WTF?

I've been in a foul mood lately (sorry hubby), getting all wrapped up in the stupid economy, future craptastic healthcare scheme, and just everything seemingly going to crap in a handbasket all at the same time. Hey, go figure, that's life, but still, does it ALL have to go to crap at the same time.

Frankly, I should look at my petty little inconveniences and actually feel thankful for them. I could have it much worse, and other people do, so I should just say "hey, that's life, it is what it is" (a saying I learned from my lawyer) and move on, but sometimes its just nice to swim in lake me and feel gloom and doom over stupid things and drive your hubby insane, like telling him the same thing over and over again because frankly you can't remember if you told him, or was it just a conversation you had in your head, or did you post it to Facebook and not tell him, and even if you did post it to Facebook, did he even read it?

I think that perhaps social media is driving me slowly insane, because I really don't know if I say things outloud, did I text it, did I post it, did I twitter it, did I SMS it, or did I e-mail it, and if I did, who did I post it to?

I've been telling people (I think) that I only have one more week in LarrWii, the Wii soft cast, but then I actually looked at a calendar and discovered that I actually have 2 weeks left. LarWii is getting a bit... rank. I had to spray him down in febreeze, and apparently you can wash the foamy innards, but I have no idea if that's true or not and I don't want to ruin it when I have to wear it, so I've been freshening the foam up with some Febreze and hope that I don't reek to high hell with each footstep.

Tonight we had a rainstorm. We need rain, but we didn't need three months of rain in an hour, so our sump pump drain pipe got a tad bit overwhelmed and was backwashing out near the house. Whoot. Then as I was folding clothes from the dryer, our heat/pump was making that distinct: "you haven't cleaned out the pvc pipe with bleach like you should have months ago so I'm not clogged and spewing water all over the cheap air filter thing, which you only have one left, so get out the bleach and snake and clear me out before I freeze something and cost you a bazillion dollars to fix/replace that you don't have" noise.

Right now one of my dogs is shrieking at me because its way past our bedtime (according to him) and he'll sit there and shriek until I go up and feed him oyster crackers just so he can stomp all over me, steal half the bed and shove his frito feet in my face throughout the night. Gosh I love my pups. I really do because today I found out that a friend of mine lost one of her beloved pups. It really takes a loss to make you realize the things you should shrug off and take in stride, and how you really need to stop and smell the puppies and realize that with all of the stupid inconveniences, the crap, the bills, the lack of money, the things that break, and the things that just don't work out... the most important things in life are those fuzzy creatures that steal your bed, and the hubby that accuses you of elbowing him in the eye at night.

Everything else is was it is.

Just a quick rant

Still peeved at the government, but right now I think I’m pretty much dying of something horrible that makes you think you’re catching a cold, but not, and also makes your stomach rumble loudly and feel as though you’re about to either:
1.) hurl
2.) crap yourself

My morning meeting tomorrow should be a hoot.

So, its 8:30 and if my stomach doesn’t make so much noise that my storm freaked out husky thinks its thunder, I’m going to go to bed and turn up the volume so I can hear the tv over my stomach.

Guess I shouldn’t have eaten tacos tonight, eh?

The Post About Making Mashed Potatoes

So, while the hubby was out riding around on his Harley that I forced him to buy to get him out of the house so I could do some home improvement projects, like napping, I had a strange urge to make meatloaf and mashed potatoes for dinner. What does napping have to do with home improvement, you may be rudely interrupting my thought process and asking, well, as I’m easily distracted I’ll answer that question by saying that its quite obvious you’ve never seen me spackle a wall, so by my not doing anything that improves our home a great deal. I bet you are sorry that you asked, and now you’re thinking why making meatloaf and mashed potatoes would be blog-worthy, and my aren’t you freakin critical tonight, who peed in your wheaties?

Like most people my kitchen is pretty devoid of any sort of fresh vegetable. What? Most people have fresh vegetables? Well, aren’t we special, its probably because you don’t work a semi-full time job and have people and animals to take care of after works and... oh shut up you freakin show offs and your fresh vegetables. We do have mint for Mojitos, so there!

Anyhoo, I found these Ore-Ida Steam-n-Mash potatoes, which are REAL potatoes in a frozen bag that you microwave and TADAAAAH mashed potatoes. Yeah, I can get into that. No potatoes on the shelf sprouting plants when you are in the mood for mashed potatoes, just drag the bag out of the freezer, microwave and... what’s this crap?

The instructions tell you to use potholders and pull the top of the bag apart. Have you ever tried to pull anything apart while wearing potholders, and NO I don’t have to hear any deviant sex thing you may have done with potholders on. Its IMPOSSIBLE to pull anything open (shut up) with potholders on. I look closer at the bag and it shows a pair of scissors and a dotted line. OHHH, I’m suppose to wear potholders and cut the stupid hot bag open... and just how is one suppose to use scissors while wearing potholders, and once again, not wanting to hear any circumcision while wearing potholders story.

So, risking the skin of my hands, I took ONE of the potholders off so I could hold the scissors and cut the bag open to find... chunks of potatoes that I’m suppose to now “mash”. WTF? I have to mash the potatoes after milk and butter??? This is just like WORK!!! Why can’t they be pre-mashed? And who has a potato masher nowadays anyway... oh, actually I do. I bought one to use to make this horrible dog food glop stuff for one of our dogs back when he was sick.... and YES I washed it before I mashed the potatoes.

So, after all of that work I fed them to the hubby who looked at them and said “Microwaved mashed potatoes?” and I nearly threw them on him, I MEAN COME ON!!!! I nearly pulled a muscle mashing those things!

Frito-Lay WTF???

The other day hubby and I went to a sandwich shop for lunch. I wanted a bag of potato chips to go with my sandwich, so I grabbed a bag of Lays potato chips... or so I thought.

What with the government concern over the obesity “epidemic” all forms of frying foods in transfat had been banned, therefore we’re now forced to choke down chips cooked in all manner of non-carcinegenic, fattening manners, such as chips fried in water, and soy, which are disgusting and vile. It didn’t surprise me to see that the bag of chips I chose were “baked”, but the “original” stamped on the package assured me that I was getting a tasty Lays chip product, so whatever.

My first clue that something was not right was when I opened the bag and discovered this:



Seriously, WTF is this? This isn’t a potato chip! This is plasterboard, and seriously, that’s what it tasted like too! It was as if some sort of horrible Star Trek transporter malfunction had taken a real potato that had been fried in tasty grease and changed it into some form of potato-chip looking thing that tasted nothing like a potato. It was so faux that if handed one of these things while blindfolded I never would have guessed “potato chip”, I most probably would have spat it out, demanded water to clean my mouth out then called my attorney. I think my exact words were “HOLY MOTHER OF GAH! What the Frick is this????”




That’s when I took a closer look at the bag and found this incriminating bit of info that should have been the font size of the entire bag to announce to the buyer of the “chips” that this bag doesn’t contain CHIPS, it contains CRISPS. WTF??? Crisps? I hate to inform you scum sucking bastards of Frito-Lay, but crisps are English for POTATO CHIPS!!! Made the exact same way that potato chips are suppose to be made, so what the heck is your definition of “crisp”? Bits of reconstituted potato manner shaped in a form that resembles a potato chip that you hope will fool consumers? I can tell you that their look won’t fool anyone and sticking one in their mouth will totally clue them in that they aren’t eating a potato chip.







To further cover their lies, the back contains this bit of info that says that regular potato chips have 10g per 1oz serving, but this bag of “snacks”... SNACKS? You can’t even claim them as a potato product or even a chip, and yet you throw these things in the SAME type of bag that use to contain your tasty potato chips, but add that whole BAKED! thing on there, as if we’re suppose to get all happy and excited and can’t wait to eat them, only to discover that the bag would have been tastier.

I’m tired of being lied to by paid liars. You may call them “marketing” people, but they’re nothing more than a bunch of liars! How can something be “new and improved”? If its new then how can you improve it? Its old and you improved it somehow, most likely by changing the stupid package colors... that doesn’t mean its improved! Stop lying to us, and stop trying to make us think that your craptastic “healthy” junk is tasty or even good for us! Just because you make things less fat doesn’t mean that people are going to lose weight and be healthier. Nope, good news for you is that they’ll just have to eat 40 times more of your product, and they will, but they’ll still get fat and unhealthy and in a few years we’ll all be paying for that with our wonderful government run healthcare... except that potato “crisps” will cost $5,000 with tax.

Always gotta be something

This morning I called the health department to rat out our neighbors, who have apparently abandoned their house, let it go to hell, and now have a mosquito breeding ground in their half crap filled swimming pool. I asked what the process was, hoping to hear the woman cheerfully say that they’ll immediately send a crew to clean up everything and give the house to very nice people who love mowing their neighbors’ lawns and cooking for them, but all I got was: um, we post notices and try to contact the owners and there might be citations and fines.

That’s it? They don’t care about their house to the point where they dumped crap in their pool and left it like that, do you actually think a citation will compel them to fix up a house they’re foreclosing on? “oh”, she chirped, “they will throw some mosquito poison stuff in the pool”. Great! That’ll make the future crack den I live next to even better. I didn’t leave my name... just felt safer that way.

I suffered throughout the stupid Sotomayor hearing thing today. Apparently every Senator has to give an opening statement. I don’t know why, other than to pee on each other and pretty much tell the world how they’re going to vote. Why bother asking her any questions, save us all some money and just let her in already and get on with ruining the country faster with crappy, expensive healthcare, investigations into things that happened 8 years ago, pointing fingers and calling everyone liars, and making me put skylights on my house to “green” it up before I sell it. Frankly, anyone that wants my house will also love having the crack den from hell next door. I did think the funniest thing said was by Senator Kauffman who said “Whoever comes to the Supreme Court better come with no balls and no strikes”. hehehe, he said no balls. I also sat and drooled a bit by the new Minnesota Senator, Mr. Franken, who spent his time talking about himself and seemed to forget why he was actually talking. Mr. Leahy did say that nobody was above the law because that’s not what a Democracy is. Well, unfortunately for Mr. Leahy, we actually live in a Republic, so perhaps he better go to whatever Democratic country he thinks he lives in.

The funniest back and forth I’ve seen in a while was between Stuart Varney and Ms. Meme Roth, who seems to be some anti-obesity person. The argument was that Delta Airline was only making stewardess uniforms up to size 18 and no larger. Apparently this rubbed some larger stewardesses (oops, I mean flight attendants) wrong. Here’s the exchange. I have to side on Ms. Roth’s side on this one frankly... go ahead and hate me all you want, but if I’m on a burning airplane, I don’t want a size 26 flight attendant in my way, its bad enough I gotta deal with other people and small children in those miniscule aisles and seats. I want someone I can heave to the side and make my escape, so the thinner the better.

I don’t even want to go into the fun-fest of my car insurance company, who seems to have their heads up their asses, and now I have to call them tomorrow and yell at them. I also have my 2 week foot recheck. I have to say that I actually like my boot, Larry (or Larwii). Its very comforting and frankly a good excuse to use the elevator to go up one floor.

I’m going to go up and stare at the tv mindlessly and eat those pure sugar faux flavored ice pops by the handful.

New Stuff

Hubby got his Harley today, he’s out riding it around. I got my new mondo huge iMac yesterday and I’m test driving it. After staring at a 15 inch screen for years, the 24 inch screen takes some getting use to. Its HUGE and bright and I don’t have to lean over and squint any more. I’m guessing cartooning will be a lot easier on it, and already downloaded the trial version of Corel Painter on it to see if the expensive ultra mega mega full blown version is better than the elements version I’ve been using.

I have to say, I LOVE the new huge screen, and I’m hoping it’ll get me motivated to do more with cartooning and stuff, but generally just getting use to how bright it is is the biggest adjustment.

I’ve decided that the medium Wacom Intuos4 pad will be the way to go. I just don’t have enough desk space for the large pad, so that’ll be a cost saver right there. Actually the biggest issue is where to park the mondo huge Harley, as it won’t seem to fit under our front porch, and just parking it in the driveway is more than hubby can handle because even though he bought a cover, parking it out in the elements is akin to cruel and unusual punishment for the motorcycle. Hey, whatever, he’s happy (out riding around even as I type), and we can accommodate whatever vroomy needs to keep him happy.

Its going to be hard to keep up with the housework and stuff now that I have a cool new computer, but with hubby out on the bike cruising around, I don’t think he’ll notice, nor care. I do have a ton of laundry sitting in the bathroom right now that I should be doing, but I have a new toy, screw the laundry, besides, there’s one more day in the weekend to do all of that horrible housework stuff.

Hubby did mow the front lawn, which means I can now call the health department on the neighbors who have apparently abandoned their house. Every time I go outside I’m armed with the mosquito zapper tennis racket thing to kill the swarms that attack me and the dogs. Poor things don’t like going outside because they get attacked, and frankly I’m not too thrilled about that. We can’t even go on our deck without getting eaten alive.

So, today was good. Motorcycle, new iMac, spent some time with some friends at their engagement party, ate some good food, the only thing missing was a nap, so I need to schedule one of those for tomorrow in between loads of laundry.

That’s about it, no ranting today.

Don't Tear Me Down - Widget

Dear Chantix, you LIAR and stumps

Ok, so the last time we talked I was begging for detachable feet or at the very least something with a bit more of a kick in it like Vicodin, because its not very adult to stand in the middle of a mall weeping because your feet hurt and you still had half a mall before you even got to the Apple store and there’s just no way you can make it back to the truck even if that’s where the Starbucks was.

What does this have to do with Dear Chantix you may ask? Well, apparently now my dearest Chantix must come with a warning label that says you shouldn’t believe the voices that Chantix plants in your head about leaping off of buildings or flinging yourself into traffic... which are very compelling. Yep, apparently the FDA, who is right on the ball with recalling tainted food products (hehehe, I wrote taint) days after hundreds are sickened, are now requiring that warning labels be affixed to the dear Chantix that warns you about suicidal thoughts and depression. Of course, you’ll have to get through the whole crapping your pants and double over stomach pains warnings before hitting that little gem of information. The thing that cracks me up the most about this article is this quote:

“The antidepressant Wellbutrin, which has the same active ingredient as GlaxoSmithKline PLC's Zyban, already carries such a warning.” AHAHAHAAAAAAA seriously? An antidepressant that makes you depressed? That’s all sorts of genius isn’t it???

Ok, back to the whole feet drama, yes I was weeping and keening in the middle of a mall because it was Apple store or abject pain in my feet and the whole stubborn “I’m not going to beg my husband to drive the car into the mall to pick me up so that I don’t have to walk any farther” drama. There’s also never a handicapped person on a scamp around when you need to hijack one. I did make it to the apple store and back, but it was touch and go.

Monday morning I sat on hold with the obnoxiously happy hold music (which needs to come with its own disclaimer that when your feet hurt you may be tempted to kill innocent people while being on hold) only to be told that my X-rays were negative. Seriously? So that’s suppose to be comforting that there’s nothing medically wrong with me that can be seen by X-ray so the agony of walking is all in my head or something??? I called the podiatrist and when they asked how severe the pain was I told them that if I didn’t get an appointment in the next few hours they needed to turn on the local news to see me holding up the local CVS for crutches and vicodin, and they kindly squeezed me into an afternoon slot.

Note to self: find new podiatrist as their office is located in a cell phone dead spot... I was seen after three games of mahjong and years of foot doctor school qualified my sadistic podiatrist to gently press on the very areas that would cause me to leap from the half chair thing and scream like a little girl. Apparently this means I hosed up my ankle and stress fractured one of those little foot bones that are integral to the whole walking without pain process. I was summarily strapped into a stylish gray ski boot and given a prescription for stronger NSAIDS (and the next day the FDA says those will make my liver explode, but between suicidal Chantix and exploding liver and feet of pain, I’m pretty sure that years of military alcohol abuse has pickled my liver to a point where nothing could harm it short of a spear or vacation in a third world country where I wake up in a bathtub full of ice).

Anyhoo, I get to wear the nice boot for two weeks (during the summer... how quaint) and go back for a check up and then probably more time in the boot, and frankly I think this is a great way to save money on left shoes. I can at least walk halfway normal and without too much pain, but I’m sick of telling people HOW I hurt my foot. Seriously, I hurt it running in place during Wii Active.... no really... fine, I was injured in a bar fight. Ok, fine, I was parachuting the other day... no really a bear was in the yard attacking my neighbor (seriously, I’d actually take video of the mauling and sell it to TMZ or something), no really, its a wiinjury and no I’m not suing... unless you’re a lawyer and want to represent me and then I’m all about the horrible pain and suffering and stuff.

Yeah, so I’m waiting for the elevator at work and it hits the 2nd floor and as usual, someone starts to walk out because they think its the 1st floor and just how lazy can a person be to take an elevator down 1 floor... then I hobble in with my boot and they get all “oh, you have a reason” looking and even say something about “oh yeah, you need to take the elevator because you have a broken foot”, to which I say to them “um, no I don’t” and just stand there and stare at the top of the elevator door trying not to laugh. Tomorrow if someone asks what I did to my foot I’m going to say “um, nothing, why?”

Pred in the head

You may have noticed the lack or ranting during the whole ivy fiasco and that’s mainly because I can’t keep a simple thought in my head for more than... sonofa, there it goes.

Ivy lesions not draining or itching too much.
I’m barely able to walk because I now have wiichiles tendon issues in both feet, which may be worsened by the pred, but who knows. I walk like a duck and look like a 90 year old going down the stairs. Shut up or I’ll hit you with my cane if I had a cane and frankly I may be needing one. In case you don’t get it, I’ve maimed my achilles tendons while doing Wii Active, therefore I have Wiichiles. I want my name in a medical journal.

Non-stop storming has cause the structural integrity of my hair to lose all mass and float into space aka: I look like Roseanna Roseannadanna and not happy about it. I will be making a hair appointment with my wonderful stylist Katie, who will yell at me for getting the whole bobbed look instead of my normal look and how the hell do I think she can transform me back to my wonderful old hair style now that I’m all layered and have bangs that she warned me were a huge mistake. For this I pay her a lot of money and apologize a lot.

If I’m unable to walk by Wednesday I’ve vowed to call my doctor and either beg for large amounts of painkillers, a wheelchair, bed rest, or permanent disability or at the very least some physical therapy at the place where I had my thumb therapy so I can gaze upon the hunkiness of the head therapy guy. If I’m going to be in pain I may as well derive some enjoyment out of the pain, or short term disability and a cool surgical scar. Of course I can’t have anything that keeps me from my friday hair appointment, because If I’m going to be stuck in bed, I have to have cool hair and if I’m going to physical therapy, I have to have cool hair too. Recovery is dependent upon cool hair.

Watching “What not to wear” last night, only because Loki was asleep on the remote, and NOBODY moves Loki when he’s asleep. I saw absolutely NOTHING wrong with the look before they made the woman into a cheap harlot in a dress and incredibly painful high heels that I would wear if I didn’t have wiichiles, and if my legs weren’t covered in open poison ivy sores that weep. Yeah, I’m totally there except for those little things. I was also forced to watch the show about the primordeal dwarves or whatever they are called. Itty bitty people with squeeky voices. I felt sorry for them especially the 10 year old girl whose 10 year old “friends” totally didn’t stick up for her and include her in stuff, which made me want to find them and drown them. Of course I would never do that, because it would mean I’d have to get out of bed and actually chase them down and with wiichilles that aint’ happening. Besides, they’d make fun of my hair too.

Ok, where was I... last week the water main in front of our house broke and today we still have a big dirt filled hole in the street that is slowly washing away and pretty soon will suck up a car or children. I guess I have to wait for some stimulus thing before they fix my street and replace my dead lawn. I’m guessing the street will get fixed and my lawn will remain dead, just a hunch.

Ok, I’ve rambled enough, so I’ll end on this note: no matter what happens, there’s always time for ice cream, except if you are a Republican.

I've Lost the Will to Live

Its gotta be the pred, all 6 of those vile, melt in your mouth steroid things that are coursing through my body at this moment to stop this ghastly poison ivy itch and give me a huge forehead and make me ineligible to play professional baseball.

Yes, I woke up this morning, rinsed off all the calamine spots and hauled my spotted butt (actually, about the only thing not affected by the poison ivy) to a Minute Clinic, conveniently located not anywhere near where I live because apparently the one near where I live isn’t there any more, even though they built a nice room for it and that’s where I went for some other incredibly badly timed whatever it was give me drugs moments.

The doctor laughed at me while pouring alcohol on everything I touched and gave me a prescription for reducing dose of Prednisone and there I was trying to wash those shit pills down, all 6 of them. I feel bad for my dog who had to take 3 of them reducing dose when we thought he had some kind of horrible auto-immune thing, but it turned out to be JUST Lyme disease (seriously, wish for the Lyme and not the auto-immune because antibiotics takes care of the Lyme, auto-immune is not so happy)... I apologize now to Sam, I’m sorry Sam. You have every right to insist that you shove my 6 melty, foul tasting pills down my throat and blow in my nose.

Ok, so lets take stock of things:

1.) covered in oozing, itchy poison ivy lesions
2.) big honking zit on side of face
3.) Jonesing for either Chantix or a smoke
4.) Still experiencing some foul gastro-intestinal things from former lover Chantix

I am a picture of sexy right now, so what would put some icing right on that cake of ghastly, what could possibly be missing when so much is raining down on me....

why of course, the crowning glory, the icing on the cake, the cherry on top... broken tooth.

Teeth should be much stronger than frozen M&Ms. I do realize that fillings may NOT be as strong as starburst fruit chews, but teeth should be able to withstand some frozen M&Ms, especially since I was eating them one at a time, allowing them to thaw somewhat in my mouth before chewing, WTF.

Of course we don’t have the wonderful Obamacare, where I’m sure that I would be able to just get up and waltz over to one of the 24 hour, 7 days a week, 365 days a year free dental clinics he promised us and get something done about this, but no.... my dental horror is premature and I must wait... like everyone else, until Monday to make an appointment with my regular dentist and get it taken care of... spending the next few days eating on the other side and getting sick to my stomach each time I feel the gaping hole with my tongue... OH SONOFA... I think my dentist is closed on Mondays... WTF, that’s 2 days before I can even call and schedule something... where’s that wonderfully free and always available healthcare I’ve been promised???? Would you stop sending Uighur terrorists to tropical vacation spots to be towel boys and get on with that whole new free always available health care program thing so I can get my tooth fixed!!!!!

Damn, now I itch again.

Are those open sores or are you just happy to see me

Oh yes, just as I expected, those vines were definitely poison ivy, either that or I’ve spontaneously broken out in leprosy. Hmmm, thrown into a nice leper colony and left alone for fear of spreading my disease to others.... ok, while tempting, if leprosy itches like poison ivy then I think I’d rather just be killed, or at the very least scratched with a rake until I bled to death. It would be the ecstasy and the agony all wrapped up into one neat bundle.

I’m slathered in some vile smelling concoction cream that screams “STOPS THE ITCH FOR UP TO 8 HOURS” on the box, but this crap has only given me, at most, a half hour of relief before I’m slathering even more on. The color is one shade of caucasian skin tone from the pink calamine crap you normally bathe in for poison ivy, which means its neon tan on my blotchy red-head skin. I look like a leper with bad body make up. I can’t wait for my client meeting tomorrow! First its iced mocha spilled in my lap, now festering sores. Oh, did I mention the huge grotesque zit on the side of my nose. I’m feeling oh so pretty!

We’re suppose to get thunder storms tonight, which means my female husky will claw me in her anxiety over the thunder. I’m actually looking forward to it, since my arms are tired from scratching my oozing skin.

Gardening for neurotics

Ok, so I started with two flower beds in the front of the house that were filled with weeds and two half-dead bushes. No amount of willing it to be filled with “wildflowers” would make it less grotesque, so I ripped out the weeds and cut the half-dead bushes down to stumps.

Removing half-dead bush stumps proved too taxing after 5 minutes of trying to dig them up, so I just covered them with weed barrier and dumped 6 bags of mulch over them... not nearly enough mulch, but one interesting thing about mulch when the bag rips and it gets wet... its NASTY. Not as nasty as finding the maggot covered cat poop with my bare knee, but nasty still.

I put the decorative little wooden things around the two trees in front, but didn’t have enough mulch to put in the decorative little wooden things, so it looks like gardening done by a moron (namely me).

I’m pretty sure the vine thing growing between my edge of property and along the stupid worthless picket fence thing the crappy neighbors have allowed to gone to shit is actually poison ivy, and it really didn’t want to come out of the ground when I pulled it, nor did its vines want to be cute with the sewing scissors I brought out (because my poisonous vine cutters are in the storage room where they were used to cut up about 500lbs of styrofoam from various and sundry empty computer boxes that we were paying $165.00 a month to store... we’re taking care of that, so shut up).

Anyhoo, it was after I had ripped the probably poison ivy out of the ground and in the process rubbing it over my entire body except for the part covered in cat poop and maggots that I realized that crappy neighbor’s trees were leaning into my yard directly over my heat pump.

Crappy neighbors seemed nice enough when they moved in, but much like fish... went sour really quick when apparently they didn’t realize that homeownership requires maintenance. The first to go was the in ground pool, which they didn’t take care of and soon the liner ripped. To solve that problem, they proceeded to dump fill dirt filled with rocks into it. I think what they were aiming for was to just fill it in, but apparently had no clue that it would take half of the earth to fill in, so they gave up about 1/3 filled. In another brilliant move, they felt that since it was 1/3 filled with crappy dirt, they could just rake their leaves into it. That coupled with a good downpour or twenty created mosquito heaven. So they covered it and pretended it wasn’t there.

About 2 months ago a “pod” showed up on the driveway, and sporadically we see them carrying things out, so the pod, the fact that they haven’t mowed their grass since spring (3 months ago) and nobody ever around makes us think that they’ve foreclosed or just ran away. In the meantime we have a little amazon jungle growing next door, complete with malaria pool, and large trees sprouting right next to our fence. Yeah, that’s not gonna happen.

Now, I didn’t trespass at all, in the sense that not one part of my body set foot or otherwise on their property. I don’t consider leaning over their fence on a ladder and sawing half of their tree down trespassing, but I do consider half a tree leaning into my yard and pressing against my fence a bit of an issue.

I do hope they come by to pick up more of their junk tomorrow. They might even think “hey, that looks like half of my tree neatly cut into a pile laying on our neighbor’s curb (if we had a fucking curb, cheap ass county and their $2.4 million in recycling and we don’t have a curb or a fricken street light)

I’m sure tomorrow I’ll be bitching about being covered in open sores.

Dear Chantix

Its been 67 days since I had a smoke.... oh glorious nicotine, how I miss you, and a decent dream that didn’t involve something stupid like Kinkajou herding in a suit of armor, or raining peeps (which seems like a fun thing until the fuckers start melting all over your car, then what are you gonna do), and I tried going off of you after day 60, because seriously how hard should it be to kick a 20 year habit and by then I would think that my body would have oozed out all of the nicotine from my system already, but NOOOOO.

I started craving yesterday and getting all antsy (which is a nice way of saying pissy and wanting to kill people), so back at the pills I go as of this morning. I was just getting use to not having strange dreams and being able to sleep for more than 3 hours at a time, but then again I did start crying at little things, like running out of pimento dip or having to put dishes in the dishwasher.

I tried something called “Rescue Remedy” which is touted as a natural sedative for dog anxiety, but in human form, and I did intend to give it to my dog during thunderstorms to keep her from panting and clawing me bloody, but since that didn’t work I figured I’d just take it and not care that she was panting and clawing me bloody, but it only lasts for a half hour at best and then I was back to wanting to strangle people and crying over Scooter Store commercials.

I find it ironic that someone on Facebook suggested I go to the vet and get some Xanax for my dog to calm her during thunderstorms, and frankly that was pretty much the last straw for me as far as life and my expensive medical plan goes. If I can just walk into a vet and get Xanax for my dog when I can’t even get my personal physician to prescribe some for me no matter how manic depressive I act when I go in there, then the world is so totally screwed up that I can’t even begin to fit in anywhere.

So, dear Chantix, I will renew my prescription AGAIN and keep taking you, even with the stupid dreams and the messed up gastro-intestinal fest, until such time that I can find a licensed physician to prescribe me something to “take the edge off” of life or the next election, whichever comes first.