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Bratfink
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Name: Bratfink
Gender: Female
Interests: I crochet, stalk people and things with my camera, read, and enjoy vodka and a box of good, fine wine [but not together!]
Expertise: NEAT STUFF ==> www.jordanessentials.com/rephome.php
Occupation: Currently occupied with what's
Industry: WRITE ME! Bratfink (at) crawle
Message: message me
Member Since:
7/2/2006
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| ~I Get Stuff Done~
Monday was a hairy day for me because there were things I wanted to get done here while The Boy was gone. Mainly in the kitchen, but it was trash day, too, but I'll get back to that.
I went in the kitchen and I almost died of shock. The Boy really DID make great inroads into cleaning the kitchen, so there was very little for me to do to get it all done. I needed/wanted all the dishes done before I got to messing around with stuff.
One of the things we have always wanted in the kitchen was more counter space on which to prepare food. It's a bitch to cut stuff while at our desks. But you do what you have to do, and we did.
But I had this idea, and I may have already mentioned it in here, to move the microwave to the stand that's in the kitchen and clear up some counter space. The problem was I needed a three-prong adapter to do that, and a couple weeks back I found one.
I tried to mention to The Boy that I had this 'idea' about the kitchen, but he wasn't willing to listen to me. Maybe I caught him at the wrong time. I do that sometimes. No, really.
So, I just bided my time because I knew when the time was right I'd just get in there and do it.
Monday was the day. I put 'The Wizard of Oz' in the DVD player so I could have some noise, and it was a movie I didn't have to keep a close eye on.
After the dishes were done and everything cleaned, my next 'job' was to flatten Coke cartons. There were more than a dozen of those, plus some frozen pizza boxes and other boxes that The Boy had piled up in the space behind the kitchen trash can [and in the corner.]
This shit pisses me off no end, because no one likes to flatten cartons but dammit, they do it anyway! I could see The Boy wasn't going to do it, so I went in there and tossed all those cartons over by my desk, scaring the hell out of Kitty who scampered into his box, but Hootie thought it was great fun to jump back and forth over them.
Stupid cats.
Just as I get the last box tossed over by my desk, the house phone rings. Somehow, I just KNEW it was The Boy. Normal people could just walk over the boxes to get to the phone, but I'm not normal. I had to drag my feet through those cartons because I knew it was a mine field if I lifted my feet and falling wasn't something on my To Do list for the day. I got close enough to the phone to grab it, and out of breath, I said, "Hello?"
It was The Boy wanting to know why I didn't answer the phone on the first ring. "I was busy!" I didn't feel like telling him I had to slog through Mt. CokeCartons to get to the phone.
"What are we going to do about supper?" he asks.
"I'll come up with something! I'll talk to you later!" I hung up. Honest to God, he drives me insane some days.
So, I sit down and for the next half hour or so I'm busy breaking down boxes and cutting out Coke codes and somehow I cut myself twice with the scissors. I realized this later when I was washing sponges and dish rags in the sink in soapy bleach water. OWIE!
I got every damn thing I could out of the kitchen and into trash bags or recycle bins because The Boy has been sort of lax in his duties of late, and I wasn't going to deal with it for another week. It was going out that night!
Time to do the microwave.
I moved everything from the top of the microwave stand to the top of the freezer. Let me tell you, this upset Kitty a LOT. He kept hunkering down in that box and I swear he was trying to make himself smaller because all that shit scared him. I chuckled and told him, "Hang loose, Dude. I'll have it off there soon."
I moved the microwave over, hooked up the three-prong adapter and moved the toaster next to the microwave. I threaded the extension cord that is powering those two items behind stuff on the counter and arranged things on the counter so I could actually see SPACE. OMG, it was BEAUTIFUL.
I cleaned Kitty's freezer top, and he came out to look around while I organized [and I use that term VERY loosely] all the stuff under the microwave. I put the freezer bags and aluminum foil in the drawer where they belong, but haven't been for a while.
I had one more thing on my list, and that was to replace the bar that fell off the freezer door, rendering one shelf unusable. I just made one out of duct tape since I now had counter space to lay the tape on. It's wonderful, and now I can put my frequently used items on the door again.
I was done.
When The Boy got home the first thing HE noticed was Mt. Trashmore. He said not a word but went straight to his work, even working all the litter pans. [GOOD Boy!]
I told him, "Go take a look at the kitchen."
He went in there and noticed I'd moved the microwave, but he wasn't SEEING the kitchen, if you know what I mean. Then it hit him. "OMG, we have counter space!"
"Yes. Wonderful, isn't it?"
"Why did you do this? I would have helped you. You didn't have to move that microwave."
"The microwave isn't heavy. Besides, when I tried to tell you about this a couple weeks back you wouldn't listen to me. So, I figured I'd do it some day when you were gone. Today was the day. Like it?"
"Yes. Very much so."
I fixed dinner in the cauldron; fried potatoes and pork fritters; The Boy only ate potatoes. I ate and I fell into bed, my body a mass of soreness. I could barely walk at that point.
But it was so worth it.
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| ~A Lesson in Spelling~
Last week I received an email from Bratfink Jr.:
Yesterday was Cognac's parent teacher conference. [The hubby] and I both went.  I asked him if he wanted to go and he actually did. I couldn't believe it because he usually doesn't do the conferences. She has an A+ in spelling, thank you. That's all because you instilled in me how important it is to be a great speller, so I make her write them 10 times each if she spells it wrong to me. So, for this I thank you mom! Her other grades were good except that reading is a C. She is above average on her skill, she just isn't reading enough and has issues with getting her shit turned in or something. Band is a damn D+ only because she isn't turning in her practice worksheets. She can play the thing, which is amazing to me. So is reading music. I can't believe that she can do that.  I need to work on her understanding math. She has a B-, but doesn't understand it. Issues with the quizzes and tests. She is smart, but lazy. Whatever. Just wanted to let you know. I thot you would like to know what a good speller she is. Love ya! Have a great day. Egbert
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I should tell you about this spelling thing because it's such a crack up that my daughter is thanking me for something I did that, AT THE TIME, drove her batshit crazy!
I remember this one time when she was in high school she had to write a report on something, I think it was in geography. So, she finishes her paper, has it all hand-written out and ready to turn in, and she asks me if I'll read it and 'approve' it for her.
I take the paper, and start to read it, and every time I find a misspelling, I circle the word IN INK. She sees this and says, "WHAT ARE YOU DOING?"
I said, "You have misspelled those words. Fix them."
"This isn't for ENGLISH! It doesn't have to be spelled right! I'm not being graded on the spelling!"
I gave her THE LOOK and said, "You are MY kid. If you are turning in a paper it WILL be spelled correctly. Now go redo it."
And she had to redo it because I had ink all over her 'good copy' and she was really, really mad at me.
This wasn't the first time I did this, and it wasn't the last. Although she got to the point where she would ask me how to spell certain words to forestall the writing I would do on her homework.
I told her, "You can be stupid, but if you spell correctly, at least you won't LOOK stupid."
So, it's rather gratifying to get this email and read her comment on the spelling thing.
She's getting more like me all the time.
[Don't tell her I said that.]
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| ~The Drama Queen~
Dateline: Sunday
Location: The Cave
The Boy had Paid Time Off, so he took Sunday off. He's been working hard on his book [I *think* it's the vampire one, but don't quote me] and he's been putting in a couple good solid hours a day on it.
Anyway, The Mother thought he was working [but of course] and when lunch time rolled around he got up to call her. This is a usual thing.
To digress for a moment, I gather that for the time being they have come to an impasse when it comes to The Last Big Argument, but really, I'm so sick of it all I haven't asked The Boy about it. Suffice to say I'm happy I'm hearing no screaming and yelling around here.
So, he calls The Mother and since I can only hear one half of the conversation I really don't listen in. But this time I couldn't help but become involved when I heard him say, "Look. We were in the Throes of Grief. I'm sure this could happen to anyone."
WTF?
I'm not gonna drag this out. The Mother told The Boy, "We have the wrong date of [The Brother's] death on his gravestone!"
While The Boy was still on the phone I found the notebook I was taking notes in from that time and I checked out my notes. The Brother was found dead in his bed by The Mother on the morning of June 11, 2008.
The Boy gets off the phone and I show him my notes. Just to be on the safe side I show him my blog, which shows he was found dead on the same date. I dig up my picture of the gravestone; it says June 11, 2008.
Here's where things get 'fun'.
The death certificate lists the day of death as June 10, 2008, because that was the last time anyone [The Mother] saw him alive. We know that he died after midnight on the 11th because he left phone messages on an ex-girlfriend's cell phone and some were after midnight. I do not think the coroner, if he even knew about these calls, took those into account.
But here's the other thing:
The Mother apparently has some freaken thing on the back of her van that announces TO THE WORLD that the person driving the van lost a son to death on June 10, 2008.
One date is 'wrong'.
The Boy is trying to tell her that really, it doesn't make a damned bit of difference. Dead is pretty much dead.
But the longer I thought about it the more I thought, Cheeses cripes, this is just like her. She can't carry grief PRIVATELY; no, she has to announce it to the world and maybe wring a bit of sympathy from some stranger or another who might be exiting their vehicle the same time she's exiting hers at Wallymart of maybe the grocery store, and she can be the center of attention.
I am not unsympathetic. But I know other people who have lost children and they don't come near to doing anything like that. I don't doubt that she or my friends are carrying any less grief than the other.
But I do object to people shoving it in your face as if their grief is worse than yours for some damned reason.
Or if losing a loved one to death makes you 'special' somehow.
I have friends who lost newborns to death. If I'm going to pick out 'special', they win out over The Mother any day, if there's a contest. The Brother lived 40-some odd years; these babies never had more than a day or so.
To me, that is a tragedy greater than someone who was given the gift of long[er] life and wasted it.
I'm not a stoic; far from it, in fact. I'm one of the idiots who cries at Hallmark commercials every Christmas. Hell, I cried at the Folgers commercial where the big brother sneaks home and makes coffee after shushing his baby brother so he can surprise his parents. [Oh, you know the one I'm talking about!]
We all grieve differently, but the whole point is to find a place where you can get on with your life, despite. Because [dammit!] life goes on and you have to live it.
I swear The Mother prefers her dead to the living around her. I've talked about this before. The grave decorating to me is the strangest thing because the people are dead. They aren't caring that it's Spring or Fall or Christmas; they lived their lives and I truly believe if ANY of them could come back for five minutes they would kick The Mother's ass and tell her to give it up and pay attention to the living!
"It's all about the dead guy," The Boy said. Even now, it's all about the dead guy.
Meanwhile, The Mother's brilliant, loving, kind, giving, caring, LIVING SON has to live in the shadow of his dead brother. Because he was the good son that she didn't have to keep track of EVERY FUCKING MOMENT HE WAS VERTICAL TO AVERT TROUBLE, he's the one that even now gets the shitty end of the stick.
If I outlive her, I swear to God, I'll stick a pin in her while she's in her coffin because I'm going to make damn sure she IS dead.
And if that makes me The Number One Bitch in the World, well, yanno, I think I can live with that.
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| ~Dinner and a Movie [or Two]~
Last week The Boy got a wild hair up his ass and said, "Dammit! I'm taking a rack of ribs out of the freezer and we're cooking them and eating them!"
I thought for a moment and said, "You know, I'm pretty sure those are pork ribs and not beef ribs. I don't think you are going to like them."
"Posh tish," he tells me. "Put enough BBQ sauce on them and I'll eat them." A day or two later, while at the grocery store, he buys THREE DIFFERENT KINDS OF BBQ SAUCE.
He put the ribs in the fridge to thaw, and there they stayed, for like five days, because we forgot about them.
Saturday, I pulled them out, cut the plastic bag they were hermetically sealed into, and they were fine. I put them in the crock pot and set them to go. In about an hour you could actually smell them.
At about 3 p.m. he decided to throw a movie in for our viewing pleasure. He chose 'The Mexican', a cute little movie starring Brad Pitt, Julia Roberts and James Gandolfini [among others]. It's a delightful little movie, and I recommend it if you haven't seen it.
Around 5 p.m. I was ready to pass out from hunger because I had not eaten all day. So, I grab a chunk of ribs from the crockpot, and they were to DIE for. He passes by, snags a piece, and eats it. I see him standing in the kitchen looking at me and I said, "And?"
"They sure are tender, aren't they?"
I had already told Bratsis that I knew I'd be eating all these ribs myself, THREE DIFFERENT KINDS OF NEW BBQ SAUCE or not, and I think we have two more kinds already in the fridge.
He went to Taco Hell. [But of course he did.]
Anyway, I'm chowing down on my ribs and the smell wakes Kitty up. Since Smoke is sitting to the left of me on the floor, Kitty leaves his freezer and travels to The Boy's desk. The Boy says, "KITTY! You came to see me!" And I laugh because the cat is on the corner of The Boy's desk staring at ME. Finally, he takes the four or five steps over here and I turn to find him SITTING ON MY MOUSE PAD.
Scared the hell out of me because he snuck over here while I was turned away dropping bites of rib to Smoke.
So, I put a bite over by Kitty and he sniffed it and walked away. Smoke got his bite.
I think Kitty wanted chicken. Specifically the chicken I lured him into his new box with, which just happened to be a couple bites from a Long John Shivers chicken plank. Good shit, so I can't say as I blame him.
Anyway, Friday night The Boy threw in 'Blazing Saddles' for our viewing enjoyment. I know that movie is totally un-PC, but man, that's still some funny shit.
I know the farting scene KILLS The Boy because he doesn't consider farts funny at all, and as much as he adores Mel Brooks it dismays him that Mel put a fart scene in one of his favorite movies.
But that's not the best part. The best part is that I swear to you, The Boy knows EVERY LINE IN THAT MOVIE BY HEART.
When I realized he was reciting the movie line by line I was like this ==> 
He said, "Well, HELL. I've seen this movie THOUSANDS of times."
I keep forgetting that before I came to live here he had even LESS of a life, if you can believe that shit. 
We also got to watch 'Transformers: Revenge of the Fallen'. I loved the first one; it was an awesome movie and you didn't have to know anything about the Transformers in order to enjoy the movie. This one is good, too, but not as good as the first one, but also VERY action packed. [And there is a scene between the kid and Bumblebee near the beginning of the movie that will SLAY you.]
There's a little dronebot that sounds like Joe Pesci, although it's some guy doing a Joe Pesci impression and not Joe Pesci himself, and he's got some great lines, too.
And there's an 'old' autobot that shows up who is a real kick, too.
Lots to like here. Rated pg-13 for violence, I guess, because there wasn't anything like nudity in it. But I think most kids have seen worse in their video games, but what do I know?
Last week also saw The Boy digging out an older movie called 'Suicide Kings'. It stars Christopher Walken, who is one of my favorite actors, believe it or not. Yeah, he seems really creepy, but hey, so does The Boy at times. Denis Leary is also in it, and although I never got into his show about firemen [I hate getting hooked on teevee shows!] I thought he was really good in this.
You also get to see Henry Thomas all grown up; he was E.T.'s friend, of course.
The Boy has been threatening me with a Star Wars marathon since he picked up the one he was missing. I wasn't aware he didn't have The Complete Set. [insert eye roll here]
I guess if he does that *I* will tell him I'm OK with that as long as we can have a 'Die Hard' or 'Lethal Weapon' marathon.
Well, I'm going to go pick at some ribs.
[Belch!]
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| ~Well, Another Lifetime Goal Achieved~
I have an announcement to make.
Are you ready for this? Are you sitting down?
Then be prepared to have your mind blown.
[insert drum roll]
You won't believe it but.........
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The Boy's stupid God is now THE NUMBER ONE MOST EVIL GOD ON THE PLANET.
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All I'm hearing is utter silence from the masses.
I wonder why?
Maybe it's because THEY ARE HAVING THE SAME REACTION I HAD.
WHODA THUNK IT?
The Boy, meanwhile, is standing there with this expectant look upon his face and I say, "Ummm, congrats? I mean, what the heck am I SUPPOSED to say to that shit?"
He shrugged and said, "Yeah, that's kinda the same reaction I got from T-bone."
[Great Minds Think Alike, T-bone! ^5 to that!]
I'm sure I haven't heard the last of THE MOST EVIL GOD, more's the pity. My luck is never that good. But if it keeps makes The Boy out of my hair happy, I'm all for it.
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Things That Go Bump in the Dark
The Boy came home the other night and when I heard his truck door slam I looked around me and realized I was sitting here in the [very] dark. I leaned back and looked out the kitchen window and realized, Holy shit! It's dark outside!
This is what I hate about Daylight Savings Time. It gets dark EARLY and I should have noticed and turned the porch light on because The Boy can't find the hole for the key in the dark and so he fumbles around out there and by the time he locates it, he's already pissed and swearing.
I hate it when that happens.
I apologized and told him I would try and remember to turn the light on before he got home in the future. He replied, "Thanks. I'd appreciate it."
Not as much as me, I thought.
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Kitty
Kitty is getting fat[ter]. He's making his box bulge when he lays in it these days.
He likes that box; he doesn't like to be touched or petted while he's in it, because it's his refuge, I think. When he's laying on the freezer and The Boy stops and talks to him and pets him he puts up with it. Then, when he's had enough, he gets up and goes into the box.
Pretty easy to read THAT shit.
At any rate, I gave him a bigger box.
 The New Kitty Box The Boy, when I told him I was going to exchange boxes, said "He won't like it." I said, "What's not to like? He's in an apple juice box. The new one is BACON." As you can see, it's Kitty Approved. In all honesty, the stupid cat wouldn't go in it at first. But I threw some pieces of chicken in there and now he's acting like it's been his home FOREVER.
I woke up Friday morning and stood up to throw on some clothes when SUDDENLY [and I mean THAT DAMNED FAST] I got a cramp in my left thigh.
When cramps hit you in the CALF the secret to alleviating it is stretching out the muscle so that it doesn't cramp up. A calf cramp is easy.
A thigh cramp just sort of kills you because there's no way you can stretch out that muscle as easily as you can your calf muscle.
I thought I might be able to walk it out but it only took me to get to the fan when I realized I was in big trouble. I called out to The Boy and he came running, scared to death, because he knew I was in 'trouble' and wasn't sure what he would find when he entered the bedroom.
He found me leaning against the dresser, trying to figure out how to stretch out my leg and get the cramp to stop, and I said, "Please, I need you to massage the cramp."
Well, it took me all of 30 seconds to realize that The Boy doesn't realize that you don't massage the SKIN, you need to dig deep down with your knuckles and show that cramp who's boss.
It took me less than that to remember that The Boy doesn't know his RIGHT from his LEFT.
But I haven't told you the best part yet.
The best part is that I had to pee so badly I could almost taste it.
I told him to forget massaging my thigh; I'd try and walk it off, and I made it into the kitchen, The Boy hard on my heels. I really was almost in tears, it hurt so bad.
I said, "I have to pee, but I can't sit down with this cramp in my thigh!"
And people, he looked at me and said, "If you have to pee, PEE! I will just mop it up. It's no big deal."
Maybe it's going to sound stupid to some folks, but I knew in that moment that he TRULY loved and cared about me. To him it really IS no big deal; that my comfort at that moment WAS the most important thing.
Maybe God needed to remind me of that because right after that, the cramp went away and I went and peed on the terlit. Then I sat at my desk and I could only shake my head.
I'd like to think that if the situation was reversed that I would do the same thing for him. I hope I would. I hope that I wouldn't care where he peed [or even pooped!] or threw up or bled, because that stuff can be cleaned up. It's not forever and IT'S JUST 'STUFF'.
I want to believe that I have that inside of me, that HE is the most important thing. I want to believe that I wouldn't look at barf or poop and think, I ain't cleaning that up!
I want to believe that I care about him that much.
I think I do.
But I think he will get an opportunity to prove it before I do.
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