that they would have something to have on hold while they are waiting for their broken one to get back to them and I had 15 days to get it dropped off at the nearest UPS place before they would apply a charge for a new nook to my card. No problem, this seemed reasonable. They really are a bit expensive. The nook itself is $260.00 and the two year “Protection Plan” is another $70.00.  So it’s a rather large investment when you put it in perspective. I mean $330. isn’t much to pay for like, braces or something like that. Hey, it’s a heck of a deal! But this is just a lot of books! It is a frivolous thing in the grand scheme.

So the first time I talked to them about this particular nook and they were taking my card number and sending me a new one was on the 20th of February.

So I decided to call the dumbasses at nook headquarters. DUMBASSES IS TOO ONE WORD!

Huh? Oh, sorry. I lose my train of thought sometimes when I am STAND BACK! ABOUT TO BLOW! agitated, this can happen.

Loooong story short, (I know, too late… nobody likes a smartass. SMARTASS IS TOO ONE WORD!), I got Ali on the phone and he was polite, professional, good-natured, and not the least bit helpful.

I was on the phone for over an hour and a half, people. I could almost hear Ali thinking, “OH, DEAR LORD, PLEEEEEEEASE LET ME HANG UP WITH THIS WOMAN!” And I SO wanted to. Yet, I kept not getting the answer I was looking for.

So I just stay on the phone until someone there gives it to me.

Actually, John and I were both talking to them. Ali told us that the protection plan that we had purchased would only replace a nook I damaged accidentally, one time.

That? Is SO not what the people at Barnes and Nobel told us.

The argument was on.

First of all where the hell is my nookie? It’s been a week and it’s not here and they are going to charge my credit card for the old one after 15 days. That’s half gone! I’m not sending the old one back till I get the new one. I was very firm about that.

There never was an answer for that question. No tracking number they could give me. Nothing. And considering how much just one little gizmo costs you’d think they’d keep better track of them.

Second of all, I didn’t do anything to damage this nook, it was defective when I got it. Refurbished? That’s what I’m thinking. The other one worked great! But to tell me that I have no more coverage for damage by me dropping it, or running over it with the car, or letting a St. Bernard slobber all over it, or an eagle picking it up and depositing it in it’s nest for it’s babies to poop on? Well, THAT? is not what I was told when we purchased the “plan”. We argued this point with Ali and his supervisor for over an hour. While I was on the phone with them John got on his and called our local Barnes and Nobel and asked to speak to some one about purchasing a nook. He was promptly directed to a nook specialist. He asked about the nook and the protection plan and asked if the nook would continue to be replaced for the two years the plan is effective even if it is repeatedly dropped or abused by moi. “Oh, yes, Mr. Lopez! As many times as needed during the two years the plan covers! It’s foolproof!”.

Apparently this guy doesn’t know the fools at 1.800.THE.BOOK.

So then John asks to speak to a store manager and poses the same question to him. He is told the same thing from the manager. It is covered 100%, no matter what happens or who’s fault it is for two years. Bumper to bumper, as it were.

He took the phone from me and proceeded to tell the people at the mysterious call center that we were assured when we bought it that it was covered, and they are still telling us that it is covered for any problems I cause it.

And you know I can, too.

They then asked if we read the “Protection Plan”. NOW I’m pissed. Not just insanely frustrated. Completely. Ticked. Off.

If you go to this web site you can read the entire fascinating, small texted policy. Really! Just go ahead! Ton’s of fun!

I love to read and I couldn’t get all the way through. Besides I found where it admits that the afore mentioned fully covered thing isn’t entirely. It’ s waaay down  in the ugly insides of the thing. On towards the poop end.

Not to mention, we discovered that we are able to take the dumb thing back and get an exchange at the store! Those people are going to stand by what they believe to be the policy and exchange anything we take there. Until the dumbasses up in the corporate ivory tower figure out what is going on waaaay down here and pass down some mandate saying that the store employees have been instructed to do their sales pitch wrong.

Anyway, here it is, Saturday night and still I have no nookie.  *sob* At least John is going to be home from work soon and I’ll get some nookie from him!

Have I mentioned how I loathe Vista?  I do.  We are getting an Apple sometime in the near future and all I have to do is find a way to finance it….  Hum.  I have children I could sell.  They are 18 and 19 now, but really, if I list them as “slightly used”, won’t that cover my butt?

Anyway, as I was saying before I got all sidetracked, H had a birthday with a beautiful cake I made and Kes iced for me and presents and whatnot.  She had a grand time.  Only her daughter never showed up or called.  So about half way through the day, I’m figuring she may have forgotten and I started trying to call her.  I left messages and never heard back from her.  John did the same from work.

The next day, Thursday, she showed up with the most gawd-awful looking pot of almost completely finished blooming tulips.  Some of them were lying over the side of the pot.    She said she hadn’t called the day before because she was out of minutes on her cell phone and she never gave any idea about why she didn’t come.

She doesn’t own a car, but drives a 14 year old piece of junk Accord that belongs to her boyfriend.  And I DO mean junk.  Rust showing through, no A/C, dings and dents everywhere.  Ugly as sin.  She always parks right in the middle at the end of the sidewalk.  We always make a point not to park there because it is directly across the street from my neighbors driveway.  It’s the elderly couple with the red door that I have posted about before.  They are very sweet and terrific neighbors.  It just makes good sense to not park right where someone has to back out.  You know, the courteous thing to do.

We should have told her not to do it too.  The man that lives there was backing out and hit that piece of junk and dented the front quarter panel.  So he rang the bell and asked me if he could talk to me and I went out and he showed me the dent and said that they were going some place right then and just tell SIL they’d be back in a little while.

So SIL called her boyfriend and told him.

Here’s where I get politically incorrect.

He’s a wet back an illegal alien.

Of course he wanted the insurance info.  **Sigh.**

She stayed here longer than usual visiting with her mother that day so that she could go and talk to my neighbor.  That’s the only good that came out of this.  He gave her his phone number and asked her to call him when she got an estimate.

That was all on Thursday and Friday SIL was calling saying that she’d talked to him and he’s supposed to be bringing a check over.

For $244.00.

To fix body damage on a car.

Yeah,  right.

John was appalled at the whole thing of course and we are both embarrassed.  So when the neighbor came over with the check, he talked to him and apologized.  When the guy left John told me that he’s going to tell his sister that he brought the check but needs a copy of the estimate for his records. He didn’t believe for one minute that $244.00 was going to fix that car either.  And, he and I both know the car will never get fixed.  It will just be an embarrassing reminder every time she comes over here of what happened and how she extorted money from our retired, on a fixed income, neighbors.

She came back on Saturday earlier than she has been here in many, many months, (1:15), and while I was surprised to see her that early, I wasn’t.  My first thought was “OK, at least she’s in time to change her mother’s diaper this time.”.

She stayed 10 to 15 minutes and left.

H promptly rang the bell to be put on the bedpan.

This is my life.

The copy of the estimate she brought looks legit enough.  It’s barely legible, but has the name of the garage stamped on it.   So… whatever!

You, (insert name here), and your sister are welcome to continue to live here in our house along with your father and me, (he will be getting his own letter), for the foreseeable future as long as you are in school or gainfully employed.  Please take note of the “gainfully” part.  This means that you will be expected to work enough to support your movie going, eating out, gas consuming, clothing buying, habits.  We will not be charging any rent.  Nor will you be responsible for any portion of the water, gas, electric, or phone bills.  We are even going to toss in payment for the insurance of your vehicles as a show of goodwill. That’s right.  You buy ‘em, we’ll insure ‘em.  We’re just uber cool like that.

All this and help with college, too?  At this point you’re probably asking yourself how you got so lucky.  You should be.

Also, take note that in that first sentence I referred to this establishment as “our house”, please understand that I am referring to your father’s and my house.  I know that we all refer to it as your house too, but lets face it, that’s loose terminology and it’s either that or tell everyone you are homeless, as in you do not own a house.  To keep from causing you embarrassment we decided when you were mere babes, (4 years old), we’d let you claim residence here, also.

You’re welcome.

Remember that reference to the fact that we are paying for your insurance?  We are, likewise, looking for that elusive “show of goodwill” thing to come from YOU.  The very next time I ask you, (And, yes, this does mean your sister too, because God forbid I should ask one of you to do something the other hasn’t been asked to do the exact same thing), to, oh, let’s see… take out the trash, I am now going to expect a response that doesn’t register on the Richter scale.  I might, from time to time, ask you to load the dishwasher or unload it.  This is not, as you may think, in anyway an attempt to bring on your premature death.  But, merely a normal household function that thousands, NO, millions of offspring your own age are actually performing without drama in homes all over the country.

Yes, I know you don’t believe me.  You are encouraged to do research on this whole phenomenon on your own. AND, there’s even more that you could find out if you so desired.   The fact that many young people your own age get along with one another and treat each other as people rather than plague infected rats.  You know.  The way you treat your friends.  This is how I would like you to start treating one another, because, frankly, I am fed up with mediation.  I really would just a soon let you kill one another as step in the middle of all that shit even one more time.

My patience with all that?  It has done worn thin, people.

So.  There you have it.  Good luck and my best wishes for your futures and I am sincerely hoping for you both to have a long life not cut short by any more drama mistakes you may be inclined to make in my house.

Love,

Mommy Dearest

At one point she looked at me and said, “Krissa… What would happen to us if we just went ahead and left?”

Don’t think I wasn’t already thinking about doing it.

Right about that time they finally got her all fixed up with wheels to the car and we made a break for it exited the premises.

You have never met anyone as bitchy as she has become since she got home.  Well, actually, that’s not entirely true.  It started before she got home.  While she was still in there she commenced to tell me how I should be changing her diaper differently and I need to do it like the nurses do it there and every time she asked me to raise her up in bed she tried to die when I actually moved her.  Keep in mind that I laid the bed out completely flat and grabbed the hospital chux and slid her upward as slowly as I could.  She is no longer the light weight she used to be and I can’t just suspend animation anymore.  She seems to think everything should be in slow mo and I can’t just stop midway between the wheelchair and bed while holding her.  Or move any slower than I already am.  I certainly am gentle and I don’t just toss her around.

Before she came home I received a call from a lady in charge of her case at the hospital and she said, “Ms. Lopez, it says here on her chart that you are interested in a hospital bed for her at home.”

Noooo… I’m not interested in one…

“Oh, well they must have just stuck this note in the wrong file.”

My wheels were turning at this point and I was remembering the two times she asked me if we needed one while she was in there.  I just shrugged and said, no, I didn’t see why, but she insisted it would  be easier for ME if we had one. Translation: She is pitiful and wants all the hospital equipment she can get around her.

We have been through this before.  Years ago when she was on hospice.  It was an enormous monstrosity that left very little room to move in her bedroom.  Well, comparatively.

Here is her room with a twin bed.  That bizarre looking thing with all the thousands of photos stuck on with ten pounds of scotch tape is her rolling cart of tricks.  It’s on wheels so I can move it out of the way to change her and get her in and out and what not.  It has shelves inside with all her accoutrements.

It’s an ancient, cheap, laminate, microwave cart.  And if something ever happened to it… well, we would all perish, I am sure.

The hospital bed we had ate up the walls when “sliding” the head of the bed up and down.  And since she sleeps in a fairly upright position the only thing we would need it to do is sit up some.  I can accomplish this with pillows.  AND a comfortable mattress, not a hospital one.

Bottom line, we’re getting another damn hospital bed delivered here this afternoon.

We also did some sleuthing!

Now I bet you are all wondering what happened with Henrietta’s aide/thief that we suspect swiped the $100 out of my purse.  Well, we set up the camera that Lisa had loaned me that is motion activated.   Got it all set up on top of the fridge and John and Pop left and then Mither announced, (loudly), that we needed to run over to Lisa’s house to see what was going on with her.  So I told the aide and H that we’d be back later and we left.

John got home first and found the camera lying on it’s back on top of the extremely tall refrigerator.  It was lying in a manner that it was incapable of “falling” into.   It was incapable of falling in the first place.  He took the card out and he and Keelan were looking at the pictures when we got home.  There are a lot of them simply because it snapped one every time the light went on or off or anyone left or came in, but here are a few showing what happened and in the order it happened.

Here is John leaving.  My purse is on the counter on the right.  You can see the top of the faucet in the sink in the wet bar.  My purse is the blob to the left of it.  Right beneath the “10″.

Here is Mither leaving and I am right behind her.  I guess the light was on in the kitchen since the wall is now green, (as it really is), and it looks turquoise in the first one…

And here is the last one it took.  You can see the fingers and the double exposure from the movement.  It happened 8 minutes after we left.  Undoubtedly she saw the camera on top of the fridge and turned it over.  I hadn’t left any cash or credit cards in my purse but she didn’t know that until she looked.  Henrietta said that she stood “behind the counter” to watch the soap opera with her and she didn’t know why she didn’t sit down like she usually did. She said she kept going and looking out the window and then going back to stand at the counter.  The widow is to the left outside the frame of the picture.

I do.

Henrietta doesn’t know that we suspect the aide of anything.  She doesn’t know about the missing money, or the camera or any of it.  She has such a negative view of the world and all it’s inhabitants anyway, we all just think it’s better that she not feel like she was duped.  The sad part is that she really likes this aide a lot.  They spoke Spanish to each other and H was thrilled with this as her Spanish was really rusty and getting to be more and more of a second language all the time.  She did an excellent job with her and they really got along well.

I will just tell her that the company had to send her to another area or something and she has to have a new aide.  Oh, I don’t know.. I’ll have to think it through.  I have to have a better story than that, I guess…

John asked H where the aide was and where all she went while we were gone and then I did too, separately. and she then got the idea that something was wrong and when she asked if something was missing and I lied and said, “No.”, she got a bit defensive for her.  She told me that she was a good person and there was no reason to “look into her”.   I feel really bad, but I have enough to go on and I called the company and told them not to send her back and that I wasn’t accusing her of anything, (after all I don’t have any hard evidence), but that I didn’t want her back because I couldn’t risk trusting her.  I asked to talk to the owner but she was out of town for a “few days” so I told the lady what had happened and she was nice, but I can tell there was no way they could afford to lose any employees so I feel sure they won’t fire her even if they have reports of this kind of thing happening before.

I hope to talk to the owner when she gets back in town.

She showed up in a few minutes and went on in to wake up and see H.  I went about my business and saw no reason to go in as there was no need for me to stand and scream what the nurse was saying at H because the nurse is too lazy to raise her voice and do it herself interpretation.  Sometimes Henrietta is having a particular complaint that she wants to address and so I go in and relay the answers back to her, but not today.  Not that I knew of.

She stayed back there talking to her, taking her vitals and getting information about the frequency, size, shape, color, smell and over all IQ of her stools.  I know this because the neighbors at the end of the street could hear her screaming the questions.  When every last bit of info about the poo, (classified and otherwise), was gathered.  She emerged victorious and held out two plastic bags to me proudly saying, “Here, I brought you supplies.”

Does it make me a bad person that my gut instinct, first response was, “You got booze in there?”

I took the bags and judged by weight and size of the bulges that there were several catheters, a box of latex gloves, and about 3 sterile catheter kits.

The latex gloves were a bit of a surprise and I am guessing the nice lady in the office, Paula had included them for me as that’s not part of the deal.  We are expected to buy our own gloves and I go through a shitload of them.  Hahaha!  Did you see what I did there?  I use the gloves to change shitty diapers and empty bedpans and I said I go through a shitload of them!  Hahahaha!  OK, maybe the shit jokes are a bit dense around here, but so is the shit.  (I bet that nurse didn’t even ask about density….)

Then the nurse leaves and almost immediately Henrietta rings the bell.  I go to see what’s up and am a bit surprised she rang and I hadn’t had time to get her breakfast in to her yet.

“Krissa, I hate to tell you this, but I have a dirty diaper.  That stuff just came out all of the sudden!”

It’s always called “that stuff”.  She has never referred to the poo as anything other than “stuff” once it has happened.

I must admit it helps to think of it this way…

So I assure her that it’s all OK and we set about the business of cleaning it up.  I see fairly soon that the reason she was so unaware of the situation is that it’s very loose.  (Am I getting too graphic, yet?  Cause I don’t mean to be, but really… YOU weren’t here cleaning this old lady’s butt up and changing gloves and swiping her with the required lotion.  SO DON’T JUDGE.)

We got done with that and I brought her the first course.  Oatmeal with a few cut up prunes and a dose of Miralax.

Now I know what you’re thinking.  Why would Krissa give H the Miralax if she just had a U. P. that was loose?

Well, my pretties, it’s like this.  It doesn’t matter what I do.  I’m screwed.

I have tried cutting off the fiber and shit-making producers as soon as there is any kind of disturbance in the digestive-go-about before.  It is all for not.  There would be an Abrupt Poop Stoppage and massive discomfort.

So we don’t do that anymore.  I mean the APS wouldn’t happen until the next day, but it WOULD happen.

Aaaaanywaaaay, I got her all cleaned and lotioned up and she has the rest of her breakfast.  An egg, breakfast sausage and an oven roll with a bit of jelly.   Of course, the U.P. has set her off her game and she prefers to stay in bed for the rest of the day.

Whatever.

A few hours later she rings for me to come in there and she has had another poopy diaper.

Well, shit.  I am just elbow deep in it today.

The day progresses and eventually I bring her in her supper.  (She never eats lunch and considering she doesn’t get up until noon, I can pretty much see why.

Remember she is being sickly today and playing it up big time.  No other complaints other than she is poopy.  Literally.  She wonders aloud numerous times what is the matter with the poops and why “all that stuff just keeps coming out…”.  I clearly have no new answers and have told her repeatedly that it’s OK.  Nothing to worry about.  Same ol’ same ol’…

Well, tonight I took her in the loaded toothbrush, fresh water, her two pills and a napkin and spit bowl.  She told me that when she was coughing during her soup she may have messed up her diaper.

So I peel it all back and there it is.  POOP.  From The Endless Font of Poopage.  AGAIN.

So I changed her again.  And ran like hell.

I want the hell out of here people!  I need a makeover!  WITH NO POOP!  Or even mudpacks, cause I don’t even think I like chocolate anymore due to the color and texture…..

I casually, even innocently, strolled to the cabinet that holds the precious black ground up goodness that gets me through the day.  I reached for the container and put it down on the counter, opened it up and…

CUE THE SCARY MUSIC.

This is what I found.  EMPTY. (Note: that word is in italic, bold, caps AND underlined. That is how it sounded in my little caffeine starved head.)

AAAAAAAAHHHHHHH!  I called John immediately and he dropped the phone cause I was still in screaming mode assured me calmly that he would bring home coffee when he was off work.

It was a very trying day.  I cried when I broke my fingernail and in hindsight that seems a tad dramatic, but at the time, there REALLY WAS NOTHING ELSE TO DO.  My whole day was in capitol letters. The strange little dogs hid from me the whole time.  I choose to think that my not having coffee was…depressing them and they just wanted to hide from… the whole world.  Yeah.  That’s it.

There were headache pills and Henrietta was a pill AND a headache.  I had tea with her and it always does help, but I still needed my coffee!

For once, John’s ridiculously long work day was longer for me than him.  YES IT WAS, JOHN!  Finally he came home and “delivered the goods”.  No.  That is not a sexy euphemism.  He brought the coffee and he KNEW that there was no coming home without it.  As a matter of fact he had to show me the bag of perfectly ground beans before he was allowed through the door.  I snatched the bag and ran to see my best friend the coffee maker.  With trembling hands, (and a silent prayer that John would quit trying to kiss me hello- Don’t make that face! He was getting in my way!), I carefully scooped the grounds right out of the bag into the precious magic machine.  Turned on the water right next to the maker of miracles and stretched out the faucet hose to fill it with water.  With a quivering finger I pushed the “ON” button.  Tears of joy escaped down my face as the tortured day came to an end and the black liquid gold ran into the pot.  Soon I was pouring a cup and blowing frantically/burning my tongue because I couldn’t wait.  I didn’t care.  The best reason to burn my tongue ever.

Today?  Got up, made coffee, ran the dishwasher, read the paper…  You know, same ol’, same ol’…

Free toes, everybody!

Number one, When you are going to send a bag of tools up with a bunch of super geeks to work on things in zero gravity, wouldn’t you consider that maybe it would be good to have something on the bag of tools to tie it off with.  I mean it just seems like it would make working on the space station go much smoother to be able to use both hands instead of one holding the bag and one the tool.  I think NASA needs to hire me to speak for the moral practical majority.  I have tons of good advise for them.

As for the cost of that bag of tools, I’m thinking… Makita?  Snap On?  I mean I cannot conceive of any brand of tools that costs as much as they spent OR couldn’t do what needs to be done in outer space.

So where DO they shop for tools?  Or was it the bag?  If it was the actual bag that costs that much I’m guessing it’s from a high dollar store on 5th Avenue and a knock-off can be found on Harwin here in Houston for a teeny, tiny fraction of the cost.

When NASA hires me that is going to be the first thing I reccomend.

If this much incompetence isn’t enough, when the news guy was finishing up the story he pointed out that the Space Station had been a temporary home for 10 years to people from 15 different continents.

I’ve done what I can and now give up.

H had a U.P. and it was handled without incident.  It happened this morning when she woke up and was in the process of doing a poo.  I was instantly alerted to the unfolding situation.  Oh joy.  Oh Gawd!  Just let me finish this cup of coffee! “Oh sure, Henrietta, no problem!”  And in the grand scheme of things, it wasn’t!

She did the usual thing about talking it to death just because it worries her so much for anything unexpected to happen to her body.  I assured her that everybody poops and she will do it when she has food that is ready to come out the other end.  It’s natural and not a bad thing and yadda, yadda, yadda, we’ve been through this a million times.

On the up side the paranoid little freak is taking it much better than she used to!  No tears or headache pills were needed.  The day progressed as usual and she even got out of bed as usual.

The younger offspring is probably going to suffer an untimely death tomorrow and that will give me something to write about then.  She is about to drive me nuts.  She was fine with me all day and as soon as John gets home she turns on me like a devil child.  And neither one of us can understand why.  It’s not like she’s even pitting us against one another.  John doesn’t put up with her acting like that anymore than I do.  I hope the doctor gave it her best guess cause, I swear, if this medication doesn’t work, she may not live long enough to try any other kind.

John spent all day yesterday slaving away at work trying to get the store “right” for the “company” that was coming today.  In *store name deleted for privacy*-land, “company” is what they call the suits.  Upper class men.  Big-wigs.  Corporate jerks.  Whatev.  Anyway, he went in at 5:00 again this morning and worked his cute hiney off.  Company showed up finally, at about 5:00 this evening.  He called me a little bit ago and said they were making sounds about all going out for food, or drinks or something and he asked me if he should go, should they ask him.

Uh, YES!

I know it seems too obvious to ask the “little wife”, but I know what he was thinking.  He is wiley, that one.  He was thinking that TODAY is Kessa’s birthday and she is now 19 years old and she may be aggravated that he wasn’t here for it and if he can get me to issue a directive that he must do something, (even for the good of us all), then he escapes her wrath.  I fall in the grease.  However, she is an intelligent girl and will realize the importance of what he did so the grease will not be hot.  It could be anywhere from from lukewarm to tepid.  No biggie.

And here is the birthday girl!  I told her she has made me  an old woman.  She laughed!

So, he is off doing… oh, who reeeeeeally knows?  And I am sitting here patiently anticipating some sort of career boost, at least in the near future.  I am telling you, John can be charming.  Really, really charming.  I mean he got me! heh heh heh

Kes went out to eat with her boyfriend and they had a really nice time.  They went to a very nice non-chain Italian restaurant in Houston.  Her sister has already claimed the doggy bag they brought back.

I spent the better part of the early evening with the younger one at the Dr’s office.  I made her an appointment last week and I hated to do it on Kes’s birthday, but this was the first available appointment and she is in need of some anti-depressants.  Kes was understanding about us leaving her here with her grandmother for hours while we sat in the waiting room.

She will benefit from her sister being on antidepressants as much as the rest of us.  I just want to reap the benefits as soon as possible.  Bless her heart, she is a bit of a mess right now.  Only not all the time.  It’s really deceptive with her.  She is giggling and silly one moment and then the next she is the bitch from hell tearing into everybody and on the verge of tears the next moment.  She wants to do nothing but sleep and I’m sure she actually is emotionally exhausted all the time.  But, mostly, I think it’s just that sleep thing that everyone,(?) does when depressed.  Escape.

Remember, I don’t drive and why?  Well, I don’t and all that.  My friend, Lisa took us and came back after eons and picked us up.  Tomorrow the big news is that I am going over to Lisa’s house to help her take aaaaall her stuff out of her kitchen cabinets in order to have the new ones installed on Wednesday.

Now, Lisa is another wiley one and she has been concocting plans to haul Henrietta over there in her car.  A long time ago the plan to haul H anywhere wasn’t that big a deal.  She only weighed about 70-75 lbs when she came to live with us and I just picked her happy little ass up and put her where ever she needed to be.  In the car?  No problem.  Out of the car, back in the wheelchair?  Same thing.  Well, now she’s gotta be about 95 lbs and I have gotten four years older.

She is freakin’ heavy.

So, while there is supposed to be a visit from the Caregiver Provider person tomorrow for three hours, if we run over, we can run here to pick up H and take her with us.  This doesn’t sound like as big a deal as it really is.  H tends to be a bit agoraphobic.  This is why she hasn’t been outside since her last hospital visit.  Well, I don’t think it’s been that long, but it’s been a long time.  About about 6 months, now.

She doesn’t have panic attacks or anything like that, and if she started to I have her trusty ativan to “fix things”.  But, she just finds it very inconvenient.  She “doesn’t want to.”  But I do know the worst thing I can do is to warn her that’s what we’re doing.  If she has time to think about it and ponder all the evil consequences, well, it grows in magnitude until I have been trying to get her to fly to the moon.  Sans spaceship.

So.  Tomorrow will be interesting.  We may not need to bring her over.  But if we do…. it will be interesting.