Fate 2 – Bubbe Zip

So y’all are up to date on our almost break-in, right?  Well, that was yesterday’s news (or maybe it was the day before, I get them all mixed up when I’m sneaking in these random visits from my IRL job).

They say stuff happens in threes and Fate has now scored for a second time while I’ve got a big ol’ goose egg.  I’m trying to remain positive in the face of this, really I am.  But part of me keeps listening for that third shoe to fall.  I know, right?  Who knew Fate had three feet!

When I arrived home yesterday Hubs greeted me with his usual jocularity:  “You probably won’t want to shower here for a while.”  Oh joy, now what?

“Why is that?” I dared to ask.

“The water heater’s broken.”


This is the very same water heater that leaked for heaven knows how long, soaking the carpet in the front bedroom and causing us to haul everything into the (already crazy messy) living and dining rooms!  The leak was repaired and things were rosy.  Operative word there:  were.

Seriously, how could Fate do this to me?  I’ve been trying as hard as I can to stay upbeat and positive in the face of Hubs’ on-again/off-again black hole-level depressions.  I don’t bite his head off.  I make soothing noises and tell him it will all be okay.  I get up, go to work, come home and repeat – Every. Frickin’. Day.  And I will continue to do so until I’m dead – it’s unlikely I’ll ever be able to retire.  But am I whining?  Noooo.  Well, yeah, I’m whining here, but I don’t whine to Hubs about it.    Much.  Not nearly as much as I whine about it in my head.

My reward for all that positivity?  No hot water.  Not a drop.  Nada.  You get the idea.  Grump.  Growl.  Boo. Hiss!

Fate can suck it!

The Secret of Time Travel

No really.  I discovered the secret of time travel y’all.  You have to be asleep.  Oh wait, asleep and dreaming.  It’s that simple. 

Last night I had the single weirdest dream I can remember in some time.  I was in the past AND the present at the same time.  Strange doesn’t begin to describe it. 

You know how in dreams sometimes you know something but you don’t know how you know it, and you don’t even question that you know it.  I knew it was more than a dozen years ago and my middle daughter had graduated from high school.  (That in itself is odd since she didn’t graduate, but later got her GED.)  Somehow her graduation involved my going to see her father, my ex.  The me that visited though was today’s me.  Not the me of 12+ years ago.  Trust me, there’s a difference.

He was living somewhere different, not a forest or mountain in sight.  There were train tracks in front of his house and at one point a train went by while I was standing there.  A big ass train too, not the little commuter trains like I ride every day.  This was (or seemed  — dream, remember?) bigger than the Amtrak passenger trains I see at the station.  It towered over me and I felt extremely tiny in comparison.

But the seriously bizarre part was the pet I had with me.  I have no idea what this means so if any of you have experience with dream interpretation I’d love to hear what you think.  Y’all, I had a PET SHARK with me!  Really and truly!  And not an aquarium-sized shark either.  It wasn’t clear how I moved the thing around but there it was, lying on the ground outside the ex’s house.  When I was getting ready to leave the ex tried to persuade me to stay.  I mean STAY, if you get my drift.  Curiouser and curioser.  I remember telling him that wasn’t possible, I had to get the shark back home.  He said the shark could stay too.  But I argued that there wasn’t anywhere for the shark to live — no water, while back home the shark had his own cee-ment swimming pool.  And I said it just like that. 

It was at this point that I woke up.  Because it was too early to get up I tried to go back to sleep.  But the dream kept nudging me so I got up and emailed myself a reminder of the high points, hoping that later I would remember enough to write it down and maybe that would get it out of my head. 

Reliving it here has been a little creepy to tell the truth.  

So?  What do you think it means? 

And no, I didn’t eat anything strange, imbibe alcohol or otherwise ingest something hallucinogenic!  But if I have another one like this I’ll definitely be heading for the liquor store.

Happy weekend peeps!

Does anyone else do this?

Most of my readers (I think I have 4 who stop by occasionally) are also blogging with WordPress.  When I check my blog in the morning WordPress opens to my reader page where any new posts will appear from the blogs I “follow”.  This morning I was greeted with a photo of Baby Gus (Grammy’s newest grandbaby).  It was a great beginning to my day.  Not only because Gus is a cutie, but because a post from my pal Grammy is almost always going to make me smile.

Then I’ll scroll down to see some of my other internet friends:  CJ of awesomesauciness, Ghostie from Ghostcat Chronicles, Denise of RJ Keith, and Katherine from I’m begging my mother not to read this blog, plus a few new ones I just started reading.  A few of the blogs I follow aren’t on WordPress (waving to Dana and Mayor Gia and Jen [even though Jen doesn’t read my blog; probably doesn’t know I’m alive – gulp, sob!]).  I’m not talking about those posts since they do not show up on my Reader page.

So here’s what I’m wondering – do any of you who blog on WordPress scan your Reader page, see something that looks cool or interesting and think, “So and So will really like this when she sees it!”  But you don’t send them the post.  Not because you don’t want to share it, but because you think that the bloggers you follow, the ones showing up on your Reader page, can actually SEE your reader page too!

Or is that only me?



Well, have a happy weekend anyway.  Y’all rock!


Blast From the Past

A few weeks back my blogging pal CJ (Hi CJ!) posted about her youngest daughter’s birth, describing the trials and tribulations of her pregnancy.  Not for the faint of heart but well worth reading.  Ultimately there was a happy ending!

CJ’s post reminded me of my youngest daughter’s arrival on the planet and inspired me to share.  So blame CJ if you don’t like this post.  Kidding!  I take full responsibility (she says with her fingers crossed behind her back).

A long time ago (oh alright, 1984 wasn’t all that long ago), in a galaxy far, far away…um…in…uh…California…I discovered I was with child.  Since this was my third pregnancy this shouldn’t have been a big deal, right?  Ha!  Stay tuned.

By 1983, my first husband and I had three daughters:  his daughter from his first marriage and the two we’d had together.  Because we struggled financially even with both of us working, we decided it would be wise to stop at three.  So in early December of that year I had a laparoscopic procedure known as a tubal ligation.  Briefly, the surgeon seals the fallopian tubes to keep the eggs from being fertilized.  If you want more information, you’ll find a LOT more at the link. 

The procedure itself wasn’t a big deal except for the gas and the general anesthesia.  (If you were here when I was preparing for my knee surgery you know GA and I don’t get along!)  As for the gas – I do not recommend it.  Since they go in via tiny incisions they have to pump in gas to elevate the organs which hide the tubes.  Unfortunately, the gas doesn’t dissipate quickly.  It lingers.  Painfully

There were multiple pre-surgery meetings with the doctor to discuss what we were doing.  They wanted me to be absolutely certain I had made the right decision.  One of the questions I was asked was something along the lines of, “What would you do if you lost one of your children?”  I wanted to channel Homer Simpson:  “Doh!”  So Homer wasn’t around in 1983.  What’s your point?  I’m sure I was going to want to run right out and get pregnant to replace that child!  Puhleeze.  But I guess they had to be extremely careful in covering their hindquarters.  The surgery is considered permanent after all; or it was in 1983 anyway.  Googling “reversing a tubal ligation” these days results in 30,000-ish hits! 

So…back to the surgery.  When I checked in and they had called me back, they did a pregnancy test.  General anesthesia can damage a baby or abort the pregnancy.  With a negative result in hand, we proceeded.  Like I said earlier, the surgery itself was a piece of cake; heck I slept through the whole thing (see what I did there ;)).  GA kicked my ass in recovery though.  I was so sick I laid there for hours unable to move without getting the dry heaves.  The recovery room filled and emptied several times before I was able to get up and go home.

After recovering for a few days, I was back to work and life went on.  I ended up really sick in January; some kind of bug that required antibiotics and all kinds of cold medicine.  Time passed.  The only real problem was that it seemed like everywhere I looked there were pregnant women.  And I lost my mind.  Don’t want to forget that part.

One of the things the doctor gave me to read while I was preparing for the surgery mentioned that a percentage of women regretted their decision afterward.  There were documented cases of unhappy women who believed they were pregnant, even to the point they gained weight and claimed to feel baby movement.

When I began to feel the butterfly tickles I knew I was going crazy.  And hell, I’m the first one to stick my head in the sand so I ignored it.  But it didn’t stop.  I hadn’t thought I regretted my decision; it had been so freeing to take control that way.  So why was my imagination going wild?

Then it occurred to me that my Aunt Flo had not visited recently.  Mentally, I counted back trying to remember when I’d last had a visit.  And I pulled out the calendar because that just couldn’t be right!  When Auntie didn’t visit in December, I attributed it to the trauma of the surgery and recovery, not unusual.  In January I was so ill I just assumed the illness and medication were messing with my cycle.  Ditto for February, you know, the lingering after effects of the illness and medication – any excuse to obscure the obvious.  By March I was so enjoying not having Auntie visit, I just plain forgot.  No really!  What woman actually enjoys that time of the month?  I didn’t miss it!

With my brain completely scrambled, I finally told my husband what was going on and I had him try to feel what I was feeling.  With his hand pressed to my belly, he looked up at me and grinned as the butterfly tickled again.  I was so relieved!  I wasn’t going nuts!  To be certain, I used a home pregnancy test with positive results. 

We presumed the tubal ligation had been unsuccessful.  How else could I be pregnant?  But at our first OB appointment when we tried to figure out how far along I was, it seemed that based on the baby’s size I was somewhere between five and six months.  Counting back that put conception right around the time of the surgery.  But they’d done a pregnancy test then!  Turns out, in the very early stages of a pregnancy, false negatives are common.  Go figure.  (I’d heard that but who in their right mind thinks they’re going to be a statistic?)

So there I am, almost six months pregnant having had no prenatal care to that point.  Not to mention that I’d been on heavy meds in the first trimester.  The doctor didn’t say it outright but it was implied that the baby could have problems.  That is, if I didn’t miscarry down the line.  At first I was terrified and felt so guilty.  I should have known!  How can a mother not know she’s pregnant? 

Eventually, knowing the fear and worry wouldn’t change whatever was going to happen, I made peace with myself, and I trusted God to care for my unborn child.  Twenty-nine years ago today I delivered my beautiful daughter K, who had all her toes and fingers, and was as healthy as could be.  Hallelujah! 

Happy Birthday my lovely!  You totally rock!


My daughter…

… is a better person than I am.  And the migraine I suffered with yesterday was probably my payback.  Sigh.

Sunday was the family birthday party for our youngest granddaughter who turns 1 tomorrow.  Of course The Ex would be there; I knew that.  It wasn’t that difficult to deal.  I just kept my distance from her and visited with other guests.

The woman is in bad shape so there’s a voice in my head telling me to cut her some slack.  The Ex has some sort of brain seizure condition and has had for at least five years.  As far as I know the doctors weren’t able to find a reason.  When we first heard about this there was some chatter about her having fallen from a horse and hitting her head.  That seems logical right?  But I don’t know whether the doctors were able to confirm it as the cause.  We hear tidbits now and then but we’ve never been interested enough to ask for more information.

On the other hand, another voice in my head tells me to bitch slap her.  Especially after what I saw Sunday.  😦

The birthday girl was sitting in Mommy’s lap, “opening gifts” with Mommy’s and Big Brother’s help.  One of the guests, who is a regular in the kids’ new home, brought his daughter A.  She looks about eight or maybe nine years old and she and Big Brother play together whenever she visits.  At first, A was sitting on the floor beside my daughter K who was taking photos as the baby’s gifts were opened and held up.  The Ex was seated on the steps up to the dining area collecting the used wrapping paper, etc.

Over a few minutes, A made her way in front of K and over beside where Big Brother was helping unwrap gifts.  This was nearer to where The Ex was sitting.  I’m not sure what exactly happened next to trigger The Ex’s response.  Maybe A and Big Brother were disagreeing over how to rip tissue paper out of a gift bag – as kids will.  Maybe A was just too close to the action.  Let me stress, I have no idea.  But The Ex’s response was OVER. THE. TOP.

She told A to go sit on the other steps (the ones at the other end of the living room, leading to the foyer and guest bathroom).  The girl’s face dropped.  But she got up.  I think she misunderstood which stairs because she went up the two steps to the foyer, crossed it and sat on the bottom of the stairway to the second floor.  I felt so awful for her.  She had to feel hurt and embarassed.  Not to mention now she was so far away she couldn’t see anything.

Later, when the cake was being served Birthday Girl’s mom looked around for her and asked if anyone knew where A was.  Her husband said that her dad was with her in the den having a “parenting moment.”  BG’s mom jumped to the conclusion that A was in trouble.  I knew better.  And when A did come out to the table to have cake I could see I was right.  It was obvious she’d been crying.  No, not crying.  Weeping!  Sobbing her heart out.  I wanted to take a hunk of birthday cake and smash it into The Ex’s face!

When we were making our exit later I didn’t acknowledge The Ex (I usually do if only to be polite).  But when I poked my head back in to check on our daughter K’s progress to the door, she was standing with The Ex and speaking with her – like a real person!  You know, smiling and nodding like she was interested in what she had to say, not just good manners.

So…my daughter is a better person than I am.  But then, don’t we hope to raise our kids to be better than ourselves?  I think this counts as a win!  Right?



My luck couldn’t hold damn it.  I had two or three lovely weekends just lazing about, resting the injured leg, and I was so looking forward to another.  But it is not to be.  Sister-In-law has initiated a family gathering at the married daughter’s house tomorrow.  That in itself isn’t a big deal – hell, it’s only one afternoon out of my life and a fraction of the weekend.  The downside is that it’s only the beginning.  😦

Tomorrow we’ll get together for lunch or whatever for a few hours.  Then next weekend we get back together to celebrate the grandbaby’s 1st birthday.  Both times we’ll have to share air with The Ex.  Not to mention the snotty BIL and demeaning son-in-law.  And in two weeks the SIL from North Carolina will be here.  Oh joy!

We’re planning to take the RV up when M is here.  While that will be more convenient, it removes the excuse I’ve always loved – the dogs have been inside alone for hours and we should probably go now!  The RV park is less than 10 minutes from SIL’s house.  Damn it.  There will be no escape.

Must go shopping.  Must buy beer.  And whiskey.  Lots of beer.  Lots of whiskey.  Wish me luck.  If I don’t kill someone it will be a miracle.

Get you some cheese

I’ve got the whine.  It’s been a rough few days.  Last week I did something to my leg, I’m not sure what; I just know it hurts.  The only thing different that happened was when I got down on a my knees to check under the bed for the cat before closing the bedroom door.  I had to have help getting back up and Hubs kindly assisted.  I didn’t feel anything wrong then but over the next couple of days my lower leg started to hurt.  Not the knee; the knee is great.  The area below the knee on the front of the leg and edging toward the inside feels sort of like a bruise – painful to the touch.  Plus it hurts to put weight on it.  It began to grow more uncomfortable the longer I was on it and after the weekend it was bad enough I stayed home from work two days.

Now I’m back to using crutches – which makes my neck and back hurt too, damn it!  I’m so tired of hurting.  I don’t remember what it’s like to be pain-free.  I know it’s partly my fault because I haven’t been diligent with my exercises but they hurt too.  Now I’m paying for being a slacker.  It’s times like these when I can almost imagine going to sleep and not waking up.

No, I’m not really suicidal.  Life is a precious gift and I’m a survivor.  I’m just so damn tired of everything.  Physical pain, emotional pain, feeling helpless – the whole shebang.  Tomorrow I’ll probably have a better outlook.  Or maybe the next day.

Whine over.  Enjoy your cheese.



Adventures on Metro

Metro is one of the local transit companies.  After work I catch a bus to the train station.  Lately, I’ve been on the same Route 36 bus several days in a row.  The driver is a pleasant man built a lot like Santa Claus but without the white hair and beard.  It’s his last run of the day so he doesn’t dilly dally.  I like that in a bus driver.

Yesterday though, I wished I could throw it back.  (See what I did there?  Caught the bus…throw it back?  Oh come on, that’s … well fine.)

Yesterday, the 36 was very crowded.  I lucked out and got the seat closest to the door.  By the time we left my stop there were people standing in the aisle.  I only go three stops before I exit the bus to walk the rest of the way to the station, and it’s mostly an uneventful ride.  No so much this time.  A couple of youngish women with a small toddler got on at the same time I did.  They sat together in two seat seats diagonally across from me.

At the very first stop more people boarded and the passengers standing moved back to allow them room.  Then when they were all aboard the driver motioned to someone and began lowering the platform to bring a wheelchair on.  I ride the bus all the time and recognize the noise it makes so I knew what was happening.  Once the woman’s electric scooter/wheelchair was elevated to the interior floor level, the driver moved back toward the wheelchair area to lift the regular seat out of the way.  He made a point of warning me to watch my feet, but I knew that already and since I have long legs I went ahead and stood up so I could be sure I was out of the way.

The woman in the wheelchair steered it into the aisle and started toward where the driver had the security belt ready to lock her into place.  Suddenly one of the women across the aisle screamed and then shouted that the woman had run over her foot!  I glanced down and saw she was in flip flops.  Her foot looked no worse for wear as far as I could see but those electric scooter things are HEAVY!  She could have easily suffered broken bones.  At the very least I’m sure she was in pain.

That said, it was no excuse for the behavior that followed.  The woman in the scooter was maneuvering the chair into place so the driver could secure it and she apologized immediately.  That should have been the end of it in my mind.  But no!

A screaming match started between the women, each directing blame at the other.  The injured woman berated the other for not warning people or saying excuse me before moving down the narrow aisle.  The second woman yelled back at her that she should have seen she was coming on the bus (she has a point, it’s hard to miss something that big, especially when you’re right in the front of the bus and there is no obstruction).

The driver looked like he wanted to walk off the bus and at first he refused to move on while they were arguing.  The heated exchange continued, voices raised higher and higher, with liberal expletives incorporated.  At one point I heard the woman in the scooter say, “Don’t let this chair fool you!”  And she stood up, leaning toward the other woman, who was already on her feet.  Another passenger got between them and tried to mediate the situation.

She repeatedly talked of forgiveness and tried to calm both women.  Without much success at first.  The driver had given up and moved on to his next stop.  More people boarded; some may have exited out the back, I wasn’t paying attention.  I was trying to ignore the acrimonious women and at the same time was hoping I’d make my train.  Eventually they settled back into their respective seats and were quieter.

The driver and I exchanged grimaces and I commented that it might be time for a beer.  He smiled and nodded.  A few moments later he pulled up to my stop; I wished him a good evening and escaped.

Ahhh, life in the big city.

Earworm Mashup

Since I woke up this morning I have had an annoying earworm.  That’s what you call it when a song is stuck in your head, right? In this case it’s two songs.  Well, part of two songs.  Sigh.

Have you heard of the band Train?  They’re out of San Francisco I believe and I love their music.  They’re on my phone along with a ton of other folks.  Well one particular song, 50 Ways to Say Goodbye has this very catchy chorus which includes the phrase, “Help me, help me!”  That’s part 1 of my earworm.

Then there’s Pink’s Heartbreak Down.  (Warning:  Video is NSFW)

This chorus includes the line, “Trust me, trust me, I think I got heartbreak down!”  (I adore Pink by the way.  She’s a strong, intelligent woman and perhaps an acquired taste for some, but her music is deeply emotional.)

My lovely earworm puts the “Help me, help me” in place of the “Trust me, trust me” so I end up hearing “Help me, help me!  I think I got heartbreak down!”

Over and over and over.

Part of me wonders if there’s something Freudian there.



Spam Spam Spam Spam

Taking inspiration from other bloggers I’ve read, I thought I’d share some of the messages I get in my WordPress spam folder.  I wish WP would let me use graphics in the title bar — I would have added musical symbols so you’d all immediately think of Monty Python’s classic.

You would have right?  It isn’t just me?

All that lead up and I only found 2 spam messages.  But hey, any excuse for Monty Python references! 😉

The first spam comment in the folder was in response to my Back in the Saddle post.  “silver account” sent this message:

“I have been seeing Wendy for about 1½ years now. When I started with her, I had several different issues going on. I had sinus surgery, and was experiencing a lot of complications, including migraines, facial pain, and chronic fatigue, and I now have a definite diagnosis of TMJ. Wendy has been fantastic. She has listened to me, when no other doctor would take the time to. She understands the pain I have been in and continues to go above and beyond helping me. Since starting, I have most of my energy restored, I sleep better at night, and we are continuing making progress with the TMJ. A few months ago, my husband, who had kidney cancer surgery last year, started seeing Hung-yuan. My husband also had mono and was diagnosed with diabetes. Hung-yuan has helped him tremendously. His energy is so much better and his blood sugar has been staying regulated with no medication. He has also helped him with his knee problem. We are both extremely pleased with both Hung-yuan and Wendy and would recommend them to all our friends and family. They are truly caring and dedicated to helping their clients.” ~P.R.

Based on the sender’s identifying information, “silver account” appears to be a dealer in silver and/or bullion.  The email address associated with the sender doesn’t match the initials “P.R.”  Plus?  Based on the context, P.R. is a woman but the email address is probably a man’s.  Hmm.  Is P.R. a cross-dressing poster?  Or perhaps she uses a man’s name in her email so she won’t miss out on all the viagra spam.     
Surprisingly, I understand the connection with my post.  The post addressed my return to work following surgery and my ongoing recovery.  So silver, sweet dear that she is, decided that I needed to know about her medical professionals.  Quite a recommendation I’d say.  Except there’s no contact information for the doctors (or whatever they’re supposed to be).  Nor is there any information about location.  If I wanted an appointment who would I call?  Would I need my passport?  And what exactly does silver have to do with it?  Does the medical practice only accept silver in payment?  (Shaking head) I think I’ll stick with Dr. W.
 The next poster was also silver related.  Identified as “silver price”, they talked about how I may love to massage now but that “almost anything can become miserable if you do it long enough.”  Massage = miserable?  I think they’re doing it wrong!
Since I began drafting this I found two additional spam messages (they procreate like bunnies, don’t they?).  One was from someone trying to “optimize” my SEO.  That’s all well and good, if I knew what my SEO was.  Will optimizing it hurt?  And what the heck is LSI?  The poster added this helpful info: “(Latent Semantic Indexing)”.  Ahhh, now I get it!  Not.  The other message was from someone with Hispanic ties.  They included a link which read “lista de emails lista de emails lista de emails lista de emails lista de emails“.  I kid you not, that’s exactly what it said.  The poster said he (the email address said “Carlos” so you know, he … probably) was really interested “on this subject” and that he was “gonna see your other posts, hope they are so good like this one.”  Wow!  How’s that for high praise?! 
There are four more spam in my inbox as I type this.  I thought about including them but I just can’t find the energy to care what they say, let alone translate and share it.  What a frickin’ waste of my time!  When I could be shopping online!