Shitty, shitty week

This has been a really shitty week for me, and I really need to vent my frustration, so this will probably be a long and semi-boring post.  Sorry.

Sunday morning I went to get in my car and it wouldn’t start.  I have a Jeep Grand Cherokee (2001).  The husband thought it was the battery, so he goes out and buys a new one, sticks it in the car and everything works just fine.  I’m happy.

Monday morning I had a doctor’s appointment.  Again, the car is dead.  When the husband gets home in the evening, he tries jumping it and it won’t take a jump, so he runs out and buys a battery charger — we let the battery charge over night.

Tuesday morning, the husband sticks the charged battery in the car and nothing.  So we’re now thinking maybe it’s the alterntor or a short somewhere is causing the battery to drain.  It could happen.  I’m hoping fixing it will be expensive, as in over $500.  Secretly, I’m hoping the car is dying for good.  As in no longer available or suitable for driving, because that’s the only fucking way I’m ever going to get a new car.  My husgband believes we should squeeze every last penny out of vehicles.  So… no death, no new car.

Anyway, to make a loooong story shorter, we buy yet another battery and drive the damn Jeep to the car fixing place and leave it there for them to deal with.

Wednesday, I’m without a car, it’s Ash Wednesday and must get to mass for my ashes.  That’s what a good Catholic should do, so that was my plan.  The only mass available to me was the 7:30 p.m. one since my husband doesn’t get home from work until 6:30 or so, and he was the only one with a vehicle.  Bummer.

Okay, so it’s 6:15 p.m., the husband shows up and he’s cussing up a blue streak.  HIS car is dead.  Something about a blown gasket and he wasn’t dishing out money to fix it.  That’s it for the Saturn.  Dead.  Get a new car.  Meanwhile, we have mass to attend.  I call up the DQ and ask her to take us, and she does.  Not only does she agree to go with us, she brings a friend.  We get to mass, and lo and behold it is full, I mean standing room only and everyone in the place is Mexican.  Everyone.

Guess what?  The 7:30 mass is the Spanish one.  Shit.  So the daughter and husband are really upset with me.  The friend is looking at me like I’m a friggin’ idiot.  I’m angry with myself for not checking before coming.  So we sit through the mass, and I’m dumbfounded because I’m fluent in Spanish; however, I cannot understand a single word that is being said.  Now, some folk may think that Spanish is Spanish, but let me tell you… it ISN’T.  Mexicans speak with a lilt and inflection all their own, running words together and sometimes using slang or words that mean totally different to me (in the Spanish I was taught, which is Castillian).  My Grandmother was from Cordova, Spain.  OK, we suffer through mass only to discover there are no ashes being dispensed at this mass.  Need I go on?

On the way home the husband informs me that he’s buying a Honda Civic because those get the best gas mileage.  At this point, I’ve had just about fucking enough and I rip into him.  Because….

1.  A Honda Civic means he will continue to use my Jeep for Schutzhund, hauling men stuff around, and going hunting.
2. I will continue to have man smell in my car, and dog hair.
3. He will keep piling on the miles on my poor vehicle that at this point has 200,000 miles on it (because of HIM). 

The husband promised me… he PROMISED me, that when it came time to buy a new car for him, he would get an SUV so that he can do the things he does and leave my vehicle alone.  But hell no.  He’s going to buy a tiny thing of a car and continue to abuse mine.

This morning, Thursday, he takes off work and we go car shopping.  Guess what he buys?  This:

I was totally floored.  All that arguing last night for nothing.  But now I’m a happy camper, and the husband can continue sleeping in my bed.

But wait… I’m not through ranting.

I’ve decided that I want to take the DQ and the grandson on a road trip to Disney World.  See originally I was going to go with the husband because he had one of those Special Ops conferences in Orlando, but that’s been cancelled.  So I thought of the road trip.  I mean just because he can’t go doesn’t mean I have to suffer, right?  So the DQ and I plan the trip and then I tell him about it.  What does he say?  “Sure.  Sounds fine to me, except, who’s going to take care of the dogs during the day?”

Excuse me?  The dogs don’t need babysitting?  Hello?  He just doesn’t want me to do anything, I guess.  No new car, no road trip, no new puppy right this minute…

I’m too tired to argue the point this week, but you just wait till next week when I’ve caught my breath and am ready for round two.  I am SO shopping for a new puppy and checking hotel and Disney World package prices.

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Life in the Blah Lane

So nothing much has been going on lately with me.  Seems like my life is back to ho hum normal.  How about you guys?

I do have a couple of things to tell you, though.

The Moron

That guy (yeah it was a guy) that wrote me the rude email.  I made the mistake (or not) to tell my oldest brother and the results were he actually visited the guy’s blog.  Then three of my other brothers did as well.  My nephew got involved, and then my sister-in-law, Jeannie.  My friend Becko couldn’t be left out; she too, had to have her say.  I think it must have been too much for the poor guy because he made his blog private.

The Point Is…

I usually go barefoot when I’m at home, and that’s what I was when I went to put some stuff out in the trash bin in the garage.  I stepped over some fertilizer sacks, some more junk, and then OUCH, I hit a 4 inch nail.

It actually penetrated the ball of my foot and then sort of went a bit sideways.  Needless to say, it was a BIG owie for me who am such a big baby when it comes to a little bit of pain.

The foot had to be cleaned (I did that all by myself), and then bandaged up (again, courtesy of yours truly).  I had a tetanus shot a couple of years ago, so I didn’t think it was important to go to the doctor or anything.  The husband took a look at it (he’s such the medical expert) when he got home, and he said I was damned lucky not to have caused damage when pulling the damned thing out of my foot.  I wouldn’t know.  All I know is that I couldn’t sit around with a 4 inch nail sticking out of my foot, let alone walk around with it.

I’m fine, just in pain and hobbling around like an idiot.

The Joke

Finally, the DQ sent this to me, and I thought it funny enough to share.  Hope you agree.

To Be 6 Again…

 A man was sitting on the edge of the bed, observing his wife, looking at herself in the mirror.  Since her birthday was not far off he asked what she’d like to have for her Birthday. 

‘I’d like to be six again’, she replied, still looking in the mirror.

 On the morning of her Birthday, he arose early, made her a nice big bowl of Lucky Charms, and then took her to Six Flags theme park. What a day!

 He put her on every ride in the park; the Death Slide, the Wall of Fear, the Screaming Monster Roller Coaster, everything there was.  Five hours later they staggered out of the theme park.  Her head was reeling and her stomach felt upside down.  

He then took her to a McDonald’s where he ordered her a Happy Meal with extra fries and a chocolate shake.

 Then it was off to a movie, popcorn, a soda pop, and her favorite candy, M&M’s.  What a fabulous adventure! 

Finally she wobbled home with her husband and collapsed into bed exhausted.  He leaned over his wife with a big smile and lovingly asked, ‘Well Dear, what was it like being six again?’ 

Her eyes slowly opened and her expression suddenly changed.  ‘I meant my dress size, you retard!!!!’

 The moral of the story:  Even when a man is listening, he is going to get it wrong.

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What the heck is a troll?

Not often, but every once in a while I run across a true jerk wad, and when I do, I’m always astounded. Sometimes even left speechless (which is weird for me since I always have something to say — snarky or not).

Anyway, so there’s this person’s blog I’ve been frequenting lately, because I thought what he/she (I dunno) posted was sort of funny and I can always use a laugh. I’m going to leave this blog nameless for now because I refuse to give it even 5 seconds of PR.

OK, so I lurked. But in my defense, I always do that before I can screw up the nerve to actually post. So day before yesterday (that would be Sunday), I posted at this person’s blog. I went back to check a couple of times to see if this person had responded to my post. I like that… the responding part. It makes me feel as if I’ve connected, ya know?

Well, no responses, so last night I thought, “Maybe this person doesn’t respond to people he/she doesn’t know,” so oh well. No biggie. This morning I checked my emails right after breakfast like I normally do, and lo and behold, there’s an email in there from he/she. Wow. A personal response? I dove into the email, and this is how it read (I kid you not, this is a cut and paste):

“I’m going to ask you nicely just this once to cease and desist from being a troll at my place. I never asked you to come poking around, I never asked you to open your trap and bore me with your inane blatherings, and furthermore, for my sake and the sake of my readers, you can take your crazy ass somewhere else, preferably completely out of the blogosphere.

“Leave. Me. The. Hell. Alone, Troll.”

WTF? WTH did I do? All I said was, “I totally agree with you on this issue, and I think you managed quite nicely.”

Is that being a troll? Was that offensive? Did I commit a social faux pas? Do I even know what a ‘troll’ is?

I should probably let this whole thing go. I mean, there are tons of crazies out there, right? But I can’t. I’m trying to formulate my thoughts into some semblance of logical order before I go back there and give the scuzzball a piece of my friggin’ mind. Am I wrong? I just can’t sit by and let that asswipe get the last word. I just can’t.

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Oh Don’t It Make You Wanna Dance?

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A Token For You

Not sure if I’ve mentioned it before, but I suffer from Social Phobia and Agoraphobia.  My worst enemy is the Social Phobia.

Social phobia, also called social anxiety, can be extremely debilitating and is typically characterized by overwhelming anxiety and excessive self-consciousness in everyday social situations. People with social phobia have a persistent, intense, and chronic fear of being watched and judged by others and of being embarrassed or humiliated by their own actions.

In my case, it is severe enough that it interferes with my everyday, ordinary activities.  I know that my fear of being around people is unreasonable, but I have not been able to overcome it.  However, since I started blogging, and more specifically, since I’ve gotten to know some of you, I’ve noticed a slight increase in my ability to deal with my…problems.

For instance, I no longer lurk in your blogs.  Instead, I actually leave comments, and make the effort to let you know I’m there.  I’ve made some friends, too.  And, the other day, I actually drove, alone, past my comfort zone (which is four miles down the highway to Exit 41).  While all of this may sound a bit ridiculous, I can assure you it is truly awful for me.  If I leave my comfort zone, or if I am in a situation where I have to interact with people (be it online, emails, in person, in stores, etc.), I tremble, I sweat, I have difficulty breathing, and to boot, all of this is accompanied by nausea.  Making it worse, is the fact that I KNOW this is going to happen, and then I often make myself sick, worrying for days or weeks in advance of a dreaded situation.

Anyway, now that you know a bit of my background, you’ll understand better my reasons behind this award I’ve cooked up for you.  Or, maybe award is not the right word.  It is more of a “thank you so much” type of thing.  Nevertheless, I would like to present this token to the following people for the following reasons:

Josh:  Because you are thoughtful and kind, and a great friend.

Trisha:  Because you’re always there with words of wisdom or encouragement.

JavaJunkee:  Because you make me laugh and you make me smile. 

Teeni:  Your kindness astounds me.  How you make time for everyone amazes me.

Birdpress:  I love your style and your spunk.  And you, too, are a kind soul.

Peter Parkour:  Peter… what can I say?  Peter because he gave me my very first link in the blogging community I’ve come to love.  He included me when I was a total stranger feeling left out.

Enjoy, and feel free to pass this along if you feel like it.

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How’s Your Eyesight?

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Freudian Interview

I was trying to screw up the courage to write about my son, but I still can’t do it; so instead, here is my Freudian interview, courtesy of the  The Girl From The Ghetto  … the blogger’s mini interview.  Its like a  MeMe.  Below are the questions TGFTG wanted to ask me, and my answers.

* What’s  the most romantic gesture you’ve ever made?

 I don’t do romantic.  It’s my whole British upbringing thing; but if I have to name one, I guess it would be the time back in Middle School when I cut out all these little hearts out of colorful construction paper, strung them together on yards and yards of twine, and then rolled my boyfriend’s house with it at 2:00 a.m. Valentine’s Day.

* What is one thing about you that would surprise your readers?

 I’m afraid of the dark.  This was caused by that damned movie “The Exorcist”.  It was traumatic for me.  To this day I sleep with the lights on.

* Are you ever embarrassed when people catch you singing and rocking out to a song in the car, or playing air guitar, or playing the steering wheel drums?

 Hell no!  I think it more appropriate to say I embarrass them with my antics.  I love playing the idiot every now and again.  It’s good for what ails you.

*   If, for some reason, you were to be chosen for the reality show “Survivor”, what would be the one luxury item you would bring?

 Hands down, this would be my drum set.  Oh, and I would need a Sherpa to lug it around for me.

* If you could do anything for a living, what would it be, and why?

 This is a toughie.  I had to think about it, but my answer has to be:  a rock star.  Something like Mick Jagger.  Because I love being in the lime light.  Plus I think all the makeup and clothes they wear are just freaky enough to suit me.  And because I would get to live around music which is one of my greatest passions, and…I would get to snub all my old acquaintances who said I didn’t have talent.

The rules for anyone else who wants to be interviewed:
1.  Leave me a comment saying, “Interview me.”
2.  I will respond by emailing you five questions. (I get to pick the questions).
3.  You will update your blog with the answers to the questions.
4.  You will include this explanation and an offer to interview someone else in the same post.
5.  When others comment asking to be interviewed, you will ask them five questions.

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